ROKUROU ᴍᴀʟᴇᴠᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴄᴋ RANGETSU (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
swordhardy) wrote2021-03-18 09:35 pm
swordhardy) wrote2021-03-18 09:35 pmEntry tags:
NOCT OVERFLOW
OVERFLOW & EVENTS
swordhardy) wrote2021-03-18 09:35 pm
ᴍᴀʏ 2021
ᴍɢs, ᴍᴀʏ 16: "get ready for action, don't be astounded"
The tally marks span four winding rows. Littered with smudged mistakes, scratched out confusion when everything changes again, adjustments for blank space and black static. Far from perfect but he's pretty sure he's close whenever the weather changes and those marks work up into patchwork haybales.
Nothing about their relationship is typical. Comfortably unnamed, softened by words unspoken but resolutely known, with a preference for keeping what's vulnerable furiously obscured. Commitment is elusive in the traditional way; despite Rokurou's keen hunger for it, self-awareness is a sharp prick. Real commitment to another person doesn't suit him even if they weren't constantly tugged by the threads of their past, never the right place or time or circumstances to live it. A daemon is a daemon in the end—he'll live and die by the sword, ending whatever this is through his own selfish need to find the next high of someone strong enough to drive a blade through his chest. He's also keenly aware of how human Guanshan is, having more heart to give than anyone he's ever known. Too much. A daemon isn't a proper recipient for something so good—to this day, he's deeply confounded by the young man's consistency—so he's never thought to ask for Guanshan's physical or emotional restraint regarding anyone else.
That diligence in tracking that day is one of the way he quietly upholds his own sort of commitment. A purposeful tie that he does for no one else, least of all himself (who cares? no one cares less about Rokurou than Rokurou). When what may have been sacred in another lifetime are constantly on offer to other people it's the small and seemingly insignificant gestures that he dedicates to. There are many things he can't (or won't, still so selfish and hating to give up too much control even after all this time) give Guanshan. Too many. This, at least, he can do for the person who's stubbornly managed to leave an hand's imprint on an otherwise blank sheet of snow.
Creeping into Guanshan's bedroom on the morning of his birthday, so early that it still feels like night, isn't unusual—he's long since established himself as a wraith that comes and goes depending on his moods. Longer absences when he's wistful and reflective. Shorter when he's manic, digging for his newest adrenaline rush, sleepless creature making its rounds. The bagged gift gets left on the night table, given to the wayside for now, but clearly not a blade this year despite his struggle to figure out what else would make a good gift (I'm not even fucking sorry).
The bed doesn't even creak when he slides into it, taking in the angled sprawl of the younger man. Is it 21? Another thing Rokurou counts when it comes to Guanshan and not himself. He lost his humanity when he was 19; the change halted everything, leaving him frozen over with death despite how a hot breath tickles over that column of pale freckled throat.
Chapped lips ghost along the sharp cut of Guanshan's jaw—a shape he's grown into since the first of his birthdays they spent together—as the daemon curves overhead, keeping loft. Right now, the goal isn't to wake him up—which is why the hand that travels down his chest is slow and purposeful. Nails and fingerpads graze over rucked shirt before sneaking beneath its hem in search of warm skin; they spread out when they finally sneak beneath, scarred palm going flat against the span of Guanshan's abdomen, caressing along the jut of prominent hipbone and then down into the crease of his groin.
Heat unfurls, Synchrony channel creaking open between them. The press of his mouth over Guanshan's throat is soft, a slow kiss set into the crook where pulse thrums strongest. Along with physical sensation comes the emotional—Rokurou's Synchrony has always been airy, an echoing lack, with all the muted cool of a gray autumn day headed for winter. Maybe that coolness makes what runs a tick warmer more pronounced; what feelings he does have begin to trickle across their empathic connection, like a break of spackled sunlight cutting through clustered leaves.
Affection first, carrying what he's boldly called love despite only half knowing the meaning of the word (and even that, twisted) on its coattails. In this way, Guanshan is the best thing about him—those feelings have a lightness about them that the others do not. A humanness that he's forgotten; even before he was a daemon it was nothing he felt, born and bred to be a tool and hideously twisted up by his own complexes. Desire and need are diligent in following after, more balmy and weighted down with everything he always finds himself wanting to take despite knowing better.
