[Fuuta's tongue tangling with his leaves a pool of drool in Charlie's mouth. Hot and slick, he can't swallow the mess. The delight of sucking his lip into his mouth - feeling teeth nip his own - doesn't do anything to sate his blood. His body would reject the spit with a retch. So he gives it back, cupping it in his tongue to press the cooling saliva back into Fuuta's mouth right before he pulls away.
A bit spills, dripping onto the boy's pantleg.
Charlie's tongue hangs over his bottom lip, retracting slowly. Disappointed in his partner's need to breathe, he stares duly into Fuuta's hazy eyes.]
Yeah...? And so I'm takin' care of you... [Charlie's voice is soft, not the whisper of a man attempting subtlety, but damningly affectionate. For all his bluster, for the deficit to his chips he insists on causing, Charlie's fond of this guy. Because his blood must be delicious. Because he's a greedy kisser. Because he's so easy to wind up.
Simple reasons.
Taking care of him is simple, too.
One hand remains on Fuuta's chest and the other descends, fingers trailing lightly along the folds of a too-baggy hoodie until they meet his wrist. He wraps his grip around the slim joint, but rather than tug the boy's hand away he lets his digits travel down his palm to replace his grasp on his cock. There'll be no arguing that Charlie 'owes him' for this one.
When Fuuta demands another kiss, Charlie of course reciprocates, though after a few nips and squelches of tongue against tongue, he nudges the boy's face aside. His lips travel over flushed jaw, tracing towards neck. At the base of Fuuta's ear, he pauses. Not yet. That shit's still in this guy's system.
With a quiet groan, Charlie brings his hand up from Fuuta's chest to grab his face and tilt it back towards him for another kiss.]
no subject
A bit spills, dripping onto the boy's pantleg.
Charlie's tongue hangs over his bottom lip, retracting slowly. Disappointed in his partner's need to breathe, he stares duly into Fuuta's hazy eyes.]
Yeah...? And so I'm takin' care of you... [Charlie's voice is soft, not the whisper of a man attempting subtlety, but damningly affectionate. For all his bluster, for the deficit to his chips he insists on causing, Charlie's fond of this guy. Because his blood must be delicious. Because he's a greedy kisser. Because he's so easy to wind up.
Simple reasons.
Taking care of him is simple, too.
One hand remains on Fuuta's chest and the other descends, fingers trailing lightly along the folds of a too-baggy hoodie until they meet his wrist. He wraps his grip around the slim joint, but rather than tug the boy's hand away he lets his digits travel down his palm to replace his grasp on his cock. There'll be no arguing that Charlie 'owes him' for this one.
When Fuuta demands another kiss, Charlie of course reciprocates, though after a few nips and squelches of tongue against tongue, he nudges the boy's face aside. His lips travel over flushed jaw, tracing towards neck. At the base of Fuuta's ear, he pauses. Not yet. That shit's still in this guy's system.
With a quiet groan, Charlie brings his hand up from Fuuta's chest to grab his face and tilt it back towards him for another kiss.]