[should he be, when he practically asked for it? between the heat and the clamps, the press of Sylvain's tongue, he practically howls at the searing pleasure of it. fingers tangle in his hair, squirming hips kept in check by the weight on them, and his voice is thin and breathy when he manages words again.]
Sylvain—! Ah, h-hot...
[fuck, it's enough to almost make him feel dizzy.]
no subject
Sylvain—! Ah, h-hot...
[fuck, it's enough to almost make him feel dizzy.]