He sputters a string of an absolute nothing defense before he's interrupted by his own throaty sigh under Midousuji's harassment- a fresh wave of heat rippling all down his body, and he intrusively leans forward into Midousuji's shoulder. He can't even properly process his circumstance, as if he's a third party watching it unfold with only Midousuji's crude touch to keep in grounded.
"Oh," he says, belatedly, like he had only now realized what was happening- eyelids blinking rapidly before they fall to half-mast.
The fabric between his dick and his hand is simultaneously frustrating and more than he could have ever hoped for. It makes him clench his jaw, stifling any involuntary noises to the back of his throat, because apparently he still has some pride left in him- but it's not for long. Midousuji leaves his side just as suddenly as it all started, sending Ishigaki jerking himself forward and then back upright. And then Midousuji is below him, Ishigaki's dick an inch away from his face and nothing between them.
"O-Oh."
There's no warning passed that. Ishigaki's waist is pulled forward and then assaulted with the painfully slow drag of an already painfully long tongue, and Midousuji's purr vibrates against his dick like he's been waiting for it. It all felt so cruelly calculated, because of course it was. Calculated before Midousuji even came through the door that Ishigaki leans back into with a thud and a moan tumbling out of him haphazardly.
Ishigaki tilts his head up to the ceiling, cupping his mouth with one hand while the other balls up into a tight fist against the door. His eyes roll and shutter closed under the onslaught sensation of his dick submerging into the heat of his mouth, enveloping him just almost whole- fingers quick to make up for what his mouth doesn't do. It bobs in a rhythm of crude noises, drool collecting in wet cords that drip between his legs, and Ishigaki can't do anything but spread them invitingly wider.
But muting himself proves itself worthless, because Ishigaki is quick to unravel. His hand, damp from hot breaths, shakily uncurls from his mouth- a choked noise releasing itself in full volume when he does. At this point he can't visualize what Midousuji's mouth is doing anymore- it all blurs into a rapid, wet haze. There's no sense of time in Ishigaki's head right now, but he recognizes the building pleasure between his leg, and it's not good.
"Wait, wait-" he begs with a voice hoarse and broken.
Ishigaki places a trembling hand on Midousuji's forehead, giving it a weak push, but all it achieves is slipping up and into his hair, brushing his bangs away from his face and into his fingers. His thoughts lag and his limbs drag, like his whole body is betraying him, because he really, really doesn't want this to stop.
His fists curl into his hair, not taking notice if it's painful for the other or not. He's melting into a series of soft, airy sounds that ends with a crack of his throat, and he doesn't recognize his own voice when he hears it. He didn't think he was the vocal type- never was before- but Midousuji's shamelessness is contagious and the building want brings out something that was buried deep away.
"Midousuji, please, slow down-"
Ishigaki pushes hard, once. The heat of Midousuji's mouth disappears with a pop, causing Ishigaki to shudder in both relief and disappointment.
"God," he gasps and swallows thickly. His head drops, rising to full height to slack his body heavily against the door.
He tilts his head back and he drags both hands slowly down his face, groaning. "You never make anything easy, do you?" And of course Midousuji doesn't. He couldn't have started off with kissing, or foreplay, or whatever else it is you do in these situations. But it's very… him.
He gains the courage to look down, knowing better than to try beforehand or else this would have ended much sooner. Midousuji's face is a mess: hair disarray and chin dripping, and Ishigaki wonder's if his own is just as red.
His eyes roll away, mouth forming a tight line as he does so. His bottom lip quivers almost unnoticeably, just once.
"I'll, uh. Finish..." he admits. "If you keep that up..."
no subject
"Oh," he says, belatedly, like he had only now realized what was happening- eyelids blinking rapidly before they fall to half-mast.
The fabric between his dick and his hand is simultaneously frustrating and more than he could have ever hoped for. It makes him clench his jaw, stifling any involuntary noises to the back of his throat, because apparently he still has some pride left in him- but it's not for long. Midousuji leaves his side just as suddenly as it all started, sending Ishigaki jerking himself forward and then back upright. And then Midousuji is below him, Ishigaki's dick an inch away from his face and nothing between them.
"O-Oh."
There's no warning passed that. Ishigaki's waist is pulled forward and then assaulted with the painfully slow drag of an already painfully long tongue, and Midousuji's purr vibrates against his dick like he's been waiting for it. It all felt so cruelly calculated, because of course it was. Calculated before Midousuji even came through the door that Ishigaki leans back into with a thud and a moan tumbling out of him haphazardly.
Ishigaki tilts his head up to the ceiling, cupping his mouth with one hand while the other balls up into a tight fist against the door. His eyes roll and shutter closed under the onslaught sensation of his dick submerging into the heat of his mouth, enveloping him just almost whole- fingers quick to make up for what his mouth doesn't do. It bobs in a rhythm of crude noises, drool collecting in wet cords that drip between his legs, and Ishigaki can't do anything but spread them invitingly wider.
But muting himself proves itself worthless, because Ishigaki is quick to unravel. His hand, damp from hot breaths, shakily uncurls from his mouth- a choked noise releasing itself in full volume when he does. At this point he can't visualize what Midousuji's mouth is doing anymore- it all blurs into a rapid, wet haze. There's no sense of time in Ishigaki's head right now, but he recognizes the building pleasure between his leg, and it's not good.
"Wait, wait-" he begs with a voice hoarse and broken.
Ishigaki places a trembling hand on Midousuji's forehead, giving it a weak push, but all it achieves is slipping up and into his hair, brushing his bangs away from his face and into his fingers. His thoughts lag and his limbs drag, like his whole body is betraying him, because he really, really doesn't want this to stop.
His fists curl into his hair, not taking notice if it's painful for the other or not. He's melting into a series of soft, airy sounds that ends with a crack of his throat, and he doesn't recognize his own voice when he hears it. He didn't think he was the vocal type- never was before- but Midousuji's shamelessness is contagious and the building want brings out something that was buried deep away.
"Midousuji, please, slow down-"
Ishigaki pushes hard, once. The heat of Midousuji's mouth disappears with a pop, causing Ishigaki to shudder in both relief and disappointment.
"God," he gasps and swallows thickly. His head drops, rising to full height to slack his body heavily against the door.
He tilts his head back and he drags both hands slowly down his face, groaning. "You never make anything easy, do you?" And of course Midousuji doesn't. He couldn't have started off with kissing, or foreplay, or whatever else it is you do in these situations. But it's very… him.
He gains the courage to look down, knowing better than to try beforehand or else this would have ended much sooner. Midousuji's face is a mess: hair disarray and chin dripping, and Ishigaki wonder's if his own is just as red.
His eyes roll away, mouth forming a tight line as he does so. His bottom lip quivers almost unnoticeably, just once.
"I'll, uh. Finish..." he admits. "If you keep that up..."