[ now that he’s anticipating them, each ridge that widens his lips and slips inside is met with a fascinated swipe of his tongue. he’s wanting again, in his effort to create a picture in his mind of the shape of those curves and lines. the cock is weighty and solid, and shiro can feel that, yes, but he wants more than this imagined thing in his head. he can’t pull off for a look though. not after what just happened. so he contents himself with the stretch of his lips and the full feeling that grows and grows as the number of ridges increases. he counts them off in his head. one, two, three, four, five…
the edge of the cockhead grazes his soft palate. reflex has shiro tensing, all the way down to his belly. it’s been awhile since he’s taken dick and never quite like this, obviously, so he’s struck then, with a feeling that reads foreign. he hates that. he hates that he’s been out of the game so long that he’s rusty. blame his competitive nature, but he wants this to be good. he wants to be good. shiro’s been denying it the whole time he’s been here, but anonymous left an impression on him for his cocksucking skills and shiro sure as hell wants to leave one on him too.
a groan comes through the door and – fuck, it sounds good. shiro moans in answer, hoping anonymous not only likes the sound of it, but the feel of it too. between the sound of him, the taste of him, and the filthy knowledge of what it is they’re doing here, shiro’s hard. he’s trying to figure out what to do with that. the promise of his own blow hangs between them and all he has to do is be patient. fuck patience. he comes back with that rebuttal without much pause at all and gets to work on pulling his pants and underwear down, shifting the spread of his legs as he needs to in order to hook the waistband below his balls. it’s odd using his right hand for this. he never touches himself with it, but he’s barely thinking and the metal keeps the glide smooth as he begins stroking himself off. it feels good to use his galra hand… he’ll deal with that realization later.
saliva pools in his mouth as another ridge nudges inside and now, shiro’s resisting the urge to swallow, the tip tickling his uvula and promising to slip further. those hips stop feeding though. is that the last of it? shiro’s nose is once again pressed close to the door and his eyes slipped shut somewhere around ridge three, so he doesn’t know. he can’t tell. one second burns off, then a second, and shiro curls his fingers against the door, slowly cracking open his eyes. no more…?
a third second ticks by and turns out, shiro should have been preparing himself, rather than wondering. the door rattles dangerously from the combination of those hips slamming forward and from shiro’s reflexive drag of his fingernails. the surprised inhale he gulps helps widen his throat, but it backfires as the smooth, inner muscles tickle and jerk in response to something being forced down it. he gags like a fucking virgin. metal fingers squeeze at his own cock, everything pausing except for the contractions of his throat. his heart is palpitating and he can hear it more than anything else as it fills his head. he coughs and sputters spit, but that’s it, that’s the most violent part of it, because he outright refuses to fail at this.
he shoves his face as close as it can be to the door, making a garbled, muffled noise into the balsa wood. he wants this. keep going, please. the convulsing of his throat is relaxing as muscle memory finally catches up. impatient, he dares a swallow, coaxing his throat to move more smoothly along his cock. as for his own, he’ll start beating it in his fist, hoping that dribble of pre that catches in between metal fingers squelches with the friction. he wants anonymous to know he’s getting off on this, even with his lungs burning and his throat trembling. ]
us and our novels, man
the edge of the cockhead grazes his soft palate. reflex has shiro tensing, all the way down to his belly. it’s been awhile since he’s taken dick and never quite like this, obviously, so he’s struck then, with a feeling that reads foreign. he hates that. he hates that he’s been out of the game so long that he’s rusty. blame his competitive nature, but he wants this to be good. he wants to be good. shiro’s been denying it the whole time he’s been here, but anonymous left an impression on him for his cocksucking skills and shiro sure as hell wants to leave one on him too.
a groan comes through the door and – fuck, it sounds good. shiro moans in answer, hoping anonymous not only likes the sound of it, but the feel of it too. between the sound of him, the taste of him, and the filthy knowledge of what it is they’re doing here, shiro’s hard. he’s trying to figure out what to do with that. the promise of his own blow hangs between them and all he has to do is be patient. fuck patience. he comes back with that rebuttal without much pause at all and gets to work on pulling his pants and underwear down, shifting the spread of his legs as he needs to in order to hook the waistband below his balls. it’s odd using his right hand for this. he never touches himself with it, but he’s barely thinking and the metal keeps the glide smooth as he begins stroking himself off. it feels good to use his galra hand… he’ll deal with that realization later.
saliva pools in his mouth as another ridge nudges inside and now, shiro’s resisting the urge to swallow, the tip tickling his uvula and promising to slip further. those hips stop feeding though. is that the last of it? shiro’s nose is once again pressed close to the door and his eyes slipped shut somewhere around ridge three, so he doesn’t know. he can’t tell. one second burns off, then a second, and shiro curls his fingers against the door, slowly cracking open his eyes. no more…?
a third second ticks by and turns out, shiro should have been preparing himself, rather than wondering. the door rattles dangerously from the combination of those hips slamming forward and from shiro’s reflexive drag of his fingernails. the surprised inhale he gulps helps widen his throat, but it backfires as the smooth, inner muscles tickle and jerk in response to something being forced down it. he gags like a fucking virgin. metal fingers squeeze at his own cock, everything pausing except for the contractions of his throat. his heart is palpitating and he can hear it more than anything else as it fills his head. he coughs and sputters spit, but that’s it, that’s the most violent part of it, because he outright refuses to fail at this.
he shoves his face as close as it can be to the door, making a garbled, muffled noise into the balsa wood. he wants this. keep going, please. the convulsing of his throat is relaxing as muscle memory finally catches up. impatient, he dares a swallow, coaxing his throat to move more smoothly along his cock. as for his own, he’ll start beating it in his fist, hoping that dribble of pre that catches in between metal fingers squelches with the friction. he wants anonymous to know he’s getting off on this, even with his lungs burning and his throat trembling. ]