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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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...]
no subject
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…