[ He gasps with shock when he's moved again, and holds on tighter to compensate for losing the support of the wall, tugging now in Quentin's hair, scratching at his wet back, hand searching for anywhere to find a stable grip. But he doesn't need it. Quentin's got him, despite how unstable Tim feels, he doesn't waver, he only pushes deeper inside him, seating him so neatly onto his cock that he stops worrying about falling. ]
Inside me, inside.
[ It sounds desperate, like a plea. He wants to feel it, that heat from somebody else, the lingering evidence of the sweetness and the sin of this chance encounter. Nevermind that the bath will wash it all away, it's the principle, or the symbolism, or Tim's own feral, subconscious desire to be marked, tagged, claimed, wanted. He can give Quentin that without being heartbroken if he doesn't reciprocate. It feels safe, and it's hot, and he can't think about it too much deeper than that, his mind swallowed completely with pleasure and teetering there, right on the edge.
It doesn't take much of the touch to send him over, turning him into a babbling mess of yes, please, more, Quentin, he hardly knows how to act when he's not having his mouth covered or filled to keep him quiet. His mouth falls open, slack, against the side of Quentin’s head, releasing a long, indulgent moan when he comes into his hand, or the water around it. Thighs spasm and tense around his hips, Tim's entire body pulling at him, forcing him closer, deeper, warmer. ]
no subject
Inside me, inside.
[ It sounds desperate, like a plea. He wants to feel it, that heat from somebody else, the lingering evidence of the sweetness and the sin of this chance encounter. Nevermind that the bath will wash it all away, it's the principle, or the symbolism, or Tim's own feral, subconscious desire to be marked, tagged, claimed, wanted. He can give Quentin that without being heartbroken if he doesn't reciprocate. It feels safe, and it's hot, and he can't think about it too much deeper than that, his mind swallowed completely with pleasure and teetering there, right on the edge.
It doesn't take much of the touch to send him over, turning him into a babbling mess of yes, please, more, Quentin, he hardly knows how to act when he's not having his mouth covered or filled to keep him quiet. His mouth falls open, slack, against the side of Quentin’s head, releasing a long, indulgent moan when he comes into his hand, or the water around it. Thighs spasm and tense around his hips, Tim's entire body pulling at him, forcing him closer, deeper, warmer. ]