[ There's always been a mindless thrill in sexual activity like this that has nothing at all to do with the risk of getting caught the moment anyone opens that door. Broca has always been a follower, a stooge carrying out the plans of people with grander visions for the future than what he's ever possessed. There's almost a comfort in letting someone else direct the flow of things, and letting his overly wary brain take a break.
He's physically holding Matoba up right now. He has his fingers resting against the pules of Matoba's neck right now. There's no mistake in his mind that the minute he no longer decides he's enjoying something, he can quickly and very physically call this whole affair off.
But despite the fact that he's able to rock up against Matoba's body, and control some degree of speed and force as they slide against one another, he doesn't have much of a say in how quickly or in what way the pleasure builds. That part is entirely and literally in Matoba's capable hands. The movements, as simple as they are, have just a hint of unpredictability to them that has the hair on the back of Broca's neck raising in excitement as each new angle sets a different set of nerves dancing with every stroke up, and every glide down.
A little bit of friction never bothered Broca much, but as worked up as he was already, it doesn't take long for a thin trail of precum to leak from his own cock, joining the hint of a mess Matoba is making, and allowing the incessant grind against each other to become slicker. The smoother sensation contrasts sharply with the way Matoba seems determined to leave his mark on Broca before this is all over. His grunts pouring out of him heavier and louder with every new scratch, but not a single complaint among his sounds.
It seems unfair that he should be the only one to walk away with a reminder though, or maybe that will be more of an afterthought rather than a conscious one he's having in the moment. There's not a lot of complexity rattling around in Broca's skull right now, driven more by instinct and feeling as he pulls his mouth away from Matoba's lips, before ducking his head down to the side of his neck where his hand isn't already holding him steady, and digging teeth into the skin there. ]
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He's physically holding Matoba up right now. He has his fingers resting against the pules of Matoba's neck right now. There's no mistake in his mind that the minute he no longer decides he's enjoying something, he can quickly and very physically call this whole affair off.
But despite the fact that he's able to rock up against Matoba's body, and control some degree of speed and force as they slide against one another, he doesn't have much of a say in how quickly or in what way the pleasure builds. That part is entirely and literally in Matoba's capable hands. The movements, as simple as they are, have just a hint of unpredictability to them that has the hair on the back of Broca's neck raising in excitement as each new angle sets a different set of nerves dancing with every stroke up, and every glide down.
A little bit of friction never bothered Broca much, but as worked up as he was already, it doesn't take long for a thin trail of precum to leak from his own cock, joining the hint of a mess Matoba is making, and allowing the incessant grind against each other to become slicker. The smoother sensation contrasts sharply with the way Matoba seems determined to leave his mark on Broca before this is all over. His grunts pouring out of him heavier and louder with every new scratch, but not a single complaint among his sounds.
It seems unfair that he should be the only one to walk away with a reminder though, or maybe that will be more of an afterthought rather than a conscious one he's having in the moment. There's not a lot of complexity rattling around in Broca's skull right now, driven more by instinct and feeling as he pulls his mouth away from Matoba's lips, before ducking his head down to the side of his neck where his hand isn't already holding him steady, and digging teeth into the skin there. ]