Slow, cautious, curious. He doesn't normally do this (that's what makes it a birthday present, yeah?), usually annoying enough to wake Guanshan up when he's horny and wants to fuck. With the added wildcard of Synchrony, Rokurou has no idea if Guanshan will jerk awake as soon as their emotions begin to twist and blend. ]
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[ steadying, strong, protective — he breathes deep. the black canvas of sky spots with stars, ones that move along the inkblot and burn brighter until they spell out a single name: Rokurou. in that peace, he breathes deep, chest swelling with the downward descent of the man's hand, belly concaving as warm and rough hands mold over the erogenous bones of his pelvis. sighing back out, he sinks deeper into slumber, mollified. kept. ]
[ body slacking into his touch, legs push apart and open for him, knocking into Rokurou's thighs spread above. mouth hung open, his breath and pulse quicken — stirred, but not from the sleep. blood rushes south, sweetly prickling along his flesh as though the AC had kicked on, pouring that cold sink over his skin. inherently looking for warmth, he shifts, drawing in — cheek pushing against the hand that Rokurou has planted on the bed next to him for support, burrowing against the source of heat and dropping into an easy contentedness once again. ]
[ a sigh, an easy — accessible — sprawl; through and through, he asks for more, murmuring incoherently around a sigh against a strip of tanned skin at the daemon's inner wrist. a meal served on a silver plate. ]
[ if expectations have carried over from the night before, he hadn't calculated an such an early rise into his attention, the vulnerable and gullible sprawl of a young man now fully embracing manhood — those responsibilities and attachments, those commitments, he's not freed of their weight even (or perhaps especially) while loving a daemon. truly, of his last two handfuls of birthdays, the ones spent with Rokurou have been the only that have remained memorable: spots of brightness in the countdown of a life that makes notches for each revolution of a planet around a sun he hasn't seen in four years. ]
[ whatever townspeople used to burn creatures of the night like Rokurou at the stake he's long since left behind and crawled in bed with the monster itself — so when the fire comes for them both, he'll go to hell knowing he answered love with love. ]
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No ... it isn't innocence. Maybe this is what they call love—Guanshan's willingness to accept all of him, even when he's at his most honest.
Exhaling against freckled throat, the daemon presses his mouth down in another lingering kiss. These hands might have known crusted blood and snagged flesh, but today, he has no such intentions. Guanshan always accepts his taste for violence even when he might seek something more tender; Rokurou knows that between them the other man has always been more flexible. Guanshan bends to what comes naturally to a daemon (is that love?), seeks to understand and give him what feels good (is that love too?), thinking of Rokurou often more than himself (love?).
It's all still inscrutable to him (how, when, why?) but right now Rokurou wants to try to do the same.
While his hands aren't clumsy, deft fingers dipping beneath the band of sweats and boxers, his feelings that flutter between them as they sync are. Brows furrowed, Rokurou holds onto the warm feeling that seeps into his chest whenever they're together, catching it in his chest before it slides away. Pins it, tapes it up, and then pushes it forward with forced strength to share it in a way he never has before. They're cool and lacking saturation as all of his emotions do, but weighty.
A summer storm of everything Guanshan's made him feel: affection (red buzz-scruff, bitten bottom lip, scattered freckles); elation (little-fanged grins, flushed pale skin, dumb jokes and fake anger); adoration (blotched red-eyes, stubborn set of jaw, willingness to bend but never to break); trust (the bottom of a glass of whiskey, palms meeting and fingers entwining, thin fingers running over cracked blight); delight (surprise sweet potatoes, the rasp of his voice calling his name, unexpected texts).
Most of all—love.
A resilient thing despite all the ash from crueler flames that burned too hot and too quickly, sweeping in as a heated gust alongside the cooler winds. It weaves along the mapping of his veins. Melds into the beat of his pulse. Threads between everything and stitches it all together, creating a tapestry out of what had once been broken pieces.
