[ He doesn't have to say aloud how good the mouthing kisses feel, however unromantic and desperate they might be. His skin is prickled, covered in a swathe of goosebumps, whole body attuned to the attention and the electricity it incites. While he does his best to keep his focus on his hand, and at the increasing urgency he can feel bubbling beneath the surface, there's surely no shortage of clumsiness. A palm that grazes his glans, knuckles that tickle along his bare stomach—to say nothing of the soft grunt of surprise when his hair gets pulled, and the way his scalp tingles in appreciation. ]
Come on. [ Gentle. Coaxing. His fingertips creep up a little higher into Prompto's hair, so his hand can cup the back of his neck. He finally spares a thought to his shirt, but it's a little late to be worrying about stains. ] Nobody's listening but me.
[ And he is, raptly and perhaps with some things in mind for later that he wouldn't share even at blade- or gunpoint. His need for release might not be anywhere near as immediate, but he'd be lying if he tried to say this moment won't linger somewhere in the back of his head, brought to the surface now and then when he's bored with his books or left on his own for the night. ]
no subject
Come on. [ Gentle. Coaxing. His fingertips creep up a little higher into Prompto's hair, so his hand can cup the back of his neck. He finally spares a thought to his shirt, but it's a little late to be worrying about stains. ] Nobody's listening but me.
[ And he is, raptly and perhaps with some things in mind for later that he wouldn't share even at blade- or gunpoint. His need for release might not be anywhere near as immediate, but he'd be lying if he tried to say this moment won't linger somewhere in the back of his head, brought to the surface now and then when he's bored with his books or left on his own for the night. ]