a pained sound escapes his lips as he yanks a little harder at wataru's hair, it being no less painful the second time around, his wings flaring, splashing the water, tips spread out. but, mm, a lot better when he's been worked up to it, his arousal only stuttered for a moment before he feels a heat at the pit of his belly, somewhere between his legs and where the tentacles press into him, and his body trembles faintly from the mix of sensation. )
... Mmm... ( he swallows hard, faint taste of blood growing faint in his throat. ) Is it good...? Papa?
( he knows wataru said he didn't have a particular taste, which was still disappointing, so he doesn't ask if he tastes good; only if it is good, to eat him again.
like a soft mousse bitten into, the edges of the wound seem to slick and drip softly, as if it's sense of shape. past tense, though; he doesn't seem in danger of coming undone actively, even if he seems gushy and half-formed on the inside, as if his skin were only firm enough to be a container. the blood mixes freely with the facsimile of muscle and structure.
and, if anything, it all seems very warm; warmer than last time, but a nice kind of warm . . . like a hot lava cake, perhaps. )
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a pained sound escapes his lips as he yanks a little harder at wataru's hair, it being no less painful the second time around, his wings flaring, splashing the water, tips spread out. but, mm, a lot better when he's been worked up to it, his arousal only stuttered for a moment before he feels a heat at the pit of his belly, somewhere between his legs and where the tentacles press into him, and his body trembles faintly from the mix of sensation. )
... Mmm... ( he swallows hard, faint taste of blood growing faint in his throat. ) Is it good...? Papa?
( he knows wataru said he didn't have a particular taste, which was still disappointing, so he doesn't ask if he tastes good; only if it is good, to eat him again.
like a soft mousse bitten into, the edges of the wound seem to slick and drip softly, as if it's sense of shape. past tense, though; he doesn't seem in danger of coming undone actively, even if he seems gushy and half-formed on the inside, as if his skin were only firm enough to be a container. the blood mixes freely with the facsimile of muscle and structure.
and, if anything, it all seems very warm; warmer than last time, but a nice kind of warm . . . like a hot lava cake, perhaps. )