Mouthing down, the daemon nurses a spot where throat meets shoulder. Sharp teeth don't dig, only nibble as his lips work harder, tongue lashes and licks, coaxing color to the surface rather than forcing it. Fingers curl on both ends—some in toward smooth cheek to gently caress, others continue south to wrap around Guanshan's shaft and slowly begin to stroke. ]
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[ wouldn't want to anyway. resting on the precipice of slumber and awareness, he blindly and clumsily feels out the seams of blight and flesh, brushing hair back over an ear futilely as it falls back into place. a hum, guttural with sleep and the flare of want and lust Pavlovian in his body, roused and stiffened further with the merit of morning bodily functions, he's rock hard in Rokurou's grip with an effort so minimal it's almost funny. they've never been anything shy of hot-blooded. every little pull brings him back into the shadow-grey real world, tinged sweetly with the hue Guanshan has come to associate with his lover most — deep, twilight purple. there are no rose-colored glasses — he knows his best and he knows his worst and there's only accepting it. both hands wind around his shoulders in a clinging embrace, one last intense flood of the emotion the daemon has always most taken note of: golden-brilliant hope. ]
[ hope that when he opens his eyes, it's Rokurou touching him; hope that what he's feeling is from him; hope that he'll stay. ]
[ one last shuddering gasp as warm, rough hands follow the turgid curve of his length, knees trembling and hips jolting with sensation, but the flutter open of his eyes as gentle as an unfurling of wings — and he instantly knows the body atop his own, the hair tickling his throat, the scent and feel and presence of him as his mind sluggishly catches up with his body. ]
Ah-Rou... [ a murmur, a dig of heels in the mattress to hike a knee between spread legs, happy accident by way of wanting to be closer. his heart pitches such a fit, thumping painfully against his sternum as if trying to break out of its cage and find a home in Rokurou's maw to be swallowed. delight leads the litany of other emotions providing its harmony, and his is brilliant crimson — the same color as danger. as his lover's cracked eye. ]
Hey... [ still bleary with sleep, voice rubbed over gravel, but poured in the honey that smooths it back over only in moments like this. ] You okay?
[ of course that's the first thing he asks. does he even know what day it is? ]
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It's worth it for the sound of that drowsy, raspy voice. You okay? he asks—and the daemon huffs, sliding callused fingers down to grasp at that sharp chin, guiding thin chapped lips to meet his own in a kiss. Not demanding, not rough—it's a kiss tempered with affection and gentleness, usual vicious handling kept in tame by his desire for Guanshan to just feel good.
A click of lips with the brushing tip of his tongue, with teeth kept in reserve today. With that, another little flare of affection, a sensation that flushes across the daemon's skin in patches and pinpricks before it vibrates and Syncs, sharing the sentiment between them. ]
Mnn.
[ A small noise of affirmation with a low chuckle cupping the end of the sound. Lingering in that kiss, Rokurou continues to move his fingers and palm along that erection—another spike of pleasure from how easily he's managed to get a response—hand a slow and steady stroke. They go hard and fast so often that a sensual, coaxing handjob is almost a novelty.
When the kiss reaches a natural, easy end, Rokurou doesn't go far. Their lips still brush as he breathes, murmurs, ]
Happy birthday.
[ Again, he allows the channel of Synchrony to soak up what fleeting, airy feelings breeze through the charred up and burned out chest. Balmy heat of desire, warm knit of love, fluttering tremors of excitement, bright silvery spots of wonder at this all, and a faint spackle of what Guanshan's given him—some gold of his own. ]
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[ Rokurou's kiss mollifies him, lays his suspicions to rest in the same lashes of tongue that rouse him. more than anything, he wants to lay himself beneath that husky voice of Rokurou's, molasses-sweet and slow, soak it all up and lock it down in his memory. the regard pulls from him a beat of consideration that dives richly into revelation, a soft but citrus-bright laugh that twists his brows up and together — the contrast to his hands moving south over a strongly-muscled back. ]
So that's what you're up to. [ well if that's the case, why not let himself enjoy it? why not accept all the love Rokurou has to give? relenting into his affection and trust of the man above him, the overflow and spill becomes one of joy — touched and deeply sentimental, an act that warms him all the way down. no glee of his ever comes without a little mischief, however, and the sly drip of his voice accompanies hands smoothing all the way down the taper of Rokurou's back for both palms to settle on the meat of his ass and squeeze. ]
Make it happy for me then, yeah? [ and when his hands start moving north again, they're beneath the hem of Rokurou's shirt, raking the fabric up on his wrists as his touch languidly explores every ripple and divot of muscle and scar to the inevitable end of pulling it off over his head. ]
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Gray sweats stay, slung low; what's a birthday without dressing up? He would have to be blind to not notice how Guanshan's eyes linger when he dresses down like this, more when he goes without underwear. Gifts on gifts on gifts—is it love when you want to spoil someone with all the things they like? Rokurou wouldn't know. It had never been like that, before this. Before him. ]
Yeah.
