Ishigaki face is still buzzing hot from humiliation, legs left trembling from the fall of his orgasm, eyes unfocused with satisfaction. He's too dazed to properly react to the heavy slap of Midousuji's hand inches from his face, but his attention is grabbed anyhow- Midousuji forcing Ishigaki's far-off gaze to lock into his. Midousuji swallows then, the act alone making it theatrical, his already wide eyes blown dark with something inscrutable, and Ishigaki can almost recognize the adrenalin that it gives him- simultaneously gobsmacked and thrilled.
Midousuji moves himself closer, then, caging Ishigaki against the wall. He's close enough for Ishigaki to hear the wet sounds of saliva thick in his mouth and the deep breathes in between, otherwise subtle sounds now unbearably loud.
"Yeah, just...." He finally says, quietly, trying to control his breathing into something less noticable. There was an atmosphere here, one he didn't want to break by speaking too loudly. "Surprised is all. That was pretty bold. Even for you..."
Ishigaki then notices the subtle movement of Midousuji's shoulder, and his eyes follow down his spidery arm to impatient fingers that sprawl across his crotch. His brows raise, face twitching in a worrisome motion- not surprised in the action itself, but from his reeling reality.
His original instinct to Midousuji's audaciousness is to challenge it with martyred temperance, perhaps out of habitual self defense, but Midousuji has shown there'a no waiting for time to smoothen out Ishigaki's uncertainties anymore. Midousuji has been waiting- patiently, he's now sure, and long enough for his base, animal instincts to boil over. Ishigaki breathes in, eyes flashing a shy look- a trickle of wonder and wait showing through them, before falling back down to poke curious fingers under Midousuji's.
"Hey, let me," he whispers. Ishigaki instictually moves forward, forgetting for a moment they're already so close, his nose now at the side of Midousuji's almost non-existent one, foreheads brushing. Ishigaki's eyes roll between Midousuji's waitful stare and the room around them, nerves still prominently staining his face pink up to his ears, before they fall on their joined hands again.
His orgasm had lulled his nerves with its soft waves, and although his pulse still thumps loud in his ear, he thankfully finds that it's easier to act on impulse now. His hand slides underneath Midousuji's until it's fully cupping him through his pants, dick prominently hard under his palm. A needy warmth spreads out and downwards in response, pooling into his stomach as he imagines the shape under his fingertips.
"I didn't expect you to be waiting for me... If I knew, I-" He fumbles, guilt guiding him through his words.
Ishigaki's expression drops into something smaller then, now glaringly aware that he doesn't have the confidence to say anything meaningful. He doesn't even know, not entirely, if what Midousuji is doing has any meaning outside of being pent up without Komari in the picture now. He can only make an educated guess, that this was Midousuji's characteristically bizarre way of showing interest, and not Ishigaki's hopeless projection. Or at the very least least, hope that his careful touch makes up for anything otherwise- the stimulation probably the only thing keeping Midousuji from cutting him off.
"You'd think for someone so persistent towards you, I'd catch on." There’s the sound of a laugh under his voice. "Always a step behind... You'll have to forgive me."
His palm strokes more firmly this time, and again, until it's a rhythm purposely too slow for what Midousuji is asking for. He’s almost doubtful, ready to wake up from another one of his wet dreams, but there’s a weird gentle sincerity sliding under his defenses instead- his mind empties with each stroke, telling him that he's content with whatever Midousuji throws at him next, open to whatever crued sincerity he has to offer. He reminds himself there’s familiarity here, something to ground himself against in a situation that otherwise leaves him thoroughly at sea.
He leans in then, body raising off the wall and into Midousuji's frame, an arm lifting when he rises to wrap over Midousuji's neck. He hasn't looked up from their hands until now, though it doesnt matter much that he has. Midousuji's eyes are a lightless blur reflected in his own with how close they are, too dark to be anything distinctive. What's apparent now is that he can smell his signature scent closely, one that usually only lingers faintly from his clothes, or his wordlessly designated side of Ishigaki’s couch, and it's probably no more than the select laundry detergent he ritually uses, but it's enough for the subconscious of Ishigaki's want to push him forward.
