[ Embarrassingly ... this is all starting to get to him.
It's because they're being watched, he tells himself. His nerves are on edge from the whoops and cheers and catcalling from the crowd, and so he's more sensitive to everything going on. Yeah, that's it, that's all. It's not his fault that a shiver runs down his spine when fingers tangle through his hair and yank, just hard enough to get him to cant his head back. It's not his fault a stifled gasp leaves him with the next drag of teeth against his throat. And it's definitely not his fault his face flushes hot at Baptiste's very matter-of-fact proposal.
He's never going to get used to how bluntly some people here manage to talk about sex. ]
Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.
[ That flustered stutter is all the has the breath for before the press of fingertips against his tongue stoppers up any more words.
It does take him a second to adjust, if only because the din of the crowd is ringing in his ears; just for a moment, there's the nervous brush of jagged teeth against Baptiste's knuckles as Fuuta fights the urge to clench his jaw. -- this is the better option, he reminds himself. Yes, it's embarrassing playing along with this in front of a crowd, and yes, this whole setup isn't fair, but this is honestly about as well as he could hope for things to turn out. He isn't getting beat up, after all, and this guy's been gentle and reasonable so far. So. It's fine. It'll be fine.
Fuuta squeezes his eyes shut when he finally, stiffly, purses his lips to suck around Baptist's fingers. Tries his hardest to ignore the noises from the crowd as he parts his lips afterward, canting his head to let those long fingers better angle against the soft, wet, inside of his cheek, letting his tongue slide up against his knuckles. And while he does briefly choke when that gentle pressure starts encroaching upon his throat, he powers through his gag reflex, swallowing thickly around Baptiste's fingers once more; he maintains it, too, until Baptiste pulls back, relinquishing his fingers with the obscene slick of saliva and the quiet pop of suction.
His throat still feels tingly where he'd been bitten, the skin feeling hot every time he swallows. And embarrassingly, as Fuuta opens his mouth back up in obligingly fashion, he can feel the front of his pants tent with arousal.
-- no, that's not even the most embarrassing thing, actually. Maybe worse is the way his hands scrabble for purchase, restlessly seeking for something to do while he focuses on his mouth. One finds its place digging into the ground below, but the other had groped blindly for a moment before landing upon Baptiste's clothes. It looks far needier than he'd like when he clutches into the fabric, but with all of his focus on what he's doing with his mouth, he can't spare the energy to force himself to let go. Baptiste will just have to tolerate the little tugs and pulls at his costume as Fuuta cants his head up to suck around his fingers once more. ]
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It's because they're being watched, he tells himself. His nerves are on edge from the whoops and cheers and catcalling from the crowd, and so he's more sensitive to everything going on. Yeah, that's it, that's all. It's not his fault that a shiver runs down his spine when fingers tangle through his hair and yank, just hard enough to get him to cant his head back. It's not his fault a stifled gasp leaves him with the next drag of teeth against his throat. And it's definitely not his fault his face flushes hot at Baptiste's very matter-of-fact proposal.
He's never going to get used to how bluntly some people here manage to talk about sex. ]
Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.
[ That flustered stutter is all the has the breath for before the press of fingertips against his tongue stoppers up any more words.
It does take him a second to adjust, if only because the din of the crowd is ringing in his ears; just for a moment, there's the nervous brush of jagged teeth against Baptiste's knuckles as Fuuta fights the urge to clench his jaw. -- this is the better option, he reminds himself. Yes, it's embarrassing playing along with this in front of a crowd, and yes, this whole setup isn't fair, but this is honestly about as well as he could hope for things to turn out. He isn't getting beat up, after all, and this guy's been gentle and reasonable so far. So. It's fine. It'll be fine.
Fuuta squeezes his eyes shut when he finally, stiffly, purses his lips to suck around Baptist's fingers. Tries his hardest to ignore the noises from the crowd as he parts his lips afterward, canting his head to let those long fingers better angle against the soft, wet, inside of his cheek, letting his tongue slide up against his knuckles. And while he does briefly choke when that gentle pressure starts encroaching upon his throat, he powers through his gag reflex, swallowing thickly around Baptiste's fingers once more; he maintains it, too, until Baptiste pulls back, relinquishing his fingers with the obscene slick of saliva and the quiet pop of suction.
His throat still feels tingly where he'd been bitten, the skin feeling hot every time he swallows. And embarrassingly, as Fuuta opens his mouth back up in obligingly fashion, he can feel the front of his pants tent with arousal.
-- no, that's not even the most embarrassing thing, actually. Maybe worse is the way his hands scrabble for purchase, restlessly seeking for something to do while he focuses on his mouth. One finds its place digging into the ground below, but the other had groped blindly for a moment before landing upon Baptiste's clothes. It looks far needier than he'd like when he clutches into the fabric, but with all of his focus on what he's doing with his mouth, he can't spare the energy to force himself to let go. Baptiste will just have to tolerate the little tugs and pulls at his costume as Fuuta cants his head up to suck around his fingers once more. ]