[ Emotions come piling over again, boisterous and rich and inherently Guanshan. They stir movement beneath ash and splintered bone, engendering a sweetpain thwang (is it possible to be happy simply from making someone else happy)? That intrusive thought, too, is as novel as it is incomprehensible. Yet, it seems to be true. What Guanshan shares begins to take life beneath the daemon's skin, house aflame stretching redorange fingers toward the roof next door.
Grasping for that sharp chin again, the daemon brings their mouths to meet. A heavy kiss, with a greedy tongue sweeping forward and curling, trying to catch every flavor it can. Displaced hands find new purchase over expanding lungs, thrumming heart, before they slide down over chest and down toward abdomen. They're a lantern-lead guide for his lips once he breaks away and begins to kiss down along throat and collarbone.
Shirt bunches beneath his fingers—Rokurou pushes it up above dusky nipples so he can drag that wet tongue down the plain of pale sternum, teasing a hint of teeth in that lick. Nothing more than a scrape, mere ghosting of what he's done before, never quite going for the familiar and usual despite the temptation. ]
I was going to give you a handjob while you were asleep, [ a raspy drawl as he sets his chin on the cusp of rib and belly, gazing up at the other man from beneath drooping lashes, ] but since you're awake now ... have any birthday wishes?
[ Asking, too, is rare. They're creatures of instinct, often falling together like entertained fingers. Which is good—but this is fun. Playfully, Rokurou tilts his head, mouth stretching with a smile. ]
How do you want it, [ teasing, the daemon supplicates himself, playing yakuza underling with a low husky, ] boss?
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[ his mouth waters, Rokurou's tongue a welcome distraction as it rouses his own into response, roiling and hot, playful as he sucks the daemon's into his own mouth — and then lower, making him arch over its tease. ]
[ those words narrow his gaze into something sharp, a little wicked. he's always taken the little bit of power he's been given and ran with it like a kid with scissors, more threat to himself than anyone else. a daemon doesn't know how to steer clear of danger, and that's how clashes like this happen until their powerplay upends just because they feel like it. just because they care enough to let it. ]
Mmm, tough choice... [ but he says it like a cat with feathers between its teeth, fangs catching in a gleam of moonlight. a playful little handjob is tempting, novel in its infrequency. there are other things, too, that fall along those lines. ]
Ride me.
[ wasn't so tough after all. seeing Rokurou with his thighs spread over his hips, using his body to chase his own climax — how often does that happen? not often enough. ]
Use your big boss's dick 'til you see stars. [ hey, this is his fantasy. ]
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[ A laugh comes out through his nose, lips thinned in a seal as he tries not to laugh, but it breaks through in nasal exhale. It unravels from there, a monster's affectionate smile winning over with a gleam of teeth against night's purple-gray backdrop. ]
Ride my big boss's big dick, ah?
[ Reaching over, Rokurou helps himself to the top drawer of Guanshan's nightstand, more than familiar with his partner's habit of keeping a handy bottle of lube around. Put to the side for the moment in favor of hooking thumbs into the stretchy band of his sweats, dragging them down and off. His cock's already half hard, red with veining and curved against a thatch of wiry black curls. ]
Leave it to me, boss. I'll get the job done. [ promised with a shiver of excitement as air cools against his flushed skin, ] I'll wring you dry.
[ (Poor Shinsou if these walls are thin.)
Scarred fingers find new purchase at the top of Guanshan's pajama pants, quick to yank them down; discordant eyes settle on his cock as it springs free, cheshire grin widening in anticipation.
Hot as it would be to just drop down onto it, he hadn't actually been expecting to use his ass tonight. Anal is frequent, but receiving? Much less so—to date, Rokurou has only ever been fucked by two guys, and it's still only a handful between them both. Even if pain's a pleasure, tonight Rokurou reaches for the lube, thumbnail jutting beneath the cap to crack it open. ]
Try not to come.
[ Bowing, the heat of his mouth closes over Guanshan's erection. Lips part, eager to stretch around its weighty head straight off. Lube drips, slicks, sticky along the length of his index and middle fingers—reaching around, Rokurou feels himself, working the wet pads of his fingers against his hole.
Stiff. As he draws up, the daemon's greedy suck is a precursor to lashing tongue and swallowing back the vague taste of precum. Satisfaction a low vibration in his chest, the daemon sinks down again with concentration split between sucking and working his fingers into his ass.
