( it feels strangely satisfying and good to be—what had wataru called it?—filled like this, feeling better the deeper wataru goes—pushes, after a certain point, because either end of him only goes so deep until wataru reaches a point where things aren't meant to go further. but, like eichi's body, his insides have a little give, and wataru can push past that point to a point of discomfort, where he feels a natural sense that wataru's going too deep in—and yet he remains wet and erect, faint sounds muffled deep in his throat, the stimulation ceaseless despite how wataru stretches him cruelly.
or, ah,
maybe that wasn't really the cruel part in comparison to this.
eichi's body has a soft texture of meat, easy to tear through and almost custard-like when thoroughly chewed. the pain registers with some delay through the haze of pleasure coursing through him that's left him defenseless and relaxed, but when he does feel it— ah, his voice is pained and shar, his eyes widen in panic, his halo spins the same, and his wings fan out quickly, beating in fearful confusion as if to escape him away from the threat. the beating is, despite their uneven boning, enough to create a deceent gust, but not enough to move them or break them loose— but it's the instinct of his wings as much as it is wataru's tenteacles' to explore, and so he beats futilely.
he should push— push wataru away, too, but he— mmh, ah, ah, ah, it twists in his body and head the feelings of pain and pleasure with every thrust. his vision blurs with tears from this apparent betrayal, but it's not a betrayal strong enough to beat his heated face; the desperate need to keep wataru near—having been so lonely so long—at odds with with the instinctive need to survive. he does push at wataru, at his chest, but he does it weakly with little force or effect, his arms and body trembling, rendered weak from fear and pain, and from how wataru's tentacles refuse to relent. )
no subject
or, ah,
maybe that wasn't really the cruel part in comparison to this.
eichi's body has a soft texture of meat, easy to tear through and almost custard-like when thoroughly chewed. the pain registers with some delay through the haze of pleasure coursing through him that's left him defenseless and relaxed, but when he does feel it— ah, his voice is pained and shar, his eyes widen in panic, his halo spins the same, and his wings fan out quickly, beating in fearful confusion as if to escape him away from the threat. the beating is, despite their uneven boning, enough to create a deceent gust, but not enough to move them or break them loose— but it's the instinct of his wings as much as it is wataru's tenteacles' to explore, and so he beats futilely.
he should push— push wataru away, too, but he— mmh, ah, ah, ah, it twists in his body and head the feelings of pain and pleasure with every thrust. his vision blurs with tears from this apparent betrayal, but it's not a betrayal strong enough to beat his heated face; the desperate need to keep wataru near—having been so lonely so long—at odds with with the instinctive need to survive. he does push at wataru, at his chest, but he does it weakly with little force or effect, his arms and body trembling, rendered weak from fear and pain, and from how wataru's tentacles refuse to relent. )