[ One of Keita's hands reaches out to land on Getou's thigh, an almost instinctive grasp at something that might steady him—nevermind that Getou is the reason he's so unsteady to begin with. The addition of real flesh-and-bone fingers is an electric addition to the symphony of sensations being coaxed out of Keita's body, warm and firm in contrast to the cool slick of Kemu's tentacles; the attention to his chest makes his breath hitch, arching without thought and opening his body up for more. ]
I suppose I should, nnh, be—pleased to help you try something, ah, new...
[ Getou's fingers trail down the plane of Keita's chest and stomach, muscle shifting with each panting breath. In turn, Keita's hand slips upward, over the firm shape of Getou's thigh to the thick shape of his cock, tracing it through the thin fabric of his sweatpants before slender fingers wrap around its girth. He's far too distracted to do anything with that touch, except to appreciate it—or at the very least, to appreciate it in the moments before Getou's hand curves between his thighs.
The increased pressure draws a low groan from the back of Keita's throat. It's a radiating ache, the stretch of muscle, a fullness Keita has only ever felt once before. Intoxicating in its own way, it leaves him dizzy and full of—of what? Desire? Need? Some nameless hunger that drives him to spread his thighs further and rock up into Getou's touch, seeking more of those driving fingers as they press into the most intimate parts of him. ]
cw for the villainy jumping out + some age gap power dynamics
[ eyes bright and charmed, chin tucked diligently to his chest, he watches small hands move over the front of his sweatpants, gathering the rest of the room his erection hasn't taken up right against him, shape bulging through the fabric. between exploring hands — ha, the audacity — and spreading thighs, Getou watches the man under his probing with smug satisfaction. ]
Exactly. [ be pleased. be grateful. this is where weak men like Mori Keita belong. ] And as for you, Mori-san...
[ he says the honorific like it means nothing, cheap fat to oil the tongue — but what a nice, purring thing it is, warm and rich on those syllables in spite of it all. oh, he has no problem giving him what he wants, his free hand grabbing the smaller man's frame, fingers hooked in him, dragging him across the bedsheets so that he and Kemu are that much closer. ]
[ peeling up an oversized t-shirt, the carve and rip of abs forming lines that rush south with blood. follow the vein, the elastic — his cock springs free right over Keita's mouth, shaft knocking against the underside of his nose, the curve of panting lips, breath hot and titillating. ]
I hope I'm this open to new experiences when I'm your age... [ a roll of his hips drags his cockhead across one cheek and another, messy and aimless but for a hoping glint of pink flesh and tongue he hopes to encourage along he way. ] You're so very lewd.
[ The decision is made so quickly that Keita barely has time to comprehend it before Getou's firm grip is hauling him across the sheets and closer to the edge where Getou himself stands. The shift is dizzying, or maybe that's just Keita trying to maintain his bearings while also being so thoroughly taken apart. At best, he notes that Getou's is a presumptuous, confident touch—something Keita files away to think about later, when he has more functioning neurons and fewer being melted out his ears by tentacles and fingers.
He props himself up on one elbow, watching with interest as Getou strips out of his shirt. The body revealed is one Keita is familiar with if only in memories and photographs, the cut of muscle across his abdomen, the frets of his ribs climbing up his sides. Broad, solid. His gaze traces the sharp lines of iliac crests down, then down again as Getou pushes his sweatpants far enough to free his cock. Now that, photographs did not do justice—nor did Keita's earlier tactile exploration.
But if Keita finds himself surprised, he keeps it from his expression. Head tilted, he lets the slick cockhead drag across his cheek, then brings his free hand up to curl around the base, holding Getou's length steady as he looks up to meet Getou's gaze. Keita's own eyes are so dark they're nearly black, fathomless. ]
It's good to be open to possibilities, [ he says. Ha, ha, a little joke and his own clairvoyance is the punchline. Keita's lips twitch slightly in a smile as he leans in to press them to the side of Getou's length. Lips, a little tongue, a thorough progression from base to tip with Keita's mouth exploring every ridge and vein. When he reaches the tip, he parts his lips to let the head rest against the flat of his tongue, glancing up to Getou again as he does—is this the glimpse he hoped for, the momentary flash of pink before Keita swallows him down?
