[Proud, Quentin says, painting a picture of Koby as someone self-possessed and in full control of everything he's feeling, some loftily aloof, smug-smiled minx who accepts pleasure as his due. When the truth is, Koby's barely keeping himself from coming undone, breath hitching staccato on a whine when Quentin's fingers slide inside to the knuckle, as they twist inside, work him open with keen, devastating skill. The pulse, the clench of his body is near-involuntary, and Koby can feel his pulse stuttering in his chest when Quentin twists his hand, when his callused palm presses up --]
O-Oh my god-- [It comes out sharp, high, loud, and Koby's hand half-reaches to cover his own mouth, used to needing to be quiet, to not attract attention. But he's on a hairtrigger already, and the contact to his clit is electric, catching him between the desperate need to rut down against it and the need to obey, to keep from coming. It's almost a relief when Quentin slips his hand free, even though the sight of his tongue curled around those long, clever fingers has Koby practically salivating, imagining it elsewhere, imagining Quehntin tasting him right from the source. Which leads naturally to the thought of Koby being on his knees in return, of looking up at that sharp grin, those bright eyes, of feeling Quentin's hand in his hair, guiding his mouth open, onto his cock, filling his throat.
Unconsciously, Koby bites at his lip, sucks it into his mouth, tongue pressing against the swell of kiss-bruised flesh. It gives him something else to focus on, something beyond the mention of being filled up, the slow drag of Quentin's cock along the split of his cunt, the heat and hardness and thickness. The brief look at him half-hard hadn't been enough, Koby wants to fully appreciate Quentin completely aroused almost as much as he wants said arousal inside him right this second. Almost.]
I-I'm already s-squirming. And you p-promised. [A reminder, hot and shaky and whispered between their mouths when Quentin pulls away, when Koby rolls his hips, grinds along the length of his cock. The potential occurs to him -- teasing Quentin like this, seeing how long he can hold back, kneeling over him and kissing him amidst tangled sheets while he's the one to beg. Again, an assumption of a next time that isn't guaranteed. Quentin could be gone in the morning, could disappear right out of existence.
Thinking that, Koby doesn't want to wait any more, doesn't want to waste another instant, leaning in with his hands in Quentin's hair, thighs shivering as he tries to close them, tries to rock his hips just right to get what he's been promised, what Koby reminds Quentin of in an almost-moan:] You p-promised you'd fuck me, so fuck me.
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O-Oh my god-- [It comes out sharp, high, loud, and Koby's hand half-reaches to cover his own mouth, used to needing to be quiet, to not attract attention. But he's on a hairtrigger already, and the contact to his clit is electric, catching him between the desperate need to rut down against it and the need to obey, to keep from coming. It's almost a relief when Quentin slips his hand free, even though the sight of his tongue curled around those long, clever fingers has Koby practically salivating, imagining it elsewhere, imagining Quehntin tasting him right from the source. Which leads naturally to the thought of Koby being on his knees in return, of looking up at that sharp grin, those bright eyes, of feeling Quentin's hand in his hair, guiding his mouth open, onto his cock, filling his throat.
Unconsciously, Koby bites at his lip, sucks it into his mouth, tongue pressing against the swell of kiss-bruised flesh. It gives him something else to focus on, something beyond the mention of being filled up, the slow drag of Quentin's cock along the split of his cunt, the heat and hardness and thickness. The brief look at him half-hard hadn't been enough, Koby wants to fully appreciate Quentin completely aroused almost as much as he wants said arousal inside him right this second. Almost.]
I-I'm already s-squirming. And you p-promised. [A reminder, hot and shaky and whispered between their mouths when Quentin pulls away, when Koby rolls his hips, grinds along the length of his cock. The potential occurs to him -- teasing Quentin like this, seeing how long he can hold back, kneeling over him and kissing him amidst tangled sheets while he's the one to beg. Again, an assumption of a next time that isn't guaranteed. Quentin could be gone in the morning, could disappear right out of existence.
Thinking that, Koby doesn't want to wait any more, doesn't want to waste another instant, leaning in with his hands in Quentin's hair, thighs shivering as he tries to close them, tries to rock his hips just right to get what he's been promised, what Koby reminds Quentin of in an almost-moan:] You p-promised you'd fuck me, so fuck me.