[The delicate balance between pricking and playing; Matoba has nudged them into their current position, but every step he took further, Broca didn't turn it down. Therefore, he feels comfortable to continue pushing his luck and seeing what he can get away with, and the other man doesn't seem reluctant in the least to let him touch how he'd like to touch, to ease them into further contact. If he'd decided to open his legs further and order the man inside of him, he's certain that he would have done so.]
[Men are so easy to lead by the nose when you're giving them what they (think) they want.]
[He discarded that option a few minutes ago, however, on account of the mess that would leave him in when they were freed from the closet. If they were freed, he reminds himself. There's no reason to assume that their freedom was a guarantee, but the rules of this strange place seemed to be easy to please: simply fuck, and you were holding up your end of the bargain. This encounter was a perfect test to the rules he'd gone through when he'd woken up, so he'd taken advantage of it.]
[Broca certainly seems like he isn't far at all from making the time limit. His cock throbs against Matoba's, another strong gush of wet dribbling over Matoba's hand and mixing with his own over them. It sends a thrill through him, the mutuality, the sense of freedom from just following his casual desires for once. For a man who rarely could partake of such pleasures, it was intoxicating- so much so that he almost doesn't mind when Broca's teeth sink into his shoulder to leave behind red marks that will surely turn purple and bruise later. A rattling, annoyed sigh leaks out of him slowly, but despite himself, he allows it. Yes, it is only fair, isn't it?]
[The first of many marks. Pain and pleasure were enjoyable. So was the illusion of ownership.]
Are you leaving that for yourself, or for whoever else will see it? [He gasps out with a raspy chuckle, mouth free in one of the few gaps there've been between their kissing. The pace of his hand has picked up. His body spasms in tiny jerks, hips fucking forward of their own accord as pleasure crests. The hand against Broca's nape grips at his hair and directs his mouth back to Matoba's, just in time to mute the groan that escapes him as the combination of the bite, of hands gripping him tight and of the cock against his pulsing against him sends him over. His load spills over Broca's cock with a warm flood, smears against their stomachs as their hips continue to move against one another, and Matoba's hand continues- not stopping until the other man spills over him, too.]
no subject
[Men are so easy to lead by the nose when you're giving them what they (think) they want.]
[He discarded that option a few minutes ago, however, on account of the mess that would leave him in when they were freed from the closet. If they were freed, he reminds himself. There's no reason to assume that their freedom was a guarantee, but the rules of this strange place seemed to be easy to please: simply fuck, and you were holding up your end of the bargain. This encounter was a perfect test to the rules he'd gone through when he'd woken up, so he'd taken advantage of it.]
[Broca certainly seems like he isn't far at all from making the time limit. His cock throbs against Matoba's, another strong gush of wet dribbling over Matoba's hand and mixing with his own over them. It sends a thrill through him, the mutuality, the sense of freedom from just following his casual desires for once. For a man who rarely could partake of such pleasures, it was intoxicating- so much so that he almost doesn't mind when Broca's teeth sink into his shoulder to leave behind red marks that will surely turn purple and bruise later. A rattling, annoyed sigh leaks out of him slowly, but despite himself, he allows it. Yes, it is only fair, isn't it?]
[The first of many marks. Pain and pleasure were enjoyable. So was the illusion of ownership.]
Are you leaving that for yourself, or for whoever else will see it? [He gasps out with a raspy chuckle, mouth free in one of the few gaps there've been between their kissing. The pace of his hand has picked up. His body spasms in tiny jerks, hips fucking forward of their own accord as pleasure crests. The hand against Broca's nape grips at his hair and directs his mouth back to Matoba's, just in time to mute the groan that escapes him as the combination of the bite, of hands gripping him tight and of the cock against his pulsing against him sends him over. His load spills over Broca's cock with a warm flood, smears against their stomachs as their hips continue to move against one another, and Matoba's hand continues- not stopping until the other man spills over him, too.]
[Two minutes.]