Midousuji Akira (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
discarding) wrote2005-06-02 10:09 pm
discarding) wrote2005-06-02 10:09 pm
Entry tags:
1 trip ticket to the shadowrealm
[it's been particularly bad, lately.
of course, it was strange enough, waking up one day and finding that a part of his body he's had since birth was just...gone. Midousuji had boggled at the state of things (or the lack there of) between his legs that morning, after realizing he hadn't felt the familiar shifting of...you know, usual parts, once he got up to go brush his teeth. he'd spent about 10 minutes just staring in disbelief, shorts around his ankles, back bent severely. a tuft of coarse hair, that when he'd stroked it back, revealed... more absence of a penis. and all the other usual bits.
Midousuji finally had straightened himself up and ran to the bathroom to inspect at length, but it's not like he could really see anything. so this is how Midousuji ended up sat on his bathroom floor, between his own legs to the best of his ability, squinting as he moved hair, and parted...parts... frustrated, he eventually got together a razor, some shaving cream, and a cup of hot water. despite his lack of motor controls, he was able to do some pretty delicate shavework before... not that it hadn't been a nervy endeavor, but Midousuji managed to shave away the hair he'd let grow out in the last couple months.
it was then Midousuji grabbed a mirror, positioning in front of his ass—his skin was still kind of mottled with some stray, short and blunt hairs among some residual shaving cream, but he was about to shower anyway. his eyes widened, and, indeed...
opposite parts. Midousuji expressed surprise and began chattering to himself busily in confusion, moving stuff around, screaming in surprise and disgust here and there... and wondered what the hell could have lead to this. he hadn't been messing with transfiguration magic all that much, lately...
stunned, shellshocked, Midousuji stood, then took his usual shower. without his usual morning wood to accompany him. which was odd. not unwelcome, but there was still a stiff, distracting pressure, one he had no idea how to address. so he'd just...leave it alone for now. Midousuji had glanced uncertainly downwards as he washed, realizing he was going to have to relearn... sort of everything. how to jerk off. pee. everything. of course, he wanted to investigate how or why this happened... but he didn't know where to turn. library, maybe. he thought he could maybe ask the network if anyone had experience with any kind of anatomical mishaps with transmutation practice...
so Midousuji spent a long day in the library, put up that post, and mostly came up with nothing. some had reported mixups—temporary, and not so....viscerally genital in nature...
after the first day, Midousuji found, to the best of his knowledge (because it wasn't like he had basis of comparison), everything was at least.... normal. functional.
once Midousuji was a little less disturbed by the state of things, he finally decided to explore, to get a little more familiar. which was fun, to his surprise, but frustrating, too—he found orgasm difficult to achieve, his nerves sharper in some places than others. he'd experimented with penetration, too, too curious by the slick his playing had produced to neglect it—and it felt awkward. bad. deep hot ache inside. but when he tried again, out of similar, bored curiosity, about a week later, he had a bit more luck. going to the bathroom isn't any harder, though less convenient in emergencies, he's sure.
even getting used to it, Midousuji still hasn't told anyone. especially not Ishigaki. who he's actually hanging out with now, and that's where it's bad. it being the tension Midousuji feels around Ishigaki, lately. they've gotten closer, though Midousuji is loathe to admit it—but he can't say it's not nice, besides all the embarrassment and worry that comes with liking someone even a little.
they've had a scheduled feeding arrangement for about a month and a half, and Ishigaki's been in this place for about 6 months total. Midousuji's found, to his surprise, the feedings are actually pleasurable—such that he was beginning to worry about getting noticeably hard over it. now he doesn't really have to worry about that. the feedings taking that kind of turn for Midousuji is what's shifting his perspective on Ishigaki, and it's not in a way that's comfortable or natural to Midousuji.
there was some relief, at least, when Midousuji had, as he tends to do when he runs into something weird relating this world, studied up on it—apparently, it was a small aspect of a thrall. a vampire's influence. if the creature has good intentions and good will towards their victim, that's sometimes the result. not specifically because they mean to pleasure their target; it's far less intentional, with young vampires. just a natural manifestation.
gross, Ishigaki.
the fact that he's barely been able to get off in two weeks doesn't help.
he almost dreads it as they come back to his house after their outing. there's going to be less distracting stimulation, or pressure of outside eyes. but Midousuji is desperately lacking good judgement right now, because he's horny as fuck. it's not like he intends to resolve his arousal, because he can't, but goddamn if it's not making him misbehave a little. and make dumb choices.
as soon as Midousuji walks inside, he turns over his shoulder, smiling cheekily.]
Come in, I~shigaki-kun.
[Midousuji's usual sign isn't hanging on his front door. sometimes it's fun to give Ishigaki permission in a way that sounds like a command. especially when it's something Ishigaki wants, anyway.]
Make yourself at home~ Dinner will be ready soon.
[Midousuji laughs against his curled fingers. yes, he's been making asshole jokes about it since the start of the arrangement.]
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and since then, Midousuji's felt...antsy. tetchy. like not knowing how Ishigaki was feeling made him on edge. even now, he's still recovering from having endured his final stage of becoming full fledged. it made sense—this is a direct result of that. the second Ishigaki came to, looking equal parts startled and wild in his eyes, Midousuji had insistently offered his blood. enduring that experience, watching someone go, after months of weakening decline... having the opportunity to feel responsible for their good health was too hard to ignore.
and then came the fact that the feeding was pleasurable. at first, using Midousuji's wrists, it had been just mollifying—he'd feel subdued, empty headed and a touch euphoric... but he became more aware of the fullness and texture of Ishigaki's lips, the hot stroke of his tongue and inside of his mouth, and that bliss didn't stay decent for long. once Ishigaki and Midousuji broke what they knew was a line they'd probably be better off not to cross, when Midousuji tempted Ishigaki with a long, deep cut on the side of his neck... downhill from there. but Midousuji wanted Ishigaki to move to his neck—there, he could grit his teeth and roll his eyes in peace, trying to stifle his damn boner.
but now, well. he doesn't have to worry about that. thank god. of course, that's dangerous, too—less motivation to try to think of something revolting to quell his arousal, on top of being so pent up. but he's not worried about it, though he should be.
Midousuji slings his bag off his shoulder, hanging it on a coat post by the door, and as Ishigaki takes off his stuffy stupid vampire ponce attire, Midousuji takes off his mask and gloves. when he turns, he straightens his neck straight out, lunging his head forward as his eyes widen, baffled and stuck on Ishigaki.]
Haaaa??!
[Midousuji takes a few aggressive, long strides forward, and he tilts his head enough that his back mimics the curve, blinking stupidly at Ishigaki's posture. there's maybe a quick glance to his dick, too, before Midousuji's eyes upturn wickedly, his hand curling in front of his equally wicked crescent smile, still bent unnaturally.]
Pff-ff-ff, grrroooossss, what's this?? [Midousuji lifts a long leg to give a little shove with the bottom of his foot against one of Ishigaki's knees. his eyes go from the upturned slivers to half lid and hooded, hand still against his mouth. his foot stays there, and he gives him a couple of repetitive nudges.] Just what are you expecting? [if Midousuji understands the implications correctly, then he says the next words very slowly.] Ishigaki-kun.