It's a vulnerable position; Rokurou glances up again from beneath his lashes, meeting their eyes, watching Guanshan's expression with predatory hunger. ]
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[ one for which he's rewarded, breath stuttering as the wet heat of that mouth closes over him and encourages a low moan of satisfaction akin to a first morning's stretch or a gulp of natural air after being choked by city smog. relief, as if going untouched too long, alone too long was that same back-burnered level of quiet suffering. he fills out the rest of the way in Rokurou's mouth, his stomach dizzy with how all of his blood runs south to engorge between the daemon's teeth, blooming haplessly into a prone erection. ]
[ the eye contact is just another electric current that runs him through and makes him throb, spurs him to action; one set of fingers follows the old familiar pattern of blight, palm pushing back a wild fringe as his thumb settles a pattern over a cheekbone and temple. the other blindly fumbles at the table nearby. ]
Haa... that's a good view.
[ even blind, he could find the button for the camera on his phone. a moment to line it up is all he needs — and no doubt, Rokurou will be blinded by the flash that goes of, refracting like a predator's gaze in the eyes, but also the glimmering, slick details of Guanshan's shaft wet beneath his mouth and where he can see his fingers beyond the cleft of his ass. ]
[ a nice little keepsake to remember the day by. ]
Wanna see? [ Rokurou's so damn vain, after all. ]
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Even as he stills for the shot his fingers keep working over and in his ass, infrequent use requiring more prep time. Pushing in, curling, he does what he can to stretch out with the slick help of lube. Not too much prep—only enough to allow entry while keeping a bit of a burn. He isn't looking to hurt Guanshan today, but Rokurou's always hungry for a hint of pain with his pleasure.
Gaze lowering, the daemon pulls off of Guanshan's erection with a wet pop, tiling his head to drag hot tongue along the side. As he licks from tip to base he drives two fingers in deep, his own cock bounces up full from anal stimulation. Panting with furrowed brow, he finally draws himself back up onto his knees, grabbing Guanshan's cock and positioning over it. ]
Show me after. [ lips smack, greedy for flavor that lingers there, ] You can even take more if you want.
[ Is it vanity when you know you're hot? At the very least, he's always known that Guanshan's been dangerously attracted to him, and he's happy to put that all on display now.
Muscular thighs don't quiver as he lowers down onto guided dick, pushing head past that ring of muscle before allowing measured gravity take care of the rest. Tan skin flushes with the effort, earning a light sheet of sweat against cool air—his cock curves, red and veined, bouncing as he sinks down the length of Guashan's cock. His lips move wordlessly as he's stretched, body unaccustomed to giving way for someone else—and true form, that sweet ache creeps up to his tailbone, burn of cock stretching him out beyond what fingers could accomplish earning a low, guttural groan.
Dragging curled fingers through his thick mop, Rokurou combs it all back and away from his face. Ends fall loose around his shoulders, a wild mane framing discordant eyes and pitch-night blight that stand out in morning dark.
Visage clear, Rokurou leans back and plants his palms on lean thighs. ]
Haaa—you're really filling me up. [ teasing as he clenches up around Guanshan's dick, ] Remember when you were a fish? I wish you could come that much in me right now.
[ He'll pause and pose for a few seconds (he knows the camera loves him, baby) before beginning to rock, well-tuned body a mechanism of fluid motion. ]
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[ shoulders hit the pillows too roughly, pushed back down by the wave of bright, hot sensation transferring from head to balls to spine to head. that dazzling electric arc doesn't even have time to stop astonishing him before he realizes it was only the receding tide that warns of an incoming 20-foot wave, the complete delicious sheathing of his erection sending him writhing beneath the daemon's pinning weight. hands fly to the thick muscles of spread thighs, in the front seat of a rollercoaster at the bottom of its first drop. ]
Jesus, fuck. [ the sweat of his palms makes Rokurou's skin feel tacky and his thumbs follow the throbbing pulse of femoral arteries where he's been taught to slice, right in the divot between two muscles that lead a trench straight to his bobbing, untouched erection. ]
Still happens sometimes when I'm a dog, ya know. [ had he left that part out? maybe he'd intended it to be a surprise, he can't remember. now, the camera will catch his confessions and their hollowed-out breathiness — not to mention the lewd juncture where Guanshan's cock spreads his lover open, how one of his thumbs braves the planes of his body to pet and drag over his balls. then lower, applying pressure as he strokes over his taint, around the slippery pucker of his rim. as a treat. ]
[ there's little he can — or wants — to do under the easy rhythm Rokurou starts. it feels luxurious and selfish and indulgent to lay there and passively observe, not do any of the work, let the night's melatonin blend harmoniously with the dopamine of sex and oxytocin of love, a steadily-building high that blisses him out as good as molly. the lack of participation won't last beyond this first round (one of many for the day, judging by how early they're starting), but their shared hedonism is one of the many things that bring them together: you scratch my back, I scratch yours. you fulfill my fantasies — well, you know. ]
[ and honestly, there's nothing better for Rokurou's ego than Guanshan's filthy mouth anyway. ]
Damn, I really should'a — hahhh, put a ring on. You feel too fuckin' good...