Or tries, at least. Getou is big, but more importantly thick, and on the first pass Keita chokes—overly ambitious, with only his future-memories of Getou's preferences to rely on but none of the physical experience to back it up. But he's a quick learner, at least, and besides, something tells him Getou won't exactly mind seeing Keita gagging for it a bit. ]
[ like the delicious parting of Keita's mouth, as his own when a pitchy little gasp escapes him, open like a light behind his eyes flickering into life. it's so sensitive, so overwhelming in comparison to a hand — especially his own. where he's all rough calluses and hard work, Keita's tongue is flexible, velvety, sensuous. he can see his chest start to rise and fall with his labored breaths as he looks down — and then feels more than he hears the deep, resonant hum that grits out of him when his dick breaches his lips. ]
[ the view of it is so raw and overwhelming that he can't bare to look at it for too long. presumptuous and confident, certainly... but coexisting with it is a youthful shyness that might be more inexperience and lack of trust. it isn't until the vibrations of that gag that his attention is ripped back in with all the viciousness of a hook through his cheek yanking him out of his own oxygen. he stutters forward, knees locking but his hand hitting the mattress above Keita's head with a low curse. ]
Tch— [ it annoys him, apparently, brows knit and his bangs fall between them, a dark limiting strip. ] You don't need to impress, Mori-San. That's my job.
[ the retaliation is severe. prehensile arms latch coils in every crevice of the man's entire anatomy: tougher places that can take it, belly and thighs and chest, are print-bruised while more delicate matters don't suffer the same fate... but one particularly ornery tentacle squeezes down root and stem, filling the seams between his taint and sack, sack and cock, circling its length until the tip is an abused red. even if he wanted to come, he couldn't possibly now. ]
[ almost in apology, his hot, broad palm pushes Keita's hair off of a fine brow, smoothing it along the top of his head with some inept show of affection. ] Let's be gentle, hm?
[ not that he can respond with his mouth full, or with Getou shifting his hips back and forward oh so gently, or with those two arms undulating and roiling with his penetrated finger. ]
[ Retribution comes immediately. It isn't even really that Keita had been trying to impress—more the combined results of his inexperience and an excess of enthusiasm—but he's granted no reprieve in which to argue his case. Involuntarily, his body arches, shuddering and tensing all over as all the tentacles spanning his skin seem to come alive at once, sucking bruises into skin and tightening around the base of his cock until his length is flushed red and straining. Keita moans, and the sound is muffled by his lips still around Getou's cock, helpless to do anything but take it all.
Gentle, Getou says. Gentle as though he doesn't have Keita stretched wide around his fingers and the tentacles of his curse, as though Keita doesn't feel like a live wire, electric with arousal. He does as he's told nonetheless, his lips tightening once more around the head of Getou's cock and then softening as he pushes his head forward to meet the careful roll of Getou's hips. His tongue moves along the base, tracing the vein he finds there, and then withdraws when Getou does to suck lightly at the head, tongue pressing into the slit at his tip.
For all that Keita is terrifically distracted right now, he still finds that this is... enjoyable. Being pushed to his limits this way—exploring sensations, pressures, pleasures that would never have occurred to him otherwise. And it's arresting enough to ensure that Keita has no headspace left to examine the immediate future and predict what's yet to come—he's too wholly focused on this, spreading his thighs a little further, bringing his free hand up so he can cup Getou's balls and roll them gently in his palm. ]
[ better. slower. entirely to spare his own pride at a quick finish, the need to drag out Keita's own — to prove something to himself, or someone. if he's a good lover, does it matter that he's twisted and broken inside? if he can fuck someone senseless, will they lose all common goodness and look past the complicated, ugly, arrogant hypocrite that he is? there's no having who he wants, there's no letting himself have who he wants, so why not take anyone? a weak, powerless plaything sucking his cock and bottomed out on his fingers is better than nothing and no one. better than the fate the not-so-distant future has in store for him, that Keita will be one of the few people who get to touch him before he gives up just to see how far he can go, eyeballs dried out to granite that only keeps watching. ]
[ that delicate hand, used to delicate work, gripping him so lewdly as the sucking of his mouth peppers the air with the same wet slosh of sliding tentacles. Getou's groan is low, head rocking back, the pet at his bangs becoming more feverish. he's hot, hard, heavy against his mouth, pulsing and vein-throbbed; weak-kneed enough that one joins the bed and sinks, loose sweatpants draped over the edge, finding more purchase to rock across his mouth ever more demanding. ]
There you go, that's it... [ low, growled praise from a man who's little more than a shadow in the dark, low room. obedience comes with the gift of release, tentacles dialing back on their pressure, revealing the dark pop of ringed hickeys all over. Getou laughs at the sight of them — and maybe at the sight of Keita enjoying them. ]
Should I let you come? Should I come? [ he lets the spirit guide him right up to Keita's prostate, but stops just shy: a promise or maybe a threat. ] Should we try to come at the same time like real lovers, Mori-San?
