[ The noise is careless and wanton, Tim's head blissfully empty except for endorphins, sensation, the dull, blunt pain of fingers pressing into smacked-raw flesh. For all the teasing about wailing, Tim's moaning is low and guttural, as if it's being pulled from deep within him, some wild, animal place that he doesn't have access to on his own. ]
Quentin-- I want--
[ He hesitates as he forces his brain back online, and his ass back against Quentin. Wasn't he supposed to be calling the shots? Maybe he is, even listening to Tim's requests, pulling him back from the edge of oblivion until he's deserving of it. His face is just as red as his ass as he squirms, leg spreading and body lowering to rut against the sheets. ]
You know I. [ Swallowing, whimpering with the tingling heat of just his breath against his hole. It clenches, in want of something to squeeze around. Tongue, fingers, anything. ] I want, fuck me, please.
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Quentin-- I want--
[ He hesitates as he forces his brain back online, and his ass back against Quentin. Wasn't he supposed to be calling the shots? Maybe he is, even listening to Tim's requests, pulling him back from the edge of oblivion until he's deserving of it. His face is just as red as his ass as he squirms, leg spreading and body lowering to rut against the sheets. ]
You know I. [ Swallowing, whimpering with the tingling heat of just his breath against his hole. It clenches, in want of something to squeeze around. Tongue, fingers, anything. ] I want, fuck me, please.