[ He swears there are stars in his eyes when his head slams back, jaw going slack as wash presses them together, skin to oversensitive skin, and it's the best thing in the world. It feels better than absolution, the drag of warm, velvety skin, damp where Locus has begun leaking precome since some time ago, and he digs his heels in. He pushes up into that hold, encourages it.
He needs this more than air to breathe. He needs-- ]
Don't stop.
[ It's growled out, even if he's not looking at him, even if his teeth are gritted and he's simply rutting against that delicious friction as urgently as he's able to. ]
oh, wash has got it in there somewhere i'm sure
He needs this more than air to breathe. He needs-- ]
Don't stop.
[ It's growled out, even if he's not looking at him, even if his teeth are gritted and he's simply rutting against that delicious friction as urgently as he's able to. ]