Ishigaki doesn’t think through what he’s doing, doesn’t process the implications or the actions- he just closes the little distance they do have, Midousuji's lips against his and Ishigaki tipping his head into something comfortable.
no subject
Midousuji moves himself closer, then, caging Ishigaki against the wall. He's close enough for Ishigaki to hear the wet sounds of saliva thick in his mouth and the deep breathes in between, otherwise subtle sounds now unbearably loud.
"Yeah, just...." He finally says, quietly, trying to control his breathing into something less noticable. There was an atmosphere here, one he didn't want to break by speaking too loudly. "Surprised is all. That was pretty bold. Even for you..."
Ishigaki then notices the subtle movement of Midousuji's shoulder, and his eyes follow down his spidery arm to impatient fingers that sprawl across his crotch. His brows raise, face twitching in a worrisome motion- not surprised in the action itself, but from his reeling reality.
His original instinct to Midousuji's audaciousness is to challenge it with martyred temperance, perhaps out of habitual self defense, but Midousuji has shown there'a no waiting for time to smoothen out Ishigaki's uncertainties anymore. Midousuji has been waiting- patiently, he's now sure, and long enough for his base, animal instincts to boil over. Ishigaki breathes in, eyes flashing a shy look- a trickle of wonder and wait showing through them, before falling back down to poke curious fingers under Midousuji's.
"Hey, let me," he whispers. Ishigaki instictually moves forward, forgetting for a moment they're already so close, his nose now at the side of Midousuji's almost non-existent one, foreheads brushing. Ishigaki's eyes roll between Midousuji's waitful stare and the room around them, nerves still prominently staining his face pink up to his ears, before they fall on their joined hands again.
His orgasm had lulled his nerves with its soft waves, and although his pulse still thumps loud in his ear, he thankfully finds that it's easier to act on impulse now. His hand slides underneath Midousuji's until it's fully cupping him through his pants, dick prominently hard under his palm. A needy warmth spreads out and downwards in response, pooling into his stomach as he imagines the shape under his fingertips.
"I didn't expect you to be waiting for me... If I knew, I-" He fumbles, guilt guiding him through his words.
Ishigaki's expression drops into something smaller then, now glaringly aware that he doesn't have the confidence to say anything meaningful. He doesn't even know, not entirely, if what Midousuji is doing has any meaning outside of being pent up without Komari in the picture now. He can only make an educated guess, that this was Midousuji's characteristically bizarre way of showing interest, and not Ishigaki's hopeless projection. Or at the very least least, hope that his careful touch makes up for anything otherwise- the stimulation probably the only thing keeping Midousuji from cutting him off.
"You'd think for someone so persistent towards you, I'd catch on." There’s the sound of a laugh under his voice. "Always a step behind... You'll have to forgive me."
His palm strokes more firmly this time, and again, until it's a rhythm purposely too slow for what Midousuji is asking for. He’s almost doubtful, ready to wake up from another one of his wet dreams, but there’s a weird gentle sincerity sliding under his defenses instead- his mind empties with each stroke, telling him that he's content with whatever Midousuji throws at him next, open to whatever crued sincerity he has to offer. He reminds himself there’s familiarity here, something to ground himself against in a situation that otherwise leaves him thoroughly at sea.
He leans in then, body raising off the wall and into Midousuji's frame, an arm lifting when he rises to wrap over Midousuji's neck. He hasn't looked up from their hands until now, though it doesnt matter much that he has. Midousuji's eyes are a lightless blur reflected in his own with how close they are, too dark to be anything distinctive. What's apparent now is that he can smell his signature scent closely, one that usually only lingers faintly from his clothes, or his wordlessly designated side of Ishigaki’s couch, and it's probably no more than the select laundry detergent he ritually uses, but it's enough for the subconscious of Ishigaki's want to push him forward.
Ishigaki doesn’t think through what he’s doing, doesn’t process the implications or the actions- he just closes the little distance they do have, Midousuji's lips against his and Ishigaki tipping his head into something comfortable.