( bakugou's face isn't one that he's taken the time to learn, but there are easy tells, parts of him that seem to expose what he doesn't say more easily than he does; from his relatively calm stand point, distanced from the toy, distanced from touch, it's easier to map out bakugou's expression like he's studying it for clues, like there's some mystery to solve in the sweat that beads at his brow, the saliva slick on his lips, the trembling flick of his cock, oozing desperate spurts of pre-cum with his tension. he sounds fierce enough, despite the winded weight to his voice, but none of that threat is coming through in the tight, taut lines of his body, or the lidded heat of his gaze, or the panting pleasure of his breath. when his balls had been in the way of bakugou's knee, there had been a real threat there, and he'd taken it seriously: but now that he's curved himself between bakugou's muscular thighs, there's less of a worry. he can say what he wants, look at what he wants, without the risk of punishment, and as much as he trusts that there's reasoning behind bakugou's ego, that doesn't mean everything.
so he watches, a careful flick of his gaze down to where the toy connects: where most of it disappears inside of bakugou's clenched rim, where the rabbit ears flick and tease along the sensitive skin of his sac, and he could go deeper, could push it harder if he wanted to--but he doesn't want to, not really. where they're at now seems to be a measured balance between pleasure and discomfort, and he's thinking that pleasure will win out in the end, no matter how strange the sensation; he thinks it because of the way that bakugou looks up at him, the way that he lifts a hand towards him.
part of him thinks to slide back, to fold onto his knees and distance himself away from distraction--but it would be a lie to say that bakugou's hand doesn't feel good, warm and determined, sliding down his stomach towards his cock; it closes around the shape of him, and in answer, his hand pushes harder, pinning bakugou more firmly by the hip to the mattress. it's not necessary: not like bakugou is trying to lift himself away from anything, but it gives him a more determined focus point, a place to press against the pressure that builds up inside of him at the touch. a breath pauses, hitches up in his throat--his lashes lower, lift up again, look briefly to bakugou's hand and then back up again. )
Don't focus on me. ( coolly, despite himself: and not unkind, but rather, more necessary; he doesn't want bakugou getting distracted from the task at hand, and more than that, doesn't want the incessant pleasure humming through the vibrator to become more painful than enjoyable. ) Focus on how it feels.
( but he doubts bakugou needs that reminder, and maybe needs more for incentive: his own thighs flex, tense, the tip of his dick a wet, eager weight in bakugou's fingers; he forces in a breath. )
If you come, you can do whatever you want. But you have to come first.
no subject
so he watches, a careful flick of his gaze down to where the toy connects: where most of it disappears inside of bakugou's clenched rim, where the rabbit ears flick and tease along the sensitive skin of his sac, and he could go deeper, could push it harder if he wanted to--but he doesn't want to, not really. where they're at now seems to be a measured balance between pleasure and discomfort, and he's thinking that pleasure will win out in the end, no matter how strange the sensation; he thinks it because of the way that bakugou looks up at him, the way that he lifts a hand towards him.
part of him thinks to slide back, to fold onto his knees and distance himself away from distraction--but it would be a lie to say that bakugou's hand doesn't feel good, warm and determined, sliding down his stomach towards his cock; it closes around the shape of him, and in answer, his hand pushes harder, pinning bakugou more firmly by the hip to the mattress. it's not necessary: not like bakugou is trying to lift himself away from anything, but it gives him a more determined focus point, a place to press against the pressure that builds up inside of him at the touch. a breath pauses, hitches up in his throat--his lashes lower, lift up again, look briefly to bakugou's hand and then back up again. )
Don't focus on me. ( coolly, despite himself: and not unkind, but rather, more necessary; he doesn't want bakugou getting distracted from the task at hand, and more than that, doesn't want the incessant pleasure humming through the vibrator to become more painful than enjoyable. ) Focus on how it feels.
( but he doubts bakugou needs that reminder, and maybe needs more for incentive: his own thighs flex, tense, the tip of his dick a wet, eager weight in bakugou's fingers; he forces in a breath. )
If you come, you can do whatever you want. But you have to come first.