[it's probably not so salacious, Midousuji is just. really horny. he will make it salacious. and still skirt plausible deniability. Midousuji comes forward quite suddenly, swinging a long leg across Ishigaki's lap, and he hooks the undersides of his calves against Ishigaki's, linking their legs a little. it's only practical, after all—Midousuji's legs are so long, and this stupid couch's legs are so short. he bites his lower lip through a smile, eyes halving from the bottom with delight, and he undoes the pin keeping the clean gauze around his neck in place, pulling its end out.]
Like this, is that right?
[Midousuji's expression loses some of its goofy giddiness, his smile growing a bit darker. he tilts his head a little.]
It is the neck on rotation tonight, so it's not a terrible idea... but I have to stay healthy too, you know. I can't just be giving it to you all the time. Groooss. Gross, gross! You're too greedy. You sound like an addict... Nfufu. Greedygaki. You should be careful, you know. Witch's blood has some big hooks.
Why don't you be good and help me get these off, then?
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the way Ishigaki struggles, so desperate to be good, to be gentle—even when he's visibly restraining himself from his instincts... it's true Midousuji cares for Ishigaki, though he couldn't possibly admit it directly—but he's a sadist, at the end of it all. and Ishigaki's ability to endure is alluring.
he does startle, however, a little bit, when Ishigaki leans in like that, and puts his arm across his waist—brushes his thumb across his neck. certainly, it's actually enough to wipe Midousuji's dumb expression off his face—and then makes his breath catch in his throat for the way it induces a deep, needy throb. but it's nervy, too—too close! but despite his flare of anxiety, Midousuji doesn't dare peel away. he likes it. he wants more of it.
he glances at Ishigaki, seeming to get his mind off his genitals for two seconds, expression still somewhat stunned—his arms are each held akimbo, bent at the elbow, and it's then Midousuji realizes he's been holding onto a breath. he lets it go, and he peers curiously.
what's there to sound so sad about? is Ishigaki feeling sad?
Midousuji almost grabs for Ishigaki's face, to lecture him about why he'd offered his blood, and of course he did—then Ishigaki's thumb rubs his neck again, stopping Midousuji in his traps again.]
I don't hate it. Don't be stupid.
[Midousuji rolls his eyes, tongue rolling out, and he grabs the discarded gauze, left draped over his shoulder and down his chest, discarding it onto the floor.]
It hurts and is gross and close and stuffy, but it's a little bit... interesting?
[Midousuji, blank-faced and honest, mirrors Ishigaki's touch, somewhat—he skirts his thumb across Ishigaki's mouth, resting on his lower lip. Midousuji can feel it, especially then—gushing, cramping heat. but he pays it no mind.]
It's almost fun. I like control. You know that.
[Midousuji's thumb moves to lift Ishigaki's upper lip, exposing one of the two enlarged canines. how much of this could he get away with extracting from Ishigaki, without revealing too much of his impure motives?
ha. and Ishigaki had always touted his pride about Midousuji's purity, or...something.]
—But, it's not as unbalanced as that even sounds, which is what makes it interesting.
And besides, it makes me feel less sickened, to do this. Seeing you so weak is so gross. I can't stand it. So I just wo~n't allow for it.
[Midousuji leans forward, this time, resting his palms in splay across Ishigaki's collarbones, and he comes close; he turns his head, feeling some of Ishigaki's coarse, product-laden hair brush against his cheek, presenting his neck.]
So: go ahead.
[Midousuji smiles mischievously.]
I'm not pitying you. Please, help yourself. Don't be rude.
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he feels a hot spike of excitement when Ishigaki's lips come into contact with his neck, his adam's apple bobbing with a glottal stop, eyes widening, still somehow a little surprised. and his vocal chords tense, breath held, when he feels the biting slip of Ishigaki's fangs, starting near the not-yet totally healed wound, the soft, carefully-nursed dents of the wound guiding the pressure of Ishigaki's teeth to repuncture the same site. usually, Midousuji tried to rotate which side of his neck was used, then which wrist, and which inner-crook of his elbow, so that each site would be healed by the time they were torn back open. but Midousuji had lied when he said this side of his neck was in rotation, earlier. and he's glad he did—eyes rolling up with a flicker of his eyelids as he lets go of a sound between a heavy exhale and a groan.
it hurts. it's sharp when his skin tears, and hot—then dull and bruising, the trauma of the injury being reawakened, his nerves reminded of what incurred the damage in the first place. but there's also that instant soothing of euphoria—it doesn't take away the pain, or even really dull it, but Midousuji's brain is instantly pumped with the various hormones that incite relaxation and fondness. and he feels like the whole sum of his junk is swollen, by now—each majora labia, the enlarged nib of his clit, the inner walls, every ounce of his new anatomy hurting with want, especially as he feels Ishigaki's clinging, and his tongue work purposefully against him.
if Midousuji had more of a natural endowment of morality, he'd feel bad for how he gets off so consistently and so heavily in what now is just a very natural process in being alive for the type of creature Ishigaki has become. he knows Ishigaki is fond of him, and so doesn't mind the touching and the closeness—a thing he's seen Ishigaki engage in with the people he calls his friends, and he also knows Ishigaki is happy to have avenues of connection to Midousuji to lean into. but he doesn't know Midousuji is allowing it because he derives a sexual thrill from it—as far as Midousuji is aware, that is.
Midousuji swallows, eyes still rolled as he drops his head a little, jaw falling open as his tongue wetly dangles from his mouth, saliva glands overworking. Midousuji hadn't returned Ishigaki's embrace, initially, which is part of why Ishigaki's probably holding onto him like that; rather, Midousuji's arms dangle loosely, letting the complex potion of sensations and feelings take him. until he lifts a hand, wrapping an arm around the back of Ishigaki's head.]
Haaa...
[his voice shakes a little as it leaves him, and Midousuji's mind flashes with various fantasy; Ishigaki fingering him as this occurs, or better, Midousuji being impaled against him. his tongue only makes it back into his mouth so that Midousuji can bite his lower lip, fingernails gently biting into Ishigaki's scalp from his now hard grip, a trail of thick saliva clung to his chin, dangling at its side. it's too easy to imagine; the space allowed between Ishigaki's legs had implied that he wanted Midousuji to settle between them, and Midousuji had of course realized that, and elected instead to straddle him. his pelvis hovers above Ishigaki's, close, and he's desperately tempted to close the distance—but he knows his limits, as someone who often elects to push or overcome them on purpose. he knows where the line is, and chooses not to cross it. but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to grind off all that throbbing ache against Ishigaki's lap, to seek some pressure to satisfy the tingling pulse of his new set.
Ishigaki isn't the only one who hungers, and Midousuji feeling he's the only one really privy to that just arouses him more. which probably has Midousuji's blood tasting a bit...well, not different, but seasoned strongly with one particular of the same: pheromones. of course, as one's blood doesn't have pheromone secretion, it's probably more of an olfactory thing—like the floral enjoyment people get from wine, heady and strong. Midousuji's definitely hornier than he's ever been, in any of these feedings, so pent up as he is.
when Midousuji tries to speak, he realizes his breath is thick, and he stops, swallowing again before he almost laughs. he's almost panting. he'd call himself pathetic, if it wasn't also so...fun.]
