[ Somewhere at the back of his mind, he registers the damp patter of his own spit dripping onto his clothes. Vaguely, he knows that's gross, and he'd normally have a lot more to say about it, criticizing Charlie for his sloppiness and bitching him out for letting that happen and saying something or the other about cleaning fees. But honestly, all those thoughts feel miles and miles away, buried under hazy thoughts of how nice that kiss had felt.
Then he feels that hand tracing down his wrist, grazing against his palm for a moment before wrapping around his cock. The unnatural chill of Charlie's skin does earn a start and a jump, Fuuta's legs giving a startled jolt from the unexpected sensation of it, a confused grunt stifled at the back of his throat.
Whatever hesitation that surprise had merited is easily squelched, though, the moment those fingers squeeze.
Even cold, the touch of another's skin always feels drastically different from one's own. And riled up as he is by the drinks' influence, Fuuta's in no position to turn down that tantalizing stimulation. It barely takes a few deft movements before he's squirming and tensing against the couch so hard that the cushion squeak softly in protest. And when Charlie rewards him that kiss he'd demanded, that's all that's needed to push him over the edge. It's a relatively paltry amount of stimulation, something he'd be mortified to be climaxing from under normal circumstances, but there's no room in his brain for such notions at the moment -- right now, all that matters is that the feel of teeth grazing over his lip and tongue swiping against tongue feels good enough to wipe his thoughts clean, and Fuuta comes messily over Charlie's hand with a choked moan.
It's a climax that hits sudden and hard, enhanced several times over by whatever's in his system, and Fuuta shudders against the couch as he works through the waves of pleasure, rapidly starting to go limp against the cushions as his field of vision spins.
-- fuck. This really isn't how he'd thought this evening would go. ]
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Then he feels that hand tracing down his wrist, grazing against his palm for a moment before wrapping around his cock. The unnatural chill of Charlie's skin does earn a start and a jump, Fuuta's legs giving a startled jolt from the unexpected sensation of it, a confused grunt stifled at the back of his throat.
Whatever hesitation that surprise had merited is easily squelched, though, the moment those fingers squeeze.
Even cold, the touch of another's skin always feels drastically different from one's own. And riled up as he is by the drinks' influence, Fuuta's in no position to turn down that tantalizing stimulation. It barely takes a few deft movements before he's squirming and tensing against the couch so hard that the cushion squeak softly in protest. And when Charlie rewards him that kiss he'd demanded, that's all that's needed to push him over the edge. It's a relatively paltry amount of stimulation, something he'd be mortified to be climaxing from under normal circumstances, but there's no room in his brain for such notions at the moment -- right now, all that matters is that the feel of teeth grazing over his lip and tongue swiping against tongue feels good enough to wipe his thoughts clean, and Fuuta comes messily over Charlie's hand with a choked moan.
It's a climax that hits sudden and hard, enhanced several times over by whatever's in his system, and Fuuta shudders against the couch as he works through the waves of pleasure, rapidly starting to go limp against the cushions as his field of vision spins.
-- fuck. This really isn't how he'd thought this evening would go. ]