[Broca should feel proud of that- if Matoba was even a little miffed by being taken off-guard, he seems plenty willing to ignore it for the time being so long as it moves them along towards where they're trying to go.]
[And where they're trying to get to- Matoba's abdomen flinches and flexes taut as their cocks grind back against it, leaving wet trails over his skin. His thighs pinch at Broca's sides to keep his leverage when he tries to angle his cock this way or that back against him, hand moving them against each other, one dragging against the skin of the other. The head of his cock nudges against Broca's glans and a sticky pulse of pre dribbles down against him. His breaths, messily muted and gasped against Broca's mouth, stutter quiet groans. His hand speeds up over them both, feeling a throb signal pleasure against his palm.]
[Matoba's nails drag angry skidmarks across the backs of the other man's shoulders every time he has to scrabble for purchase against him again, stinging marks that will surely be left behind after this- and maybe a little bit of revenge for the bites that will be left bruising his lips. It's hard to make out any other sounds that might come from the other side of the door between the sounds of their breaths, the knocking their bodies make against the door, and the quiet slickness of his hand working between them. Was anyone even still there to let them out, even if they did fulfill their seven-minute obligation?]
[If they're listening, watching, Matoba hopes they at least enjoy the show. Five minutes... maybe four.]
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ The sigh isn't expected, but it also isn't unwelcome, nor is the question that feels like it's meant to be chiding. Cats don't wag their tails when happy, and tigers don't purr, but Broca does let out a puff of laughter through his nose at the clear noise of disapproval. He might feel worse if Matoba hadn't been making one of his shoulders into a modern art canvas, but since Matoba pulled out claws first, he doesn't feel particularly bad about busting out the fangs.
He gets out a quietly murmured-- ]
Neither.
[ Before they're back to kissing, and Broca is swallowing down Matoba's groan as all of this build up finally pushes him over the edge. Broca can feel it, the increased slickness of the slide that has his own breath hitching, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release.
Close... close... and he doesn't moan himself as he finally comes, his own release joining into the mess that Matoba's has already made, coating hands, stomach, and cocks as he lets out a quiet, choked sound in the back of his throat. His lips still pressed against Matoba, but he's stilled enough it's hard to say if this still counts as kissing or not. ]
[Ah, he's laughing. So the kitty-cat has a sense of humor, hm? Matoba will remember that. Broca might get more than he bargained for, giving the man a reason to push his luck with him.....]
[Luckily for Broca, their time is swiftly ticking closer and closer to its limit. "Neither"?? Matoba wants to ask something in response to that, too, but whatever he might have blurted out is muffled swiftly by the man's lips pressing back into his own. Of course, of course- couldn't let the time reset again when they're so close, can they? Matoba lets it go with a soft huff of breath from his nose and eagerly tilts his chin up into the kisses, instead. The man's heat can be felt so intensely, pushed up against him, as he barrels nearer to his end, and it's no surprise when it hits shortly after Matoba's- another fresh, slick splash over his stomach, both their cocks rutting into the combined mess as they grind it out in the last moments of pleasure. Eagerly, Matoba milks his cock through it, and as Broca's weight settles against him in sluggish satisfaction, the cavern of his heat has sweat dripping down Matoba's neck and back and down the door. Ah, his hair is a mess now. He's going to have to escape to the showers....]
[The weight against his mouth might be hardly a kiss, but Matoba is selfish enough to give a slow, weighty slide of his tongue over Broca's lower lip as he takes advantage to deepen the kiss once more before the counter in his head expires, a wet sound as he tilts his jaw to part them. His lips are red and swollen, but cracked in a grin. His eye tilts to catch one of Broca's. His expression is smug, utterly satisfied.]
What an interesting place this is. Don't you agree, Kitty-san?
[ There really is an important lesson in all of this, even if that lesson is just that it's important to exchange names before you fuck around with someone in a closet.
He won't pretend that the whole experience wasn't satisfying, there are some obvious physical indicators here that would give away that lie anyway, but he's already got the vague sense that he might have shacked up with someone that's going to be impressively good at raising his hackles.
Maybe it's the way he just got called "Kitty-san" that gives him that hunch.
The minute that nickname is out of Matoba's mouth, Broca's ears are pressing back against his head. Felines are common enough where he's from, though it's not like people never make these kind of jokes or use these casual nicknames. It's just that guys like Broca usually get spared them. The pleasant mental haze that sex provides is clearing up quickly as Broca considers cold dropping Matoba for that. For a moment his fingers even flex where they're pressed against Matoba as the temptation flits through his mind. ]
Broca.