Do you feel funny, Ishigaki-kun?
[Midousuji's hand relaxes against his head, fingers sieving through his hair as he glances to him out the corner of his eye—and he playfully takes a fistful of it, but doesn't pull.]
Feeding on another man, like this? Embracing him?? Is it strange?
[it's rude to talk while you eat, but Midousuji's all about cajoling rudeness out of people.]
Or is it more like dining with a companion? Even though he's sitting on your lap?
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and it's true—in the cover of darkness, which was understandably ritual for feeding (it wasn't like Midousuji was gonna throw the lights every time—if they were on, fine—but often, they weren't), Midousuji hadn't ever realized Ishigaki's hardness in the past. he'd suspected, at the furthest. hoped, maybe—disgustingly. and he'd been hard more than a handful of times, himself. unlike now. or well... no. his clit is unbearably stiff, and it doesn't feel too unlike having a needy erection, but Midousuji is—perhaps naughtily—overjoyed for the lack of visibility.]
Like what?
[Midousuji now pulls Ishigaki's hair, subtly yanking him off his neck, and his shoulders shake with a soft, gentle laugh.]
Don't I always talk this way?
[antagonistic. uncomfortably pointed. playful. the circumstance is what makes it feel sexual, Midousuji figures—and he's gleefully vying for that interpretation, aroused further by the idea that his argument might hold water.
Midousuji's eyes widen, though, when he feels Ishigaki's tongue come back to dutifully lap at the weeping wound, which makes him squint an eye nearly shut, biting his lip again as he strangles a little sound in his throat. yes. god, yes—why does he like this so much? he has to keep his shit together, here!
but it's no good. Ishigaki's tongue is clever, in many ways, and it's more literal than Midousuji can bear, at the moment. his body jolts a little, subtly, mostly at his back and shoulders, and his head rolls to the side a little, in time to how his eyes roll up. his hand curls its fingers in front of his jaw.
then.........
THEN.
Midousuji leans far back, yanking Ishigaki off his neck by the same harsh grab in his hair, eyes wide.]
Haaa?! What?! What's that?!
[Midousuji's pulse jumps—droplets of blood well immediately from the cite of his wound, his heart hammering against the cage of its ribs. he looks furious, but he's......
genuinely flustered. he's petal pink, like sakura, from his brows to his neck.]
Iiiiiishigaki-kun!! How can you say something like that?!
[he yanks his hand side to side, intending to jostle Ishigaki's head. it's okay. vampires are sturdy.
Midousuji's body suddenly slackens, his gaze becoming unfocused, sweat beading on his flesh.]
Th... the only one...?
Me?
[the only one? him? all Ishigaki wants?? no—no, no, no, no! he's a meal! he's the best seasoned! he's convenient! available! delicious!
right?
Midousuji jerks Ishigaki's head to the side, leaning up close, his other hand, previously against his own face, now clutching Ishigaki's—but not harshly around either side of his jaw, per se. his thumb and forefinger dig into Ishigaki's cheekbones, wrist trembling, anxious and hopelessly excited.]
It really is addiction, then! Right? A demonstration of you being too far gone! S-surely, any other...
[the severity of Midousuji's expression dissipates as he struggles to understand, his heart and gut flipping in tandem. what in the world is he feeling, right now?]
A-any other Witch... It'd be just the same... We're just—we're familiar...
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[obvious? what. what's obvious? what should be obvious? Midousuji's eyes widen, his gaze even more unfocused, to the point of his vision blurring subtly.]
Huh??
[like the second, baffled and non-specific demand would suddenly bring any more sense to anything. he sees Ishigaki wipe his mouth in his peripheral, and it snaps his thinned irises to sudden attention, his jaw set in a tense clench of teeth. he can't identify why, but Midousuji is aware of the swelling surge of panic that suddenly shoots through his entire body, sending his body rigid. it's a strange juxtaposition to the mollifying magic and hormones that make him feel so soft, like he's ready for consumption—in more ways than the literal at hand, here.
and it's then Ishigaki's eyes meet his, and Midousuji feels a flickering well of something that's both panic and giddiness. excitement and terror. his breath seizes in his throat with an awkward sound. his eyes fall to Ishigaki's hand when he touches the pinkened skin of his exposed collarbones, and his jaw drops subtly, mind buzzing numb. every fiber of his being, unwittingly, focuses to that point of contact.
his eyes are back on Ishigaki's face when he comes so close, though, and Midousuji well and truly looks arrested by fear—and he grips Ishigaki's face harshly, out of instinct, lashing out to try to defend himself from the unfamiliar feelings. and those feelings are only terrifying because of that reason. he doesn't know why they inspire terror; it's just something out of his control.
he mostly grips Ishigaki's face to keep him from coming closer, though Midousuji's the one who started it. he stares at him, irises flickering subtly, here and there, reading Ishigaki as desperately as possible—but with no purchase. what the hell is this??? he did this to himself, didn't he? what was he expecting?
god, not this. he was not expecting this. Midousuji reflects on that—on "this"—and realizes that there might be...
some iota of reciprocity, here. he feels like he can't breathe. both from the onset of panic, and desperate arousal.]
Gross...
[Midousuji's hand tenses.]
Ishigaki-kun!! Gross!! Gross...
You're so stupid, [Midousuji shoots out aggressively, tersely, and almost quietly—he doesn't make eyecontact as he says it, pupils desperately shoved to the lower, outer corners of his eyes.] You don't give me anything??
[Midousuji's eyes are finally back on Ishigaki's, and he leans forward, back into his space, still holding his face, desperate for some tactile illusion of control.]
What would you know about that? How would you know that? You really are so arrogant... Yuck.
[Midousuji's eyes narrow.]
You're greedy, Ishigaki-kun, it's true... And it's so gross. Such a repugnant trait of yours.
[Midousuji's hand relaxes its grip, and Midousuji, heart thudding so heavily he can hear it rattle his brain, leans forward—his tongue strokes across Ishigaki's lips, cleaning away some of the blood. still, the wound weeps, neglected. maybe Ishigaki is satiated, but Midousuji is not.]
But no one's greedier than me. You give me plenty. It's me who wants more.
[Midousuji's eyes narrow, his breath heavy against Ishigaki's face. he tilts his head, eyes thinning closed, and if his nose weren't so tiny, it'd brush Ishigaki's cheek—the long, strong curve of his tongue embraces the back of the shell of Ishigaki's ear, his back arching subtly under the placement of Ishigaki's hands. his voice is low, gravelly, almost a growl—but quiet.]
So. Are you satisfied, yet?
[Midousuji's lip lifts in hostility, his grit teeth in that snarl against the cool skin of Ishigaki's ear.]
You better suck me dry, or stop the bleeding right now.
[Midousuji can feel it sticking, coagulating, against the fine, invisible hairs on his neck. cooling. the wound won't stop without control. and the parting of his eager body, between his legs, is much the same—a dam weeping, without control.]
