[ The verbal confirmation is hardly necessary, with the way he whimpers with every slow roll of Quentin's hips, driving his cock into him deep and divine, right into that spot that makes him forget himself completely. It turns his breath into massive, gulping gasps, chasing the air to breathe with as much effort as he chases his pleasure, lowering himself down to sit on his cock and squeezing him, pulling him closer with all four limbs.
The vast majority of the sex Tim has had in his life has been with one man, so he lacks Quentin's wealth of experience, but in this moment, he's grateful for it. He's good, good enough to make Tim forget to feel guilty, forget to feel ashamed of his behavior, forget everything weighing on him and only think of this, slick skin, wet curls wrapped around his fingers, and the blissful feeling of being stretched and full, pressed so urgently against the wall that it might bruise. Some deep, sick part of him hopes that it does, so he can press his fingertips into it and remember this in the morning. ]
Uh-huh, [ Just as Quentin hits that spot that makes him moan oh so sweetly. Tim rolls his hips into it, the tip of his own cock dragging wetly over the other's stomach, leaving a sticky smear of pre in its wake. ] Faster. Harder. More.
[ Reduced to single-word sentences, in his dizzying haze of lust. ]
no subject
[ The verbal confirmation is hardly necessary, with the way he whimpers with every slow roll of Quentin's hips, driving his cock into him deep and divine, right into that spot that makes him forget himself completely. It turns his breath into massive, gulping gasps, chasing the air to breathe with as much effort as he chases his pleasure, lowering himself down to sit on his cock and squeezing him, pulling him closer with all four limbs.
The vast majority of the sex Tim has had in his life has been with one man, so he lacks Quentin's wealth of experience, but in this moment, he's grateful for it. He's good, good enough to make Tim forget to feel guilty, forget to feel ashamed of his behavior, forget everything weighing on him and only think of this, slick skin, wet curls wrapped around his fingers, and the blissful feeling of being stretched and full, pressed so urgently against the wall that it might bruise. Some deep, sick part of him hopes that it does, so he can press his fingertips into it and remember this in the morning. ]
Uh-huh, [ Just as Quentin hits that spot that makes him moan oh so sweetly. Tim rolls his hips into it, the tip of his own cock dragging wetly over the other's stomach, leaving a sticky smear of pre in its wake. ] Faster. Harder. More.
[ Reduced to single-word sentences, in his dizzying haze of lust. ]