[he thinks: she's warm, alive, under his touch. the last heartbeat that he'd felt, truly felt, through his fingers had weakened until it'd stopped, until the skin over it had turned cold — and there hadn't been anything he could do to keep that from happening. does he have a right to let his fingers touch anything else that's living, because of what happens afterward? in one second, the thought almost hardens in his throat.
in the next, he doesn't have any thoughts at all.
because he doesn't have to.
she's warm, alive, under his touch, and he can follow that, like the pull of a magnet, as she tugs him closer. he can keep kissing, keep tasting, her. and —
he pushes his pants down after the fastenings are undone, and doesn't suppress the relief he sighs into the kiss when his hardened cock no longer has anything to strain against. when she finishes the work on her own, he shifts, pressing up against her hip; in that is a silent question, which, even if the tension in his body is a ticking time bomb, he waits for the answer to.]
no subject
in the next, he doesn't have any thoughts at all.
because he doesn't have to.
she's warm, alive, under his touch, and he can follow that, like the pull of a magnet, as she tugs him closer. he can keep kissing, keep tasting, her. and —
he pushes his pants down after the fastenings are undone, and doesn't suppress the relief he sighs into the kiss when his hardened cock no longer has anything to strain against. when she finishes the work on her own, he shifts, pressing up against her hip; in that is a silent question, which, even if the tension in his body is a ticking time bomb, he waits for the answer to.]