Because I'm not satisfied. Not by a lo—ong, long shot.
no subject
Midousuji's eyes dip, briefly, and he notices other things—and his eyebrows raise.
honestly, he's been the hyper aggressive instigator, absolutely out of his gourd and certainly not sober because of the heightened state of sexual frustration... but somehow, Midousuji finds himself stunned into uncertainty. his eyes are back on Ishigaki's face, paused—but not at all dissuaded. his eyes fall again when he feels Ishigaki's hands against his chest, wide and curiously, hungrily watchful of the contact. his heart races beneath Ishigaki's palm, then so too does the pulse of his neck beneath his cool fingers. it feels... nice. Midousuji's eyelids flicker, partially falling closed, and he realizes just how overwarm he is, then, his breath thick and sticky.]
Hannh...?
[tell him what? had Ishigaki actually, by some miracle, gotten his drift? Midousuji was trying to be a little bit coy and playful, but he's accidentally come across...accurately. this makes a swell of nerves roll through him, but Midousuji tempers it—because he is fucking horny.]
I told you almost right away, [Midousuji gripes irritably. sure, he'd gotten turned on in a feeding before, but not to the point of wanting to...do something about it. or, no, more accurately—needing to. Midousuji's eyes suddenly snap open, sucking in a strange sound of surprise with the kisses against his neck. he—well, wasn't expecting anything, truly, but certainly not something that..... intimate...
then, holy shit, he feels—Ishigaki's dick?? his dick? his dick. against his leg. the rolling motion of Ishigaki's hips, tongue stroking against the stinging wound.]
H-haaa—, [Midousuji pants out loudly, tongue dropping through the confines of its cage of teeth, immediately feeling dizzied by it. Midousuji clumsily, desperately and sort of in fear, takes a hard grasp at the fabric against Ishigaki's waist. humping him. while feeding. Midousuji could pass out.]
You're ssssoooooo shameless, [Midousuji laughs out with a heavy breath, rolling his head back, tongue curling around his bare fingers, his salivary gland clearly stimulated for the coating this gives them.] Grosssss, Ishigaki-kun... [Midousuji's eyes narrow, and his cunt hurts—and he's so wet that it's honestly uncomfortable, at this point.]
I wasn't sure at first...
[Midousuji admits this honestly, and his smile grows.]
And I wasn't teasing you the whole time, not intentionally... More...recently.
[and Ishigaki's kissing and feeding from the wound again, which makes Midousuji briefly wince his eyes back closed. his back arches, eyes widening urgently once again, teeth grit. his heart pounds again, heightening the volume of each gush per beat. and that's not all that gushes, so to speak. the way Ishigaki's cool hands smooth across his body.]
H—damn it, I can't, [Midousuji hisses out, reaching his limit. before Ishigaki's pinky even finds the opportunity to flirt with the hem of his waistband, Midousuji's arm stiffly extends between their bodies, just.... kind of cramming his hand down his shorts himself, desperately pressing his hand against the wet, aching cleave between his legs. the relief is immediate, and his eyes roll up in a flicker, letting go of a low, heady groan. he'd be content to just jack off with Ishigaki sucking on his neck and stroking his body, but Midousuji isn't intending to stop Ishigaki from touching him...
though the, uh, debut. that's a little awkward. Midousuji's fingers can't even get decent purchase for proper friction against the desperately hard bulb of his clitoris, so wet that it's a little difficult to get friction. Midousuji lets out a frustrated, low groan, almost like a growl, and he grits his teeth, pushing his fingers inside to quell some of that painful, achy need.]
A-ah, ah... ahhh...
[Midousuji bites his lip, impatiently humping his own hand once or twice, his brows knitting in irritation.
Midousuji comes out of it to give Ishigaki a sideways, lazy smile, his laugh thick in his throat.]
Ishigaki-kun.... I wonder if you can satisfy me. You might be a little shocked...
[Midousuji extracts his hand from his shorts, spreading his fingers near where Ishigaki feeds. if Ishigaki was reeling from the pheromone feedback before, he's about to be gobsmacked. Midousuji tries to catch Ishigaki's eye with that display, showing off all the sticky, slick, thick chords of wet.
not something someone's dick would produce, especially with how they've...well, not really started, yet.]
Do you still wanna play? Haaaa, Ishigaki-kun?
[his other hand slips between their two bodies, this time to just. bluntly yank down the front of his waistband. it doesn't...too clearly reveal the situation, but it's. well. it's certainly an invitation.]
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[Midousuji delights in Ishigaki's surprise—how his hips slow to a stop, and somehow, Midousuji isn't made skiddish or insecure by it, either. he has no idea if Ishigaki even likes men—since his arrival in Aefenglom, Midousuji's learned in passing that Ishigaki had apparently had a couple girlfriends (his shocked instinct, at the time, though that's totally normal, was to shriek that Ishigaki was a slut), so Midousuji's aware that Ishigaki is familiar with pussy. well, maybe. the idea that Ishigaki had girlfriends and didn't get laid is pretty funny to consider, but Midousuji hopes not for it purely because he desperately needs someone who has some tricks to teach him something about it.]
The origin hasn't yet been diagnosed, but apparently, quite a handful of Mirrorbound are experiencing this kind of mix-up... It's not just m—ahfnmf...
[Midousuji's eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth (the very same one made so messy by his brazen demonstration), stifling whatever sound had just tried to get out of him, his body jolting just from the patting against his crotch. it's deplorably reactive, but Midousuji is so urgently horny that, much to his own chagrin, he can't really help it.
then his eyes roll, and Midousuji muffles a heavy breath against the top side of where his palm meets his index finger, his smug trap sufficiently shut. it's infuriatingly gentle, but incredible anyway—it feels so different, and not even because Ishigaki's doing much different. it's just because it's someone else, and specifically, the person Midousuji wants to be enacting this. probably the stimulation provided given Ishigaki's less limited position and range of movements are a contributing factor too. his hips jolt and tremble with the experimental, circular motions, and the thick of his engorged clitoris stubbornly pushes against Ishigaki's fingers, throbbing from the attention. it's not firm enough, due to how wet Midousuji is. and because of how gentle and stupid stupid Ishigaki is!!
this time, Midousuji muffles a low, brief moan against his hand, arching his back in such a way it creases his belly, lifting his hips as Ishigaki comes in to nuzzle his neck again. when Ishigaki begins to knead with that pressure applied sort of variantly across the impossibly wet slick of his sex, Midousuji's hand finally drops, and his eyes groggily open to peer at the space between them, hungrily watching Ishigaki, his jaw hung open as he pants, feeling drool pool against the hollow of his tongue.]
O-...of course I'm soaked, [Midousuji breathes out heavily, and manages to give Ishigaki a heady look, hazy and hungry. he almost looks annoyed, but it's not at Ishigaki (for the moment)—it's regarding what he's about to explain.] I've never been this horny in my life, because it's so difficult... I haven't really figured out how to get off as reliably as I think my hormones need me to... All I do is just work myself up more and more... Even if I do orgasm, sometimes I'm not even satisfied. It's like I can't catch up.
[Midousuji lets his head drop again, and his tongue coils around his slick fingers, cleaning himself up. but also, the sensations make Midousuji's body antsy—it's literally making him squirm, from the slow, occasional roll forward of his hips, or the subtle arching of his back... whatever that is, that's why Midousuji's fingers press against his own tongue as it clings loosely across a few of his fingers, breathing heavily, watching Ishigaki through the corner of his eyes.
finally, he manages to smile a little again, looking a bit sly.]