[ It has never been more important to him to stress his actual name to a person. ]
[A great point to learn when you're in private like this, and not, say, knee-deep in a jungle with a dozen other naked people, huh?]
[Matoba prefers anonymity in some cases, but in this one, he's happy to kiss and tell. The immediate bristle gets a clear reaction of glee and amusement from Matoba, so Broca's prediction certainly isn't without merit. But he knows when and where to press down on a vein. He will be careful. Selective.]
Broca-san, [He corrects mildly, although that smirk hasn't been wiped from his face in the least. Feeling the Feline's fingers flex against him, Matoba takes the opportunity to carefully lower his legs back to the floor. Once stable, he glances down with a slight frown at the mess that's now smeared against his navel. Ah, well... But luckily, he has this handy terrycloth robe that he awoke in, so he slips it off from his shoulders and begins to methodically wipe himself down, at least enough that he'll be able to find his way to the bathrooms without dripping and smearing all over the place.]
This was all a little impromptu, but thank you for indulging my curiosity. My name is Matoba. It seems that this place is not going to allow us to resist easily, and so I'd recommend that you follow along with this "Game" for the time being.
[Matoba spots something of interest to him across the closet, and briefly slips past Broca to pick up a fresh tracksuit set- in all of its gaudy gold glory- from a shelf. Perfect. This will do nicely. He drops the now soiled bathrobe and begins to dress himself.]
[He glances up once more once he's got the pants on, flashing Broca a playful smile.]
...Feel free to call me if you need a partner again.
[ While the amusement gets a sharp look from Broca, he does at least relax slightly at the use of his actual name. It's not that he has a strong feeling about being called by a nickname, but there are some nicknames that cross over into being just demeaning enough to get under his skin.
Kitty-san is certainly one.
Now that Matoba is moving away from him though, Broca has a chance to take in his own appearance, and grimace at the mess made of him. The other man definitely took the brunt of it, but there's enough on him that he'll grab a towel off of the shelf that Matoba tried to used as a battering ram earlier, and scrub at some of the sweat and the more awkward to explain fluids. All while listening to Matoba's friendly advice there, his ears even twisting towards him as he moves to grab that tracksuit.
His face is only half turned to see that smile out of the corner of his eye, and he's quick to turn his face away back to the door after. ]
I'll keep that in mind.
[ Both the advice about playing along, and the offer. He's not opposed to sex with strangers... He's clearly not opposed to that, but it does stick in his craw how it doesn't feel like he's being allowed to opt in.
And when he reaches towards the handle of the door now that Matoba is dressed, and it easily clicks open, that feeling is just reinforced.
Broca inhales sharply through his nose, before finally stepping out of the closet, no interest in cleaning up any of the mess they just made given someone decided to lock them in there in the first place. ]
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[And where they're trying to get to- Matoba's abdomen flinches and flexes taut as their cocks grind back against it, leaving wet trails over his skin. His thighs pinch at Broca's sides to keep his leverage when he tries to angle his cock this way or that back against him, hand moving them against each other, one dragging against the skin of the other. The head of his cock nudges against Broca's glans and a sticky pulse of pre dribbles down against him. His breaths, messily muted and gasped against Broca's mouth, stutter quiet groans. His hand speeds up over them both, feeling a throb signal pleasure against his palm.]
[Matoba's nails drag angry skidmarks across the backs of the other man's shoulders every time he has to scrabble for purchase against him again, stinging marks that will surely be left behind after this- and maybe a little bit of revenge for the bites that will be left bruising his lips. It's hard to make out any other sounds that might come from the other side of the door between the sounds of their breaths, the knocking their bodies make against the door, and the quiet slickness of his hand working between them. Was anyone even still there to let them out, even if they did fulfill their seven-minute obligation?]
[If they're listening, watching, Matoba hopes they at least enjoy the show. Five minutes... maybe four.]
no subject
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. ]
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.]
no subject
He gets out a quietly murmured-- ]
Neither.
[ Before they're back to kissing, and Broca is swallowing down Matoba's groan as all of this build up finally pushes him over the edge. Broca can feel it, the increased slickness of the slide that has his own breath hitching, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release.
