[ They're playing at something here. Something that curls through the air every bit as palpable as their heavy, sex-laden scents, dark and lustful and tightening in Prompto's gut like a million tiny strings weaving through it. The low, almost dangerous edge to Noctis' voice even as the words drip from his lips like honey, sweet and hot against his ear; the way he presses closer over him in a (not-so-)subtle show of strength, surrounding, possessive. The way Prompto is practically melting under him, drinking in all his praise as though he'd been starved for it; the way he opens, offers, body wracked in silent supplication, something very close to worship.
Any words Prompto might have for it, however, are lost in the haze. Noctis shifts his hips just enough-- a slow, grinding circle down against him that keeps that thick cock, that knot rubbing steadily inside of him, and fuck it's knocking him absolutely breathless. His prostate is under almost continuous pressure at this point, every little shift an impossibly deep pulse of pleasure, every inch of Noctis nudging so deep, so deep-- and he's going to break, he knows it, he knows it. He's still stretching wider as the knot keeps swelling, his slick (tinged with Noct's precome, leaking just as much, he can smell it) pushing out in wet little noises with each shallow thrust, and-- ]
A-almost...?
[ His voice is barely there, but the faint disbelief still comes through; how can it get any bigger? But it is, it is-- and the heat, the pressure, the reflex in every muscle to clamp desperately down around it. This boiling ache at the core of him, almost too much to take; Prompto's breath comes in staggered gasps and sharp whines, his own hips wriggling now, moving in aimless sways and rolls as he works himself around the thickness of that knot. There's no describing the sensation; pleasure or pain, both sell it short. It's denser, hotter, like a star trying to be born between his legs-- dragging everything inside him into itself, glowing white, throbbing with its own beat.
He's nearly sobbing. ]
I like it, I like it-- Noct, fuck, I love it, please, I-- [ He loses his grip on the older man's shoulders, hands falling back to the bed to instead dig sharply into the pillow behind him; his heels dig into Noct's back, his back arches high, every single part of his body in desperate motion, writhing. His lips, too-- moving, passing words, nearly-incoherent begging. ] Don't ever stop, don't ever stop--
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Date: 2018-04-16 08:50 am (UTC)Any words Prompto might have for it, however, are lost in the haze. Noctis shifts his hips just enough-- a slow, grinding circle down against him that keeps that thick cock, that knot rubbing steadily inside of him, and fuck it's knocking him absolutely breathless. His prostate is under almost continuous pressure at this point, every little shift an impossibly deep pulse of pleasure, every inch of Noctis nudging so deep, so deep-- and he's going to break, he knows it, he knows it. He's still stretching wider as the knot keeps swelling, his slick (tinged with Noct's precome, leaking just as much, he can smell it) pushing out in wet little noises with each shallow thrust, and-- ]
A-almost...?
[ His voice is barely there, but the faint disbelief still comes through; how can it get any bigger? But it is, it is-- and the heat, the pressure, the reflex in every muscle to clamp desperately down around it. This boiling ache at the core of him, almost too much to take; Prompto's breath comes in staggered gasps and sharp whines, his own hips wriggling now, moving in aimless sways and rolls as he works himself around the thickness of that knot. There's no describing the sensation; pleasure or pain, both sell it short. It's denser, hotter, like a star trying to be born between his legs-- dragging everything inside him into itself, glowing white, throbbing with its own beat.
He's nearly sobbing. ]
I like it, I like it-- Noct, fuck, I love it, please, I-- [ He loses his grip on the older man's shoulders, hands falling back to the bed to instead dig sharply into the pillow behind him; his heels dig into Noct's back, his back arches high, every single part of his body in desperate motion, writhing. His lips, too-- moving, passing words, nearly-incoherent begging. ] Don't ever stop, don't ever stop--