[ Skin hunger is a thing, he's been told. It's never felt more like hunger than it does right now, seeing the flush of Washington's face and imagining how warm it would feel, whether or not he could taste the salt of his sweat on it. His mind seems to want to spiral down that path and he finds himself groaning softly, almost under his breath, before tipping his head back hard enough to smack against the tree behind him.
Slow. Have to go slow, because that gun is still pressing against his skin, cool metal slowly warming. Part of him wants to press his face to the barrel, to the cool metal further up just for some sort of relief from this incessant heat.
Instead, he continues to work himself over, dragging his finger tips until the suit is stretched taut, and the outline of that hard cock couldn't be more clear. Then a squeeze, a slow slide downward as he swallows, too aware of how his mouth is starting to water.
He needs. Something. It's undefined and indefinite and it's starting to drive him mad. ]
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Slow. Have to go slow, because that gun is still pressing against his skin, cool metal slowly warming. Part of him wants to press his face to the barrel, to the cool metal further up just for some sort of relief from this incessant heat.
Instead, he continues to work himself over, dragging his finger tips until the suit is stretched taut, and the outline of that hard cock couldn't be more clear. Then a squeeze, a slow slide downward as he swallows, too aware of how his mouth is starting to water.
He needs. Something. It's undefined and indefinite and it's starting to drive him mad. ]