[There's a part of him that aches to see Tseng's face in a moment like this, desperate for every bit of information he can glean about his feelings on this no matter how subtle or subconscious. But there's also a part of him that relishes being able to tune the world out, to close his eyes and narrow things down to nothing but the cold solid desktop beneath him and the way the edge bites into his bared stomach, the elastic pulled taut against the backs of his thighs, the satisfying burn of a killer's fingers pleasuring him. It's enough, for now, just to bait him and bask in the power it implies, that even like this he's still the one holding the leash.]
Oh, no? You wouldn't hate to find out someone else got to me first?
[Impressive, how he manages to get a whole sentence out — tight and labored though it may be — when his breathing is starting to rasp in time with the cadence of Tseng's fingers, and the lip of the desk is cutting into his stomach from how his rocking keeps pressing him up against it. It's tempting to shift a hand off the desktop to reach down and touch himself, hard and aching as he is; when he ultimately decides to do it, it's not subtle, because isn't that what Tseng had described, one hand in his hair and one on his wrist?
Well. He hasn't got enough hands for it, with one occupied with fucking him so well. And it would be such a shame to lose the tension on his hair, but it'd be so good to come so close to having his hand held —
Held down. Held down, that's what he wants, obviously.]
no subject
Oh, no? You wouldn't hate to find out someone else got to me first?
[Impressive, how he manages to get a whole sentence out — tight and labored though it may be — when his breathing is starting to rasp in time with the cadence of Tseng's fingers, and the lip of the desk is cutting into his stomach from how his rocking keeps pressing him up against it. It's tempting to shift a hand off the desktop to reach down and touch himself, hard and aching as he is; when he ultimately decides to do it, it's not subtle, because isn't that what Tseng had described, one hand in his hair and one on his wrist?
Well. He hasn't got enough hands for it, with one occupied with fucking him so well. And it would be such a shame to lose the tension on his hair, but it'd be so good to come so close to having his hand held —
Held down. Held down, that's what he wants, obviously.]