Close... close... and he doesn't moan himself as he finally comes, his own release joining into the mess that Matoba's has already made, coating hands, stomach, and cocks as he lets out a quiet, choked sound in the back of his throat. His lips still pressed against Matoba, but he's stilled enough it's hard to say if this still counts as kissing or not. ]
no subject
[Luckily for Broca, their time is swiftly ticking closer and closer to its limit. "Neither"?? Matoba wants to ask something in response to that, too, but whatever he might have blurted out is muffled swiftly by the man's lips pressing back into his own. Of course, of course- couldn't let the time reset again when they're so close, can they? Matoba lets it go with a soft huff of breath from his nose and eagerly tilts his chin up into the kisses, instead. The man's heat can be felt so intensely, pushed up against him, as he barrels nearer to his end, and it's no surprise when it hits shortly after Matoba's- another fresh, slick splash over his stomach, both their cocks rutting into the combined mess as they grind it out in the last moments of pleasure. Eagerly, Matoba milks his cock through it, and as Broca's weight settles against him in sluggish satisfaction, the cavern of his heat has sweat dripping down Matoba's neck and back and down the door. Ah, his hair is a mess now. He's going to have to escape to the showers....]
[The weight against his mouth might be hardly a kiss, but Matoba is selfish enough to give a slow, weighty slide of his tongue over Broca's lower lip as he takes advantage to deepen the kiss once more before the counter in his head expires, a wet sound as he tilts his jaw to part them. His lips are red and swollen, but cracked in a grin. His eye tilts to catch one of Broca's. His expression is smug, utterly satisfied.]
What an interesting place this is. Don't you agree, Kitty-san?
no subject
He won't pretend that the whole experience wasn't satisfying, there are some obvious physical indicators here that would give away that lie anyway, but he's already got the vague sense that he might have shacked up with someone that's going to be impressively good at raising his hackles.
Maybe it's the way he just got called "Kitty-san" that gives him that hunch.
The minute that nickname is out of Matoba's mouth, Broca's ears are pressing back against his head. Felines are common enough where he's from, though it's not like people never make these kind of jokes or use these casual nicknames. It's just that guys like Broca usually get spared them. The pleasant mental haze that sex provides is clearing up quickly as Broca considers cold dropping Matoba for that. For a moment his fingers even flex where they're pressed against Matoba as the temptation flits through his mind. ]
Broca.
[ It has never been more important to him to stress his actual name to a person. ]
no subject
[Matoba prefers anonymity in some cases, but in this one, he's happy to kiss and tell. The immediate bristle gets a clear reaction of glee and amusement from Matoba, so Broca's prediction certainly isn't without merit. But he knows when and where to press down on a vein. He will be careful. Selective.]
Broca-san, [He corrects mildly, although that smirk hasn't been wiped from his face in the least. Feeling the Feline's fingers flex against him, Matoba takes the opportunity to carefully lower his legs back to the floor. Once stable, he glances down with a slight frown at the mess that's now smeared against his navel. Ah, well... But luckily, he has this handy terrycloth robe that he awoke in, so he slips it off from his shoulders and begins to methodically wipe himself down, at least enough that he'll be able to find his way to the bathrooms without dripping and smearing all over the place.]
This was all a little impromptu, but thank you for indulging my curiosity. My name is Matoba. It seems that this place is not going to allow us to resist easily, and so I'd recommend that you follow along with this "Game" for the time being.
[Matoba spots something of interest to him across the closet, and briefly slips past Broca to pick up a fresh tracksuit set- in all of its gaudy gold glory- from a shelf. Perfect. This will do nicely. He drops the now soiled bathrobe and begins to dress himself.]
[He glances up once more once he's got the pants on, flashing Broca a playful smile.]
...Feel free to call me if you need a partner again.
no subject
Kitty-san is certainly one.
Now that Matoba is moving away from him though, Broca has a chance to take in his own appearance, and grimace at the mess made of him. The other man definitely took the brunt of it, but there's enough on him that he'll grab a towel off of the shelf that Matoba tried to used as a battering ram earlier, and scrub at some of the sweat and the more awkward to explain fluids. All while listening to Matoba's friendly advice there, his ears even twisting towards him as he moves to grab that tracksuit.
His face is only half turned to see that smile out of the corner of his eye, and he's quick to turn his face away back to the door after. ]
I'll keep that in mind.
[ Both the advice about playing along, and the offer. He's not opposed to sex with strangers... He's clearly not opposed to that, but it does stick in his craw how it doesn't feel like he's being allowed to opt in.
And when he reaches towards the handle of the door now that Matoba is dressed, and it easily clicks open, that feeling is just reinforced.
Broca inhales sharply through his nose, before finally stepping out of the closet, no interest in cleaning up any of the mess they just made given someone decided to lock them in there in the first place. ]