( eichi goes down easy, resting his weight near fully on the tentacle at his back, not really of the mind to support himself. the tentacle in his mouth feels weird in the same way the other tentacle does, and he finds this mouth less comparatively sensitive— but he sort of likes it, the strange salty taste of the sea along his tongue, so foreign and new, and the strange bumps and coiling of the tentacle as he runs his tongue along it, sucks it, doesn't even seem to mind if it tries to go deeper, though it may startle him.
even if he did mind, though, he might not be in any state to protest when, ah, ah— he'd made a soft whine at the back of his throat, involuntary, when the tentacle begins pulling out, tightening around him as if reluctant— and then it's grasped sounds and quickened breaths muffling against his occupied mouth when wataru begins to torment him in a systematic fashion, out of tune with one another and giving him no time to rest between ministrations.
it's like a wire sparking, or a flashfire forest, or something broad and pink and red spreading through his mind and body, and he arches into the sensation, as if offering wataru the whole of his body, his body moving disjointed with the thrusts— as if trying to help him hit spots that feel particularly good, his breathing faster when wataru seems to get close, his fingers balling into wataru's hair and tugging so terribly hard—
ah, he feels like he's close already, but he doesn't know the answer to "close to what?"— his pale body, flushed pink, chest spilling loose from his chemise from how he arches toward wataru, seems warmer and warmer. he wants to tell him to stop, but— ah, no, he wants him to keep going, it'd been weird at first but now he's starting to feel good, all of it is. )
no subject
even if he did mind, though, he might not be in any state to protest when, ah, ah— he'd made a soft whine at the back of his throat, involuntary, when the tentacle begins pulling out, tightening around him as if reluctant— and then it's grasped sounds and quickened breaths muffling against his occupied mouth when wataru begins to torment him in a systematic fashion, out of tune with one another and giving him no time to rest between ministrations.
it's like a wire sparking, or a flashfire forest, or something broad and pink and red spreading through his mind and body, and he arches into the sensation, as if offering wataru the whole of his body, his body moving disjointed with the thrusts— as if trying to help him hit spots that feel particularly good, his breathing faster when wataru seems to get close, his fingers balling into wataru's hair and tugging so terribly hard—
ah, he feels like he's close already, but he doesn't know the answer to "close to what?"— his pale body, flushed pink, chest spilling loose from his chemise from how he arches toward wataru, seems warmer and warmer. he wants to tell him to stop, but— ah, no, he wants him to keep going, it'd been weird at first but now he's starting to feel good, all of it is. )