Diiiiirty, dirty Ishigaki-kun... You're so nasty. Just what are you saying, anyway? Grrooosss...
[he tilts his head a little, his smile fading, voice quiet and low to the point of rumbling, rolling like a deep, dangerous purr.]
Just what are we gonna do, hmm?
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F-feels so good, [Midousuji babbles, drawling long, saliva dripping down his chin. he finds relief in how his mind empties, in this simple carnal pursuit, the sensations so overwhelming per his need.
to Ishigaki’s questioning, Midousuji finally wrenches his eyes shut. the truth is somewhere in between—he’s exactly this pent and worked up due to his sexual frustration. but he solicited Ishigaki because of trust, and a long neglected aspect of desire; he’s hopelessly attracted to Ishigaki, in capacities he doesn’t even understand.
the wet, sloppy sounds are embarrassing—but only a little. mostly, they fuel Midousuj further; he stutters out a series of staccato gasps and grunts, overcome almost totally. the warm, affectionate kisses leave him tingling and breathless.]
Yessssss, [he hisses.] I-Ishigaki-kuuuhn... [he thinks about it, as his entire body jolts with pleasure—and he gasps sharply. it’s so good. Ishigaki’s question, however... or rather, both of them: if it’s because of Ishigaki, and what he wants Ishigaki to do. it’s hard not to be distracted.]
I want you to fffffuck me, [he grinds out, and his head whips back from the pleasure.]
Make me cum, [Midousuji manages between thick breaths, panting,] I—ah! I only— [Misousuji tenses, hissing through his teeth.] t-trust youuu for the job...
S-so... Do it... Do it—! M-make me cum, and you can f-f—ah! Ahhh!
[Midousuji’s leg jolts involuntarily, and Midousuji wishes he’d removed his shorts entirely; he wants to spread them.]
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a series of excited sounds gradually lift from Midousuji as Ishigaki rubs his engorged, needy clit with so many circular motions, hips trembling as he desperately holds and lifts them in place, instead of clumsily fucking himself against what Ishigaki does. it’s because it’s working—Midousuji feels himself get hot to either of his ears, causing his pussy to gush in needy, hot earnest to how Ishigaki’s fingers move. it makes Midousuji choke, almost sob—and it’s humiliating enough that he rolls his head away from facing Ishigaki, expression partially hidden behind the side of his wrist. he knows he can’t hide, though. he needs this more than his own pride, which is so rare that he isn’t sure he’s experienced it before.]
S-stop...D-don’t be—[Midousuji clenches his jaw, and one of the hands he hides behind covertly tries to wipe away the excessive drool that pools near his ear, close to the couch cushion.]—s-so obtuse, you gross pervert... I—[Midousuji gasps a little, hips jolting.]—already said!
[but god, does he want to risk not getting off? he’s so close, and Midousuji can feel it’s going to be a huge orgasm. he needs it.
and then, Ishigaki's fingers dig upwards—it wrings a new sensation out of Midousuji that causes him to make a clumsy choking sound of surprise, his eyes widening in full abruptly before they steadily roll back again, eyelids flickering half way hooded over his eyes as he lets out a long, deep groan. the sensation is a little familiar—Midousuji thinks he's achieved it fucking himself with his fingers at certain angles, but this weird manuever—this movement of fingers—had never occured to him. and it feels insane. so good, so good.]
Ooooh....
[wait. he was yelling at Ishigaki about something. groggily, Midousuji tries to pull his mind back on track, feeling delirious with pleasure.
Midousuji's clit throbs against the pressure of the flat of Ishigaki's fingertips, and Midousuji knows he's not going to last much longer. being fucked by Ishigaki's fingers felt good, but this in tandem to the external stimulation is unraveling him quickly.]
Y...you...
[Midousuji hides behind his knot of spidery, clenched fingers, breath scattered and hard, pink and red all over what of his skin is exposed.]—you get to fuck me!! I-idiot, a-ah—! [Midousuji feels the sensations well and escalate; keeping a coherent train of thought is becoming very difficult.] Use me like an onnahole, I don’t care!! Just make me c—
[Midousuji’s head whips back suddenly, and one of his fingers dents its clawing, blunt nails against the flushed pale of his neck, the other curled in desperate shyness across his mouth.]
cum...
[his eyes, narrow and heavy, water again, and he presses his hands against his mouth.]
Oh god, [he says quietly into his palms, his voice small and shaky. he feels it. it's right there. he's about to cum.]
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when Ishigaki asks if it’s better, Midousuji just nods clumsily, eyes tightly shut—better doesn’t even matter, it was already good enough! the sensations had already been so escalated, but it’s true the targeted and deliberate focus to bring it higher succeeds. Midousuji groans as Ishigaki comes in close like that, finding it uncomfortable—at least with his cool body temperature, it isn’t stifling in that way, but it feels smothering. there’s more than just a sexual exchange at hand, and that closeness brings that to the surface, exposing itself despite Midousuji’s unreadiness to face it. but it’s part of what pushes Midousuji there.
when Ishigaki asks for Midousuji to say his name, he makes a strangled, irritated sound between his sputtering breaths, rudely shoving his palm against the side of Ishigaki’s face—and almost just as immediately, Midousuji makes a sharp, graceless gasp, his eyes widening as it finally hits him, and Midousuji’s head snaps back again. blood has been steadily weeping from the bite site through their encounter, but it gushes juicily as Midousuji’s orgasm takes him, tearing a clumsy, long sound from Midousuji—a nasally, high and tinny whine, but loud enough to be a cry, his voice dry and trembling.]
Fffuuuuckkkk—! Oh fuck, f—ah, ah—!
[Midousuji’s eyes roll beneath his eyelids as his eyes shut in a tight clench, his body clamping hard around Ishigaki’s (poor) fingers; he wants that continuous, stroking pressure against his G-spot in tandem to the rolling strokes across his clit, but it’s a difficult ask with the strength of the inner wall’s seizing like that. the canal is so tight and desperate that probably if it were Ishigaki’s cock, he’d get pushed right out. saliva coats the side of Midousuji’s face from the position of his head, his body rolling with several hard, trembling jolts, crying out again—and though he thinks it’s so arrogant and so annoying that Ishigaki wants his name, he’s done more than just got Midousuji off. indeed, this is probably the hardest orgasm he’s ever had, and he didn’t need that; Ishigaki could have just done a lot less to get Midousuji a weaker level of his enjoyment. and Ishigaki was like that. a hard worker. a reliable assistant.
reliable.
so it’s not because he asked, but because it’s really true that no one could have been more perfect for the job, Midousuji ends up giving Ishigaki what he wants anyway, though it’s not intentional. it was going to happen either way. several desperate, mindless pleas of Ishigaki’s name is pulled repeatedly from Midousuji, though it’s frequently stuttered or slurred, or only manages to get itself out half way. his mind empties utterly, inner world going white with shock pleasure—and it lasts, to Midousuji’s surprise, longer than expected. longer than he’s ever experienced. he lets go of several more whiny, overwhelmed cries, the push of his hand so weak against Ishigaki’s face now, its fingers curled, it’s more like it simply rests there.
and when it passes, Midousuji takes a severely tremoring hand to roughly grasp Ishigaki’s wrist between their bodies, pulling, urging him to stop. it feels similar to when his dick is spent; once it’s done, it’s too much, though the residual throbbing of his pussy is a different story.]
