[ He always feels ready too soon when he's floating- an impatience that he's never truly been able to shake himself of brought to the fore when he has no masks nor mind to hide it. To get the kill over with, to finish the mission, to get to the next thing. Here and now he's drifting and whimpering, mouth hanging open against Bull's slow, calculated assault.
No matter how he seems to hitch or roll his hips he can't get more than Bull intends. It's as much a relief to hang on this glittering bight edge for a little longer as it is infuriating.
He aches. He begs, breath curling in heated Antivan against the sheets. He arches as much as he is allowed, muscles straining against the bindings of his wrists. ]
no subject
No matter how he seems to hitch or roll his hips he can't get more than Bull intends. It's as much a relief to hang on this glittering bight edge for a little longer as it is infuriating.
He aches. He begs, breath curling in heated Antivan against the sheets. He arches as much as he is allowed, muscles straining against the bindings of his wrists. ]