What do you think...? [ not that he's giving him a chance to speak, working his spit-slicked cock across the seam of his lips with his own vigor — but Keita's a creative man, he'll let him know. ]
[ There's no way for Keita to answer aloud, except to pull away from Getou's cock entirely and regain control of his own mouth—and they both know he's not about to do that. He's enjoying himself too much, enjoying being pushed past his limits, being put to use however Getou desires him. Or, no—desire isn't really the word here, for the way that Getou feels about Keita, but there is certainly a mutual benefit in their appreciation of each other's bodies, such that it is. The machinery of their physical forms, relearning what it is that a body can do in proximity to another body. Keita's fingers tighten around Getou's balls, feels them draw up slightly, a physical tell of pleasure even when Getou wouldn't betray himself otherwise—satisfying.
He answers the question the best way he can: by pushing himself slowly down onto Getou's cock again, all the way this time until the thick head of it stretches an ache into Keita's jaw, and then swallowing with singleminded purpose so that the muscles of his mouth and throat work in tandem in a slow ripple around his length. The pressure of Getou's fingers, flesh-and-blood, that close to Keita's prostate is tantalizing and terrible, but Keita is nothing if not determined.
Keita wants to come, of course. He wants Getou to make him come, and he wants to make Getou come in turn, to swallow his spend and know that he's taken his pleasure in Getou's body as thoroughly as Getou is taking his pleasure in Keita's. All things in balance, although Keita won't deny that the physical balance is weighted toward the man looming above him, his presence larger than life. ]
[ an answer in closeness rather than separation feels that much better — how Keita tightens down, making his balls throb and flinch up against himself, the pleasure in his thighs weakening knees and curling toes. for all that he's a duplicitous mastermind with age and experience, right now he's a young man blissed out in the warm cavern of another mouth, selfishly chasing his own peak regardless of tiring jaws and depreciating comfort. Getou's got his hips angled now, pumping into the sleeve of Keita's open mouth and throat with a watchful bird's eye. he relishes watching his lips hollow and fill; even more, the bulging girth of himself moving over the seam of his throat, a thing of pure determination. ]
[ successful, at least. those smooth thrusts of help go all awry, sensitivity catching on a hiss as he trembles and jerks into that relentless warmth — ]
[ and simultaneously, he's got the order issued to Kemu, who takes over the deliciously delicate work of kneading Keita's prostate as Getou loses concentration in the thralls of his own pleasure. his kinness with the diamonds suit makes the ordeal smoother in a way he is neither aware of nor capable of explaining, a kinetic physical synergy that brings each undulation across them in one smooth feedback loop: Getou, trembling, pushes deep; that prehensile arm surges and fills; Keita weathers the receding tide until the surge breaks and he's being spilled into at both ends. ]
[ one long, low moan and grind forward had pushed him into the spill, root and stem all a-throb as cum ropes across the back of his throat, muscle pulsing and fluttering all up from his core to the back of his neck. ]
Fuckfuck, hah... [ whispered praise, more keen to weather that little bit of post-orgasm overstimulation than he is to pull out right away, ] You better give it back to me clean... Anything less would be impolite.
[ By now it's less conscious action that's keeping Keita's mouth moving than it is some sort of instinct, an unconscious matching of Getou's rhythms that has Keita's throat working even as he's caught up completely in the pleasure of being so thoroughly filled. That it's Kemu's tentacles that put the finishing touches on Keita's pleasure is no disappointment at all; Keita spreads his thighs, bracing his heels on the mattress so he can both rock into the silken movements of those sinuous arms and brace himself against the forward momentum of Getou's increasingly ragged thrusting.
It's only because Keita is playing with Getou's balls at the moment it happens that he's aware the other man is about to come. Even so, it registers so distantly that it's instinct, too, that allows him to swallow—his throat works urgently, no gag reflex to speak of but only a certain amount of room, contending against the volume of Getou's cum landing hot and salty in the back of his mouth. He doesn't let any spill, although it's a close thing for a moment there—even as Kemu's incessant attention against Keita's prostate winds him up like a spring pulled taut, Keita puts effort into ensuring that he's swallowed everything Getou has to give him and then some.
