( maybe unforgiving is what he needs, right now, in this time before he learns the actual shape of the man fucking him, caught up in the frenzy of a predator's game. it's not as though a little harsh treatment is against his interests; clearly, from the way he keeps his throat bared while his breath catches under aventurine's teeth, it's not an unwelcome feeling at all. every bruise is a souvenir, enough to look at and wonder on later, to ache with the memory of months down the line.
the hand on aventurine's shifts to latch onto his wrist instead, not an attempt at removal but an anchor. his other hand finds its way into aventurine's hair, trying to pull him down, closer, desperate to be devoured— literally or figuratively, it doesn't matter. either one is welcomed with adoration, worship given in the form of soft, panting whines in tune with each bite. like this, one could almost forget he's the one due to earn a reward from the encounter. )
Aven— ( of course the first coherent thing he moans would be his name; what else would it be? some breathless plea, imploring him for more or harder— surely the way his nails dig into his arm communicate that enough on their own, or the way his hips shift despite the awkwardness of their unfortunate choice of bench, trying to find some, any angle to take him the slightest bit deeper.
makes you wonder why he ever thought to let kirma top the first time, honestly. )
i hope you freeze to death on that bus
the hand on aventurine's shifts to latch onto his wrist instead, not an attempt at removal but an anchor. his other hand finds its way into aventurine's hair, trying to pull him down, closer, desperate to be devoured— literally or figuratively, it doesn't matter. either one is welcomed with adoration, worship given in the form of soft, panting whines in tune with each bite. like this, one could almost forget he's the one due to earn a reward from the encounter. )
Aven— ( of course the first coherent thing he moans would be his name; what else would it be? some breathless plea, imploring him for more or harder— surely the way his nails dig into his arm communicate that enough on their own, or the way his hips shift despite the awkwardness of their unfortunate choice of bench, trying to find some, any angle to take him the slightest bit deeper.
makes you wonder why he ever thought to let kirma top the first time, honestly. )