S… stop, stop, [Midousuji pants desperately, voice spent and worn, body still trembling. Midousuji feels drenched, everywhere from between his legs, his neck, his mouth, to his entire body, shirt clinging to his frame from sweat.] Oh god…
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[Midousuji's head swims—probably partially from the blood loss, sure, but also because his entire body thrums hard and warmly from the aftermath of that orgasm. and he still feels vestige ripples of it—such that when Ishigaki pulls his fingers out, Midousuji makes a surprised, whiny sound, another hard shudder rolling through his body visibly. his jaw drops again, tongue dangling as he pants. his clit may be over-stimulated, and Midousuji may have finally achieved a proper orgasm, but that doesn't mean he's done. he can tell—inside, it still feels way too good, and it's not the same as when he would orgasm with his born set. then, any touch was too much, and often, he'd be over the lust.
meaning to say, there's less clarity post-nut in his circumstance, and with this set.
Midousuji hisses when Ishigaki slaps the hand over his wound, and after a moment, he gives Ishigaki a groggy, malevolent smile. he grips Ishigaki's same wrist, blunt nails denting his now-warmer flesh.]
No.
[Midousuji drops one of his long legs sideways, the majority of it well beyond the floor of what supports them on the couch. his expression is hazy, but pleased, saliva beaded at his gums as he grins, salivating.]
Just keep the pressure there, and I'll be fine.
[Midousuji's other hand, still hovering near his own junk, slips between his labia. he was wet before, but now it's just stupid—and as he feels, stroking, some of the liquid feels more...oily. less sticky and slippery per se. more than prepared. and more importantly, the insides still ache, even after that bizarre, assuaging inner massage.
Midousuji's eyes dip with the motion in the hopes of drawing Ishigaki's gaze along with his own, and that's when he spreads his labia—as best he can, anyway, given how wet he is, and he grins naughtily back up at Ishigaki.]
I'm not such a soulless tyrant, Ishigaki-kuuunnn.... And anyways, I'm a man of my word. You know, anyway, when it comes to wagers and transactions...
[Midousuji's other leg arranges itself to thud heavily against Ishigaki's lower back, and he almost looks giddy.]
Aren't you sick of being such a goooood boyyy, with no reward for all your hard, hard work?
Go ahead.
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not that it isn't nice to have. trusting someone weighs into the feeling of control, which is the best tool to fight his anxiety. and Midousuji is fully without it. when Ishigaki squirms free from his underwear, Midousuji's eyes widen a little from their heavy, lusty daze, not just at the state of it—by instinct, he wants to tease Ishigaki for how wet he is, but he's mostly just a bit surprised by how...
er, well. hung he is. not unbearably or frighteningly so, but it's still enough to take him a little off guard.
and Midousuji is appreciative of Ishigaki's impatience, given it's a rare quality from him. Midousuji does feel a subtle spike of his nerves when Ishigaki cages over him, but desire outweighs that heavily—Midousuji's thin fingers grasp urgently at Ishigaki's upper arms, pulling the fabric impatiently, pulling him forward. as Ishigaki first guides himself, Midousuji ruts the swollen, slick split of his cunt against his erection, his mouth curling in an unsteady smile as he bites his lower lip, one of his eyes narrowing more than the other as he lets out a heavy breath through his nose. then Ishigaki slips, pressing against him.
Midousuji subconsciously holds his breath, eyes stuck on the contact point of impending penetration—and then it happens suddenly, Ishigaki's glans pushing in. Midousuji's hands twitch, pulling hard in a curl against either side of his upper arms, now grasping the fabric alone. he still bites his lip, though his smile is gone.]
Nnhhaaaah...
[even that feels good, but Midousuji greedily and impatiently awaits the rest. then Ishigaki begins to slowly push himself in, further and further, and Midousuji's jaw drops suddenly, his eyes widening as he sucks in an awkward gasp. it's a lot. it doesn't hurt, because god knows Midousuji has worked himself over many hours through the last couple weeks—he's used to the sensation of penetration, but even three of his fingers, cramped to their thinnest points by his clingy, hungry walls, of course doesn't compare to a dick. which feels a lot bigger than it looks, once it's in.
when he's fully in, and rests, Midousuji's hips curve in a slow, upward press, challenging himself to take Ishigaki to his hilt, and he lets out a gravelly, raspy and quiet groan, eyes falling half closed again.]
S...so much, [Midousuji stammers out tensely in response to his name.
this is probably the reason behind Ishigaki's next question. blearily, Midousuji lifts his gaze, meeting Ishigaki's face clumsily. he pauses, taking in his flushed expression... which makes no sense, because he's undead (briefly, Midousuji wonders if this counts as some kind of necrophilia). finding himself resentfully charmed, Midousuji weakly grasps either side of Ishigaki's face, a pale imitation to his usual bullying gesture.]
I'm not made of glass, Ishigaki-kun...
[famous last words? perhaps too giddily, Midousuji wonders. despite how annoyed he sounds, meeting Ishigaki with a bit of a lip-lifted sneer, there's a fluttering in his chest from the tenderness and care. not something Midousuji is interested in exploring.]
Here...
[Midousuji smiles, slow and mean, and he rests comfortably on his broad back, shoulders dropping in a melt, and his tongue tangles between his fingers again, slipping between them and curling around.]
Let me just get you started, you big baby.
[a little encouragement, right?? "teamwork"? Midousuji drops his hips and reels them back, then pushes back into Ishigaki, his leg still clung around his lower back—and its other joins, caging Ishigaki right back, rolling his hips so that Ishigaki slides in and out. only somewhat, of course—it's not an ideal position to control the range of motion, but even that is enough to make Midousuji's flesh burn again, saliva clinging where it culminates at the bottom of his chin as he lets out heavy breaths. at the very least, Ishigaki's stalling has helped Midousuji to get used to feeling so...full.
you know, in a few ways.]
How's that? A little too subtle, isn't it?
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a lot.
Midousuji somehow feels a mix of smug and alarmed when Ishigaki’s hand clumsily tightens against his wound; it partially impacts his airway, enough to make Midousuji feel nervous, but not threatened. and nevermind the sensations, but Ishigaki’s overbearing staring, clinging and praise makes Midousuji’s skin crawl—it’s not something he’s prepared to be confronted with all at once. and the sensations…well.
Midousuji asked for it, to be fair; he deliberately antagonized Ishigaki into being less delicate, and now he pays for it. every thrust, despite Midousuji’s overwhelming slickness—especially having just came—has a push-and-pull dragging sensation accompanying, his hungry, inexperienced walls clinging greedily to Ishigaki’s cock.]
Nnnnngh, [Midousuji grinds out in a low groan in the back of his throat, eyes rolling and eyelids fluttering, his teeth grit as his hand helplessly curls near his jaw, partially obscuring its line. when Ishigaki begins to praise him so brazenly—and erroneously! (perfect isn’t a thing that’s real! An imaginary and problematic standard! A nothing parameter set by a person’s individual whatever-the-fucks!)—Midousuji doesn’t have the connect between his brain and his mouth to say anything about it, despite his visceral disgust for the sentiment.
weakly, he pushes a trembling, pale wrist against Ishigaki’s face again, and his whole body shudders hard when he feels Ishigaki smiling against his skin. he knew it. this pervert.]