With so much of his focus dedicated to the task at hand, Keita's own orgasm takes him by surprise. One moment, he's licking almost teasingly along the shaft of Getou's cock, aware of his growing sensitivity but not willing to stop until Getou pulls away from him; the next, Keita's back is arching up off the mattress as he shudders and comes all over himself, his hips thrusting aimlessly as he fucks himself on Kemu's tentacles, spilling wetly all over his stomach and up to his chest, his moan muffled.
It's a shockingly satisfying orgasm, and one that goes on much longer than Keita expects it to. Well after he thinks the surge of pleasure should have faded into aftershocks, Keita finds himself twitching, goosebumps rising on his skin as even the slightest movements of Kemu's tentacles force another jolt of pleasure through his hypersensitive nerves. ]
[ a gift to know that whoever once told him men usually have more than one talent was outstandingly correct in the instance of Keita Mori; it's almost a shame his gap in experience leaves him so poorly equipped to appreciate the blow job given to him by the very man, how he can take down even his size and leave not a drop unswallowed is now his spoiled expectation. he keeps sucking and though ignorant, he's not stupid; he'll keep his cock in that hell of wet heat and overstimulation until his nipples are cut diamonds and the veins in his hips and neck are starting to pop out, because god if it doesn't feel good just having a mouth on him, especially this gentle suckling that companions the throbbing spasms of his after glow. ]
[ intensity going up as his orgasm crashes near, he's eventually rearing himself out of that tongue with a slick dribble of spit, content to pet his hair as his body's wrung out on Kemu's tactile expertise. the tidal wave of pleasure that arches through him, the instinctual bid to chase the sensation that lights up his nerves, even the out-of-his-control loose expression of his face during climax — does something to Getou he can't quite explain, might be only in a language of chemicals. ]
[ a blink and Keita's suddenly much more empty. the octopus is gone, leaving behind evidence only in the myriad of sucker-bruises left on his skin, his well-stretched hole, the additional heavy load of semen now oozing out of him without the cephalopod keeping him plugged up — and Getou does something he didn't think he would. ]
[ he leans down and pulls one short, quick kiss from Keita's swollen mouth while he's still hazy with that post-orgasm afterglow. without explanation, he fists up an end of a blanket and dries his spit-slick dick off. ]
If you ever return home, you'll have to tell Hokusai what you've learned.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I suppose I should, nnh, be—pleased to help you try something, ah, new...
[ Getou's fingers trail down the plane of Keita's chest and stomach, muscle shifting with each panting breath. In turn, Keita's hand slips upward, over the firm shape of Getou's thigh to the thick shape of his cock, tracing it through the thin fabric of his sweatpants before slender fingers wrap around its girth. He's far too distracted to do anything with that touch, except to appreciate it—or at the very least, to appreciate it in the moments before Getou's hand curves between his thighs.
The increased pressure draws a low groan from the back of Keita's throat. It's a radiating ache, the stretch of muscle, a fullness Keita has only ever felt once before. Intoxicating in its own way, it leaves him dizzy and full of—of what? Desire? Need? Some nameless hunger that drives him to spread his thighs further and rock up into Getou's touch, seeking more of those driving fingers as they press into the most intimate parts of him. ]
cw for the villainy jumping out + some age gap power dynamics
Exactly. [ be pleased. be grateful. this is where weak men like Mori Keita belong. ] And as for you, Mori-san...
[ he says the honorific like it means nothing, cheap fat to oil the tongue — but what a nice, purring thing it is, warm and rich on those syllables in spite of it all. oh, he has no problem giving him what he wants, his free hand grabbing the smaller man's frame, fingers hooked in him, dragging him across the bedsheets so that he and Kemu are that much closer. ]
[ peeling up an oversized t-shirt, the carve and rip of abs forming lines that rush south with blood. follow the vein, the elastic — his cock springs free right over Keita's mouth, shaft knocking against the underside of his nose, the curve of panting lips, breath hot and titillating. ]
I hope I'm this open to new experiences when I'm your age... [ a roll of his hips drags his cockhead across one cheek and another, messy and aimless but for a hoping glint of pink flesh and tongue he hopes to encourage along he way. ] You're so very lewd.
no subject
He props himself up on one elbow, watching with interest as Getou strips out of his shirt. The body revealed is one Keita is familiar with if only in memories and photographs, the cut of muscle across his abdomen, the frets of his ribs climbing up his sides. Broad, solid. His gaze traces the sharp lines of iliac crests down, then down again as Getou pushes his sweatpants far enough to free his cock. Now that, photographs did not do justice—nor did Keita's earlier tactile exploration.