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His cheeks flush with rare color, painting rich tan and warm undertone in faint pinked hue. Against shadow and night’s purple it blends harmlessly; the camera catches that color and its contrast against black lashes that curl against upper cheek as his features scrunch. ]
Go ahead and come.
[ Back arching, the daemon’s body sinks down the length of Guanshan’s cock; inner walls tighten in possessive clutch before another rock draws him back up in a flex of core and muscle.
Again again again—Rokurou moves to find his own pleasure, belly tucking in as he leans forward, strong hands splaying across delineating rib for support. A position where the head of Guanshan’s erection butts up against a spot that has him quivering, features washing out in momentary bliss, mouth slack and stupid, before it escapes on the next draw.
Eager, Rokurou barrels himself down onto it again. Tension whips, cracks, forces rigidity that he forces back to bend. Nerves light and burn, threading that edge of too much that he loves to impale himself upon. ]
I’m going to fuck you all day anyway. [ on the next drop he closes the distance between their lips in a short click, ] We’ll talk about your dog dick later.
[ He presses that toothy grin against Guanshan’s mouth once more before reeling back, shag of dark hair falling in thick wave around his shoulders.
Rough fingerpads draw back across pale skin before the warmth of a palm settles at the base of soft abdomen. The other slides over his own erection, neglected and beading precum at the tip—Rokurou begins to stroke himself with a dragged sigh, brow furrowing and front teeth sinking down on bottom lip. ]
Hn, haa—fuck…
[ The jerk of his hand quickens, erratic and desperate as he drops down and drives himself onto Guanshan’s dick. Keeps doing it, faster, harder, until his body finally seizes on the spike of an orgasm that has him splattering thick cum up Guanshan’s chest. ]
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[ the dopey confirmation, beset on a lazy grin and half-lidded eyes, half-submerged in the sandman's promises. all the barriers of skin and sensation seem to fall away, the rhythmic rock of Rokurou's hips and the tight, wet heat engulfing his cock undulating with 3-am fantasies, a maw of pleasure that swallows him whole. the swordsman's just using his body to fulfill his own needs, grinding and grunting and taking, and Guanshan lays splayed as a willing victim to be drained dry, head thrown back in gasping pleasure. ]
[ even being painted in a layer of semen feels luxe somehow, hot warmth pooling in the dips of his body's topography, streaks and pools of heat that join every other scrap of evidence on him that he belongs to the man jerking and twitching atop him. palms knead greedily at the tenses muscles of his ass, pushing and pulling to employ the spasmic sensation of Rokurou's orgasming hole for a few more writhing, unbearable thrusts before he's joining him. ]
[ most orgasms rock through Guanshan like a bomb going off; this is slower, sweeter, rolling through every stretched like a visible caress of wind through tall grasses. toes curl and legs stretch, hands palming the flank of Rokurou's ass all the way down onto his length as he spills deep inside of him, bottomed out, balls drawing up taut as pump out molten heat. he feels it immediately begin to cascade down the seams where they aren't fully connected, sliding back down with gravity's bid, wetting down the seams of his thighs and taint. ]
[ slowly, his tense brows ease back down, slacking with blissful afterglow, lashes fluttering open but what's below still utterly sightless, a relishing blank stare at the ceiling. ] Fuuu-uuuck...
[ worshipping fingers unclench, petting over each defined line of Rokurou's silhouette, up and down the taper of his obliques. satisfaction and insomnia make sleep beguile him once more, but he begins to blink it away as his interest shifts. ]
All day, huh? Promise we'll both be sore tomorrow? [ cheeky, a hand comes down to deliver a blistering slap to one cheek, stinging even his own palm — but not so good as the reflexive clench it inspires all over his softening cock, only now deciding to slip from his lover in a slick mess of lube and cum. ] Mmh, I'm talking someone's jizz on every damn surface of this apartment. Happy birthday, me.
[ judging by that stupid grin on his face, it's gonna be a good day. ]