S…sh-shut-up, [Midousuji stammers, then gasps, his eyes widening as his head whips back again. Ishigaki’s deep, fast pace is quickly unraveling Midousuji, and keeping up is becoming increasingly difficult; his whole body feels hot again, broken out in a new sweat, and Midousuji lets out several long, disorganized moans, close to something like a wail.]
G…grosssss…Ishigaki-kuhhnn, so gross, [he rasps unsteadily, and his clit throbs hard, spent but not yet done. every recision of Ishigaki’s hips, with every thrust, pulls out Midousuji’s wetness, drenching him well down to the cushion below him, slicking his ass completely. it’s a filthy, disgusting feeling, and one that makes Midousuji feel insane with delight.
though Midousuji might sound unappreciative, the bruising force of Ishigaki’s thrusts are well appreciated—and to demonstrate this, unthinkingly, Midousuji’s hands clasp roughly and awkwardly against the bottoms of his thighs, towards the bend of his back of knee, lifting his legs so that his knees basically frame either side of his face, giving Ishigaki easier access for his deep, unclumsy and frantic thrusts.
it feels so different—different from how it feels to jerk his cock, different from how it felt when Ishigaki made him cum with his clit, even though the internal stimulation played a big part in that earth-shattering payoff—Midousuji isn't certain he can cum around when Ishigaki might, or if he can cum at all, but he realizes this is what he's needed—what he hasn't been able to satisfy on his own, with inexperienced, learning and desperate fingers. every thrust in almost whips the breath out of Midousuji from the hot-white shock each delivers, and his head lazily rolls to the side, gaze unfocused and brows slanted in such a way it wrinkles his brow, mind feeling almost utterly numbed. he feels like every thrust attunes his sensitivity, more receptive to each next thrust that subtly rocks his body.]
G-good, [Midousuji chokes out, his voice trembling, breath heady.] S…so…good… I’sso good… Ishyiyakkhiii-khhhnnn…
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his crown pushes further against the armrest to lean his head further back, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, to keep from choking on his long, over-wet tongue, which hangs out of his mouth as his eyes widen. his breath actually stills and sputters, Midousuji’s eyes widening, face uncomfortably hot; his abdomen is tense, its muscles rippled and raised, eyes rolled. he’s actually surprisingly silent, too taken by the sensation to even make a sound; he lets go of a leg (the one furthest from the back rest of the sofa), keeping it tremblingly in position as best he can without pulling it back himself—and snaps a hand possessively against Ishigaki’s back. when he slows, Midousuji finally groans, and he slowly squirms his hips upward against those slow, deep thrusts, grinding shamelessly against them—because it’s then that Midousuji’s walls are so tight they almost push against Ishigaki’s cock again. so it’s fine, because the way they forcibly, hungrily merge to brace through it.
how apt.
it’s then that Ishigaki suddenly pulls out, despite the raunchy, greedy press of Midousuji’s body—he stammers a gravelly sound of confusion, and his eyes widen when he feels Ishigaki’s cock frot itself between his swollen labia. his eyes hood heavily then, realizing what’s happening, and he bites his lip, watching the way Ishigaki’s cock ruts against his swollen, ruddy clit, which is rebelliously pert against Ishigaki’s quivering dick whenever they pass one another.
hot. it’s hot. Midousuji feels crazy all over again, and wants another nasty orgasm, or for Ishigaki to just cram his dick back in once he’d let go of his load, despite knowing fully from personal experience that’s just not how it goes.]
Yessss, [Midousuji hisses lowly, his fingernails drifting upwards in a rake against Ishigaki’s damp skin and clothing, his fingernails biting again against Ishigaki in response to his suffocating closeness, inadvertently reciprocating it.] So nasty, [he says with a breathy laugh.] Dirty, dirty; you’re like a dog… ♥
[but what’s that mean, then? that Midousuji is desperate and depraved enough to fuck a dog. it may as well be true. or so Midousuji would bitterly like to think, but Ishigaki is far from a scoundrel. unfortunately.
Midousuji’s eyes widen when he sees the first jump of Ishigaki’s ejaculation, and stay wide—he bites his lip again, lifting his hips to tilt them for a better show. it’s so enthralling, Midousuji still hasn’t noticed how Ishigaki is clinging to him, or rather, hasn’t had the presence of mind to be put off by it. when Ishigaki collapses, spent, Midousuji is a little disappointed, his leg nearest to the back rest sticking straight up as he gazes upwards to nothing in particular, eyes wide and face flushed. he feels Ishigaki’s eyes on him, but is too spent to yell at him for it.
his eyes dip down as his eyebrows raise, and Midousuji’s eyes narrow, curiously working his long, thin fingers against the renewed stiffness of his clit (still a liiiittle too sensitive), the slick, fresh heat of Ishigaki’s cum facilitating the movement. wow. he really is depraved. he’s definitely going to get off to that later.
but for now, Midousuji’s hand flops by his hip, and the entirety of him suddenly collapses. his head rolls to the side, tongue rolling out—the pretty blush of his face is stark against how pale the rest of him, and as he cools, even that’s beginning to fade a little. weakly, Midousuji rests his palm against his wound. it’s tacky, so at least it’s coagulating… but shit, he wonders if he’s lost too much blood.
actually, Midousuji’s the dog. risking his life to get some dick.]
Sure, [Midousuji drawls out airily, and his leg finally drops in a graceless swing, no longer having the strength to support it. watch out, Ishigaki. Midousuji then lets go of the other leg. his body feels light, and incredibly weak. he knows he shouldn’t find it pleasant, but he does… but wow, the entirety of his junk still burns like fuck. what a greedy body. he doesn’t feel he’s caught up on what’s been pent up, just yet. but he doesn’t have the will, now, or the might.]
I don’t think I can move, though, [Midousuji slurs slowly, voice dry. his hand is still braced against his neck, though it’s visibly clear his grasp is weak.]
If…I die…because I wanted to get my front door fucked… please disgrace my remains, and never speak my name again…so that I carry on nothing.
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Ew. That’s right, you’re so strong now… [Midousuji caps this statement by softly slapping his hand against the side of Ishigaki’s face, where it then rests, and Midousuji’s head rolls back, rolling his eyes away as he lets his tongue unfurl as he lets go of a long sigh, like he’s resigned to being carried like a damsel. gross.
when he feels Ishigaki stroke his hair, Midousuji’s eyes widen again and he squirms, giving Ishigaki’s face another weak slap and a push. if he had the resources to do so, Midousuji would probably be a little pink in the face; truth told, it feels nice…]
Quit it. Gross.
[with Ishigaki’s apology, Midousuji’s expression then twists to impish amusement, and he gives a sneaky little laugh—thereafter gripping Ishigaki’s face. it’s a little different from the way he tends to smack a grab across someone’s mouth; rather, his wrist is twisted so that the edge of his palm is just in front of Ishigaki’s chin, though his pointer finger and thumb dig harshly all the same. it’s almost like a sarcastic, rough version of a romantic chin tilt.]
Yes, well… For starters, it’s not like sex and feeding has to coincide.