But if Keita finds himself surprised, he keeps it from his expression. Head tilted, he lets the slick cockhead drag across his cheek, then brings his free hand up to curl around the base, holding Getou's length steady as he looks up to meet Getou's gaze. Keita's own eyes are so dark they're nearly black, fathomless. ]
It's good to be open to possibilities, [ he says. Ha, ha, a little joke and his own clairvoyance is the punchline. Keita's lips twitch slightly in a smile as he leans in to press them to the side of Getou's length. Lips, a little tongue, a thorough progression from base to tip with Keita's mouth exploring every ridge and vein. When he reaches the tip, he parts his lips to let the head rest against the flat of his tongue, glancing up to Getou again as he does—is this the glimpse he hoped for, the momentary flash of pink before Keita swallows him down?
Or tries, at least. Getou is big, but more importantly thick, and on the first pass Keita chokes—overly ambitious, with only his future-memories of Getou's preferences to rely on but none of the physical experience to back it up. But he's a quick learner, at least, and besides, something tells him Getou won't exactly mind seeing Keita gagging for it a bit. ]
no subject
[ like the delicious parting of Keita's mouth, as his own when a pitchy little gasp escapes him, open like a light behind his eyes flickering into life. it's so sensitive, so overwhelming in comparison to a hand — especially his own. where he's all rough calluses and hard work, Keita's tongue is flexible, velvety, sensuous. he can see his chest start to rise and fall with his labored breaths as he looks down — and then feels more than he hears the deep, resonant hum that grits out of him when his dick breaches his lips. ]
[ the view of it is so raw and overwhelming that he can't bare to look at it for too long. presumptuous and confident, certainly... but coexisting with it is a youthful shyness that might be more inexperience and lack of trust. it isn't until the vibrations of that gag that his attention is ripped back in with all the viciousness of a hook through his cheek yanking him out of his own oxygen. he stutters forward, knees locking but his hand hitting the mattress above Keita's head with a low curse. ]
Tch— [ it annoys him, apparently, brows knit and his bangs fall between them, a dark limiting strip. ] You don't need to impress, Mori-San. That's my job.
[ the retaliation is severe. prehensile arms latch coils in every crevice of the man's entire anatomy: tougher places that can take it, belly and thighs and chest, are print-bruised while more delicate matters don't suffer the same fate... but one particularly ornery tentacle squeezes down root and stem, filling the seams between his taint and sack, sack and cock, circling its length until the tip is an abused red. even if he wanted to come, he couldn't possibly now. ]
[ almost in apology, his hot, broad palm pushes Keita's hair off of a fine brow, smoothing it along the top of his head with some inept show of affection. ] Let's be gentle, hm?
[ not that he can respond with his mouth full, or with Getou shifting his hips back and forward oh so gently, or with those two arms undulating and roiling with his penetrated finger. ]
no subject
Gentle, Getou says. Gentle as though he doesn't have Keita stretched wide around his fingers and the tentacles of his curse, as though Keita doesn't feel like a live wire, electric with arousal. He does as he's told nonetheless, his lips tightening once more around the head of Getou's cock and then softening as he pushes his head forward to meet the careful roll of Getou's hips. His tongue moves along the base, tracing the vein he finds there, and then withdraws when Getou does to suck lightly at the head, tongue pressing into the slit at his tip.
For all that Keita is terrifically distracted right now, he still finds that this is... enjoyable. Being pushed to his limits this way—exploring sensations, pressures, pleasures that would never have occurred to him otherwise. And it's arresting enough to ensure that Keita has no headspace left to examine the immediate future and predict what's yet to come—he's too wholly focused on this, spreading his thighs a little further, bringing his free hand up so he can cup Getou's balls and roll them gently in his palm. ]
no subject
[ that delicate hand, used to delicate work, gripping him so lewdly as the sucking of his mouth peppers the air with the same wet slosh of sliding tentacles. Getou's groan is low, head rocking back, the pet at his bangs becoming more feverish. he's hot, hard, heavy against his mouth, pulsing and vein-throbbed; weak-kneed enough that one joins the bed and sinks, loose sweatpants draped over the edge, finding more purchase to rock across his mouth ever more demanding. ]
There you go, that's it... [ low, growled praise from a man who's little more than a shadow in the dark, low room. obedience comes with the gift of release, tentacles dialing back on their pressure, revealing the dark pop of ringed hickeys all over. Getou laughs at the sight of them — and maybe at the sight of Keita enjoying them. ]
Should I let you come? Should I come? [ he lets the spirit guide him right up to Keita's prostate, but stops just shy: a promise or maybe a threat. ] Should we try to come at the same time like real lovers, Mori-San?
