[gods, does it feel so much better not to have two layers of fabric restraining him. cool air replaces the sensation of lacy nylon, and Akira lets out a deep exhale, hips twitching slightly in patient anticipation. with head thrown back and eyes closed as they are, he isn't able to watch as Minato works. . . but his imagination easily fills in the blanks for him, sending more heat washing through his veins and pooling in his stomach]
[. . . the fingers of one hand curl into a fist against the ground, while he drapes his other arm across his eyes, throat bobbing in a thick swallow. he can feel the gentle nudge that spreads his legs further apart, the palm that glides up the inside of his thighs, sending goosebumps pricking to life across his skin. he can hear the rustle of Minato's skirts as he settles in place, and--]
[-- he has no way of predicting when it'll happen. so when Minato's warm tongue eventually laves across him, Akira inhales a sharp, sudden gasp, back arching against the floor, already seeking more. he's far too damn sensitive from all the attention he lavished on the other wild card, so if he seems a bit eager. . . well]
no subject
[. . . the fingers of one hand curl into a fist against the ground, while he drapes his other arm across his eyes, throat bobbing in a thick swallow. he can feel the gentle nudge that spreads his legs further apart, the palm that glides up the inside of his thighs, sending goosebumps pricking to life across his skin. he can hear the rustle of Minato's skirts as he settles in place, and--]
[-- he has no way of predicting when it'll happen. so when Minato's warm tongue eventually laves across him, Akira inhales a sharp, sudden gasp, back arching against the floor, already seeking more. he's far too damn sensitive from all the attention he lavished on the other wild card, so if he seems a bit eager. . . well]
[he can't be blamed]