[ Reno manages a bout of raucous laughter between gasps and pants as he hits the floor and is descended upon all over again, aching already and sure he'll be bruised and limping by tomorrow. He howls when Tseng pushes back in, grasping at him, grasping at the floor, back arched and legs splayed wide only to come closed against either side of Tseng's hips and urge him in with the tight squeeze of his thighs. He's got such a hold on him with those legs he could probably flip them over with that alone, but there's no such need for that kind of theatrics when it's so fucking good like it is, his head snapped back to expose his throat—and to direct his screaming right up at the ceiling.
Speaking of theatrics, is some of this that, a little? Yes, some, in the sense that there is no absolute demanding need to be quite that loud, and also now they have a potentially dangerous audience to entertain, but it isn't shrieking just to shriek. The absolutely pornographic moans and cries and yelps at Tseng's name or any of the other things he says that sound fresh outta Pornhub (oh, fuck, you're so good, that's it, yesss, fuck me— harder—) are part of the show, it's true, but none of them are lies. None of it is forced. This is, if nothing else, just an opportunity to let it all out. Why fucking not scream and say everything he wants and let Tseng know without so much as a shadow of a doubt how much he's loving it? And it might make him laugh, as a bonus, might get them killed, as another bonus, and it'll leave his throat raw, as the best bonus.
His eyes fix on the door for only a second or two right when he hits that point of no return. Anything else, he can spring to action from. But being caught in the web of an absolute fuckstorm of an orgasm, like he's about to be—that's total vulnerability. He's helpless as a sexkitten. To be honest he can't even make out if the voices are still there or if he's imagining them anymore, but to hell with it. Reno gives himself over to fate with one last strangled cry, shuddering and hiccuping, twitching and tight. And tears—some tears he'd kind of hoped to skip over this time, his lower lip trembling as the incomplete wiring in his brain sends all those rushing chemicals to the wrong places. That's alright, though. That's honest, too. ]
no subject
Speaking of theatrics, is some of this that, a little? Yes, some, in the sense that there is no absolute demanding need to be quite that loud, and also now they have a potentially dangerous audience to entertain, but it isn't shrieking just to shriek. The absolutely pornographic moans and cries and yelps at Tseng's name or any of the other things he says that sound fresh outta Pornhub (oh, fuck, you're so good, that's it, yesss, fuck me— harder—) are part of the show, it's true, but none of them are lies. None of it is forced. This is, if nothing else, just an opportunity to let it all out. Why fucking not scream and say everything he wants and let Tseng know without so much as a shadow of a doubt how much he's loving it? And it might make him laugh, as a bonus, might get them killed, as another bonus, and it'll leave his throat raw, as the best bonus.
His eyes fix on the door for only a second or two right when he hits that point of no return. Anything else, he can spring to action from. But being caught in the web of an absolute fuckstorm of an orgasm, like he's about to be—that's total vulnerability. He's helpless as a sexkitten. To be honest he can't even make out if the voices are still there or if he's imagining them anymore, but to hell with it. Reno gives himself over to fate with one last strangled cry, shuddering and hiccuping, twitching and tight. And tears—some tears he'd kind of hoped to skip over this time, his lower lip trembling as the incomplete wiring in his brain sends all those rushing chemicals to the wrong places. That's alright, though. That's honest, too. ]