[He feels it more than he sees it, the instant he knows he's guessed right. It's the same instant that Reno realizes what he's done, he suspects, because it's the moment that the satisfaction of discovering how he intends to get him off trips over the unexpected element of the intensity he adds to it. He can feel it in the electric tension that rattles through Reno's limbs, can feel it in the frantic bite of fingers through the fabric of his healer's garb. He can feel it in the pulse of the cock caught firm in his palm, how he gets even harder once there's an element of danger thrown into the mix.
Gods, but it feels like they're caught in a reciprocal circuit, feeding off each other as the sight of their respective reactions drive each other to soaring heights. Knowing he's gauged Reno's tastes correctly is a shot of arousal through his own veins, heady with triumph and the implicit confirmation of knowing he's done well.
And so too will be the knowledge that he's made a mess of him, even if the way he opts to go about it is a bit crueler than strictly necessary — though somehow he suspects Reno won't quite mind that either. Playing for stakes loses its luster if there aren't consequences to the loss, and as losses go, the sanctity of his costume trousers is a tragic but acceptable one.
Maybe it's just that he aches to be memorable, for reasons he can't quite explain and doesn't dare to try. Maybe that's why he wants it like this, the extra liberties, the way there's no room for Reno to look anywhere else but at his face, into his eyes. No chance of missing who it is that's doing this to him, burning into his mind's eye just who's making him feel like this.
He really is gorgeous when he falls apart, shaking like a leaf as wet heat floods the tight pocket where his hand and Reno's cock are confined by his trousers, and it's filthy and slick but he keeps stroking him right through it, recalling the way Reno's tongue had been equally relentless in bringing him to the brink of overstimulation.]
Hah — like that, do you —
[There's probably something wrong with him, that making someone else orgasm leaves his mood exponentially better than it'd been when he'd had one himself. Maybe he'll pick that whole damned tangle of his own emotions apart later, or maybe he won't.
As it is, when he feels Reno starting to come back down after his astronomical peak, he relents just a little on the pressure on his throat — still confining him, but making it easier to catch his breath if he needs to drag a few heavy ones in — and brings his wet hand out of Reno's trousers and up to his mouth so there's no missing it either when he licks it, dragging the flat of his tongue lazily across the seed-slick palm.]
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Gods, but it feels like they're caught in a reciprocal circuit, feeding off each other as the sight of their respective reactions drive each other to soaring heights. Knowing he's gauged Reno's tastes correctly is a shot of arousal through his own veins, heady with triumph and the implicit confirmation of knowing he's done well.
And so too will be the knowledge that he's made a mess of him, even if the way he opts to go about it is a bit crueler than strictly necessary — though somehow he suspects Reno won't quite mind that either. Playing for stakes loses its luster if there aren't consequences to the loss, and as losses go, the sanctity of his costume trousers is a tragic but acceptable one.
Maybe it's just that he aches to be memorable, for reasons he can't quite explain and doesn't dare to try. Maybe that's why he wants it like this, the extra liberties, the way there's no room for Reno to look anywhere else but at his face, into his eyes. No chance of missing who it is that's doing this to him, burning into his mind's eye just who's making him feel like this.
He really is gorgeous when he falls apart, shaking like a leaf as wet heat floods the tight pocket where his hand and Reno's cock are confined by his trousers, and it's filthy and slick but he keeps stroking him right through it, recalling the way Reno's tongue had been equally relentless in bringing him to the brink of overstimulation.]
Hah — like that, do you —
[There's probably something wrong with him, that making someone else orgasm leaves his mood exponentially better than it'd been when he'd had one himself. Maybe he'll pick that whole damned tangle of his own emotions apart later, or maybe he won't.
As it is, when he feels Reno starting to come back down after his astronomical peak, he relents just a little on the pressure on his throat — still confining him, but making it easier to catch his breath if he needs to drag a few heavy ones in — and brings his wet hand out of Reno's trousers and up to his mouth so there's no missing it either when he licks it, dragging the flat of his tongue lazily across the seed-slick palm.]