( it's not clinical at all--he realizes it, with the way that bakugou moves, with the tent of his knee up between his own legs. he hadn't considered that at all, hadn't considered that bakugou would touch him, while being touched, or that he would do anything but lay there and take it; obviously he's not going to say that out loud, though the temptation is there. he might be able to get away with pissing him off with his fingers buried inside of him, but he doesn't want to take that bet. instead, his lips part with a slow breath, like he's only just realizing that his own arousal might become a part of this: that his interest is hard to hide, now, given that they've done away with all their clothes. it matters less to him, as usual, than the mission at hand--the important part is to use the toy, use it on bakugou, use it until he gets off. anything else around that is collateral damage.
the words make his gaze unlock, like bakugou's turned a key--shifting, it slides to stare down at his face, instead, as though fighting against his own worries, his own bashfulness. if he can't look at him while he's doing this, that serves as some kind of weakness, doesn't it?
with a pursing of his lips-- ) I know you're not made of glass.
( a flicker of blue eyes down, purposefully dancing along the nearest scar, and then back up again. )
But you've broken apart enough times to be.
( still, he knows what's being asked of him, which means that he's shifting, twisting his hand enough to drag his finger back, despite the tighter clench that bakugou makes around it; two fingers in is just like the first, a slow descent to his knuckles and then back again, stretching the muscle there more carefully, like it's less about speed and more about success. the last thing he wants to do is have to push harder on the toy than necessary--which is why, after a thoughtful breath, he pushes in a third finger, curving them together for a little more width.
naturally, he's working his breath to steady as he continues, though this time when his head tilts, it's a curious lance of his gaze across bakugou's expression, the words parted only slightly with the effort of his fingers working inside him. )
Are you--afraid of anything? ( apparently he's not going for sexy talk, instead just airing out his curiosities--in his opinion, that's bakugou's fault for being scattered with so many egregious scars that he has to ask. ) You don't seem like--you are.
no subject
the words make his gaze unlock, like bakugou's turned a key--shifting, it slides to stare down at his face, instead, as though fighting against his own worries, his own bashfulness. if he can't look at him while he's doing this, that serves as some kind of weakness, doesn't it?
with a pursing of his lips-- ) I know you're not made of glass.
( a flicker of blue eyes down, purposefully dancing along the nearest scar, and then back up again. )
But you've broken apart enough times to be.
( still, he knows what's being asked of him, which means that he's shifting, twisting his hand enough to drag his finger back, despite the tighter clench that bakugou makes around it; two fingers in is just like the first, a slow descent to his knuckles and then back again, stretching the muscle there more carefully, like it's less about speed and more about success. the last thing he wants to do is have to push harder on the toy than necessary--which is why, after a thoughtful breath, he pushes in a third finger, curving them together for a little more width.
naturally, he's working his breath to steady as he continues, though this time when his head tilts, it's a curious lance of his gaze across bakugou's expression, the words parted only slightly with the effort of his fingers working inside him. )
Are you--afraid of anything? ( apparently he's not going for sexy talk, instead just airing out his curiosities--in his opinion, that's bakugou's fault for being scattered with so many egregious scars that he has to ask. ) You don't seem like--you are.