What do you think...? [ not that he's giving him a chance to speak, working his spit-slicked cock across the seam of his lips with his own vigor — but Keita's a creative man, he'll let him know. ]
no subject
He answers the question the best way he can: by pushing himself slowly down onto Getou's cock again, all the way this time until the thick head of it stretches an ache into Keita's jaw, and then swallowing with singleminded purpose so that the muscles of his mouth and throat work in tandem in a slow ripple around his length. The pressure of Getou's fingers, flesh-and-blood, that close to Keita's prostate is tantalizing and terrible, but Keita is nothing if not determined.
Keita wants to come, of course. He wants Getou to make him come, and he wants to make Getou come in turn, to swallow his spend and know that he's taken his pleasure in Getou's body as thoroughly as Getou is taking his pleasure in Keita's. All things in balance, although Keita won't deny that the physical balance is weighted toward the man looming above him, his presence larger than life. ]
no subject
[ successful, at least. those smooth thrusts of help go all awry, sensitivity catching on a hiss as he trembles and jerks into that relentless warmth — ]
[ and simultaneously, he's got the order issued to Kemu, who takes over the deliciously delicate work of kneading Keita's prostate as Getou loses concentration in the thralls of his own pleasure. his kinness with the diamonds suit makes the ordeal smoother in a way he is neither aware of nor capable of explaining, a kinetic physical synergy that brings each undulation across them in one smooth feedback loop: Getou, trembling, pushes deep; that prehensile arm surges and fills; Keita weathers the receding tide until the surge breaks and he's being spilled into at both ends. ]
[ one long, low moan and grind forward had pushed him into the spill, root and stem all a-throb as cum ropes across the back of his throat, muscle pulsing and fluttering all up from his core to the back of his neck. ]
Fuckfuck, hah... [ whispered praise, more keen to weather that little bit of post-orgasm overstimulation than he is to pull out right away, ] You better give it back to me clean... Anything less would be impolite.
no subject
It's only because Keita is playing with Getou's balls at the moment it happens that he's aware the other man is about to come. Even so, it registers so distantly that it's instinct, too, that allows him to swallow—his throat works urgently, no gag reflex to speak of but only a certain amount of room, contending against the volume of Getou's cum landing hot and salty in the back of his mouth. He doesn't let any spill, although it's a close thing for a moment there—even as Kemu's incessant attention against Keita's prostate winds him up like a spring pulled taut, Keita puts effort into ensuring that he's swallowed everything Getou has to give him and then some.
With so much of his focus dedicated to the task at hand, Keita's own orgasm takes him by surprise. One moment, he's licking almost teasingly along the shaft of Getou's cock, aware of his growing sensitivity but not willing to stop until Getou pulls away from him; the next, Keita's back is arching up off the mattress as he shudders and comes all over himself, his hips thrusting aimlessly as he fucks himself on Kemu's tentacles, spilling wetly all over his stomach and up to his chest, his moan muffled.
It's a shockingly satisfying orgasm, and one that goes on much longer than Keita expects it to. Well after he thinks the surge of pleasure should have faded into aftershocks, Keita finds himself twitching, goosebumps rising on his skin as even the slightest movements of Kemu's tentacles force another jolt of pleasure through his hypersensitive nerves. ]
no subject
[ intensity going up as his orgasm crashes near, he's eventually rearing himself out of that tongue with a slick dribble of spit, content to pet his hair as his body's wrung out on Kemu's tactile expertise. the tidal wave of pleasure that arches through him, the instinctual bid to chase the sensation that lights up his nerves, even the out-of-his-control loose expression of his face during climax — does something to Getou he can't quite explain, might be only in a language of chemicals. ]
[ a blink and Keita's suddenly much more empty. the octopus is gone, leaving behind evidence only in the myriad of sucker-bruises left on his skin, his well-stretched hole, the additional heavy load of semen now oozing out of him without the cephalopod keeping him plugged up — and Getou does something he didn't think he would. ]
[ he leans down and pulls one short, quick kiss from Keita's swollen mouth while he's still hazy with that post-orgasm afterglow. without explanation, he fists up an end of a blanket and dries his spit-slick dick off. ]
If you ever return home, you'll have to tell Hokusai what you've learned.