Unless you develop a kink… Can’t get through a meal without pavlov’s bell telling you to get your dick in your food, [Midousuji draws out airily, absolutely just being unpleasant on purpose. but he feels good; this is just his version of flirty banter. he is weak, it’s true, and embarrassed, and ashamed… but the hormonal payoff is far stronger. he can’t recall when he’s been so satisfied, his entire body buzzing and loose, just like his mind.] Nastyyyy. Dirty Ishigaki-kun.
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Midousuji’s smug expression drops suddenly with a low frown, eyebrows raising as his eyes drop to where Ishigaki’s hand rearranges itself against his wrist, and, partially, his palm. though his pulse is lazy and Midousuji’s groggy, he feels his heart beat thud hard once anyway, and he leans his long neck back in incredulous confusion.]
Huh?
[Midousuji lifts his eyes to stare at Ishigaki, head dipping, though his neck is still leaned back. they widen, and his head snaps back, shocked by Ishigaki’s bold—insubordinate!—teasing.]
Huhhhhh???!
[fully stunned, Midousuji’s hand limply falls away when it’s pushed, when normally he’d definitely be more rigid and obstinate. but, you know, he’s weak right now anyway.]
Ishigaki-kuhnnn!!! [Midousuji shrieks, and he slaps his hands over his face. seconds later, he rubs his hands vigorously up and down against it.] Sstttopppp!! Gross!! Gross, gross, gross! [he says that, but his cunt throbs at the suggestion. training Ishigaki. it’s too dangerous for Midousuji to get horny again!! stupid! idiot]
[Midousuji’s hands curl into fists, braced just below his eyes, yanking his lower eyelids down.]
Pervert!! Nasty!!
[he’s absolutely projecting, because Midousuji thinks he’d like it very much. this is new information...]
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empty.
good. pleasant. it’s nice. but wow, he’s loopy. Midousuji’s eyes widen, his gaze becoming especially unfocused. he doesn’t react right away when Ishigaki wipes his wounds with the antiseptic; it does sting, but it doesn’t register right off the bat. and when it does, he it’s still late. his eyes slowly pull back towards Ishigaki, observing in belated awe at his tender, characteristic caring.
how disgusting. after all that. of course. it’s Ishigaki.
when Ishigaki begins to clean up his collarbone and shoulder, Midousuji’s eyes narrow a little, and he sucks in his lower lip beneath the hood of his perfect row of upper teeth.
it’s good he’s too tired to be horny again.
Midousuji remains passive as Ishigaki wraps his neck. after all, Midousuji had told him to do it when they’d just got the weird, horny ball rolling—they both got away from that order. he tilts his neck this way and that, subtly, to accommodate Ishigaki’s dressing of the wound as needed.
Ishigaki’s eyes stick too long between his legs, though—and despite his exhaustion, eyes still half closed, Midousuji laughs—one long, thin leg suddenly swings sideways, and Midousuji bluntly shoves a hand downwards to spread himself apart, below where Ishigaki’s cum dries in and above the mound of his pubis. some of it frames his swollen majora labia.]
Mmm? Did you not get a good enough look?
[Midousuji rolls his fingers across the various folds and the resting nib of his spent clit, then he dips his fingers inside, noting how the entrance is a bit sore—and he draws out a long thread of the mess, spreading his fingers to display it, all threaded and stuck between his fingers.]
A bath is probably wise.
You made quite a mess out of me. Gross. How nasty.
[Midousuji’s eyes roll away, and his tongue cartoonishly, lonely curls around the mess sticking to his fingers.]
Can’t believe I let you get me so dirty. Ickygaki-kun contagious.
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[though Midousuji is hazy and a bit absent from his weakness, he manages to rasp out a laugh, expression curling at its every corner with a naughty amusement.]
But I just fed you, didn’t I? It’s only fair.
[Midousuji groggily watches as Ishigaki begins to draw the bath, his head rolling to one side as he blinks somewhat unevenly. to his question, Midousuji answers Ishigaki initially with a scoffing breath of a laugh. it’s obvious as to why he’s blaming Ishigaki! Ishigaki’s the one who drained Midousuji of all his fluids. sure, Midousuji enabled that—he should have put his foot down to tell Ishigaki to stop, but it felt good enough to die for.
it’s only because Midousuji’s a little delirious that he just smiles widely with narrow eyes, privately satisfied. it’s gross, and shameful—but he doesn’t have enough energy for anything besides smugness.
to Ishigaki’s question, Midousuji blinks, yanking his head back up to boggle at Ishigaki more clearly, seeming drawn out of his groggy self satisfaction.
is he?
Midousuji spreads his legs, hands perched atop his knees, and he looks between them with an exaggerated bend. one hand fishes between his thighs to curiously part things around, rolling his fingers over his spent clit again. he bites his lip a little; it does feel good… not too sensitive, anymore. he could definitely get there again. but,]
Not totally… Half-half, [Midousuji answers, then he stops touching his junk, and decides to just
collapse sideways in a graceless heap, like a sack of bones, hands curled near his face.
they smell like sex.
he hasn’t fainted, but he is silent and wide-eyed, just absently entertaining himself with watching Ishigaki. but you know, Midousuji’s prone to passing out with his eyes open…
he thinks about Ishigaki’s skin. it is strange, but he’s right; Ishigaki is paler than Midousuji, now. he remembers the warm olive tones of his skin when he was human, and how perfectly it suited him, really. just a good country boy. he’s pale, because without feeding, he has no blood…
thankfully, Midousuji speaks, giving Ishigaki indication he hasn’t just keeled over dead.]
Do you still jerk off?
no subject
to Ishigaki’s first question, as Midousuji’s carefully set against the wall. his eyes fall closed, noticing that the coolness of the tile feels nice, since he’s still a bit over warm—but also stings cold at the same time, strangely, due to his lack of blood. his eyes open back up, like he’s just done a long blink, tilting his head slightly to face Ishigaki, expression still empty.]
Normally, it would be, [is Midousuji’s vague response. when Ishigaki’s hands stay clutched against Midousuji’s clammy shoulders, and then he goes off doing a rude neurotypical person thing like intense, sustained eye contact, Midousuji’s gaze falls away, and he lets his head flop sideways.]
What kind of question?
[Midousuji has no idea. his head feels full of soft static shock and fuzzy noise, but even if it wasn’t like that, he’s not sure if he could answer that. he could probably at least come up with a mean, witty clap back, but it doesn’t even occur to him at this time.]
Well, we just had sex, and even though it’s a gross question, we just did a super gross thing. So if I’m curious, why not ask? I just had your entire stupid penis inside of me.
[apparently Ishigaki’s dick is just his business now??? cheek still touching his shoulder, Midousuji’s eyes suddenly snap back towards Ishigaki, his mouth held open slightly before he goes into his follow up.]
My line of thinking was… [another thoughtful eye-roll—and Midousuji’s tongue sags back out of his mouth.] …without your own organic blood circulation, how do you even jerk off?
But you can do it normally… That’s lucky… [he means that with unintentional empathy, as she’s literally lost his mind not being able to jack off.] I was thinking maybe Ishigaki-kun learned how to get off playing with his butt. Advaaaanced. Too advanced, maybe…