[ Sylvain is even more beautiful, desperate and cresting over his edge. Maybe it's too much. Maybe he's killed this human, and that would be terrible, but is it really such an awful way to go? They are so fragile.
Seeing him covered in Basch's seed, though, drives him wild, even with his own body falling into languid satisfaction, and he rubs the other with fanned heat, his hand sped by his own slick. It's hardly a moment before the other is arching, frozen and screaming around him and utterly, unfathomably perfect.
The tentacles retreat, caressing over him gently, guiding him into Basch's arms. For a moment he does worry the other has expired, like a rabbit so startled its heart burst. But no, he's just dazed, and its arms that anchor their warmth together, Basch murmuring nothings as he pushes Sylvain's hair from his face.
But something wasn't right. Time skipped, the ending of their encounter playing again -- and then it felt like he'd been holding Sylvain like this for hours. His brow furrowed, trying to grip the other harder, but his arms felt empty, and why was his cock hard?
He was suddenly aware of bright light, and heat on his skin. He clung to Sylvain, vulnerable and dazed in his arms, but it was no use.
Which was why the man's name was urgently on his lips when he came to, blinking into the too-bright sun. He scrabbled around, dizzy and disoriented, trying to clear his vision.
There was Sylvain, on the bench beside him, breathing and dry. A dream. It was a dream. A very...embarrassing and explicit dream.
Still, he can't help reaching out, a hand on the other's leg, yearning for the piece of that story that was cut off, the warm quiet nestling together, the protecting what was his when it was so dependent. Which reminded him that he was on the beach with a raging hard-on, but at least that Sylvain would probably laugh about. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-07-09 02:09 am (UTC)Seeing him covered in Basch's seed, though, drives him wild, even with his own body falling into languid satisfaction, and he rubs the other with fanned heat, his hand sped by his own slick. It's hardly a moment before the other is arching, frozen and screaming around him and utterly, unfathomably perfect.
The tentacles retreat, caressing over him gently, guiding him into Basch's arms. For a moment he does worry the other has expired, like a rabbit so startled its heart burst. But no, he's just dazed, and its arms that anchor their warmth together, Basch murmuring nothings as he pushes Sylvain's hair from his face.
But something wasn't right. Time skipped, the ending of their encounter playing again -- and then it felt like he'd been holding Sylvain like this for hours. His brow furrowed, trying to grip the other harder, but his arms felt empty, and why was his cock hard?
He was suddenly aware of bright light, and heat on his skin. He clung to Sylvain, vulnerable and dazed in his arms, but it was no use.
Which was why the man's name was urgently on his lips when he came to, blinking into the too-bright sun. He scrabbled around, dizzy and disoriented, trying to clear his vision.
There was Sylvain, on the bench beside him, breathing and dry. A dream. It was a dream. A very...embarrassing and explicit dream.
Still, he can't help reaching out, a hand on the other's leg, yearning for the piece of that story that was cut off, the warm quiet nestling together, the protecting what was his when it was so dependent. Which reminded him that he was on the beach with a raging hard-on, but at least that Sylvain would probably laugh about. ]