[Everything he needs, everything he craves--is this? Is there any part of him that ever wanted this, that isn't the base pleasure-hungry humanity of his own flesh caving to mindless instinct? There's more than a small degree of entrapment in this, after all, the fundamental humiliation of being rendered unable to truly reject the ministrations of the Trailblazer's too-appealing hands and mouth and cock--forced to submit and endure until the "interrogator" is satisfied. No, Luocha would deny personally wanting this or needing this, if he were receiving those words from Caelus with a clearer head. If confronted with such a question within his own element, collected and composed and in control of the situation.
...But all the same. All the same. Isn't there something blasphemously novel about this? To be rendered at the helpless mercy of another--to be pulled open and vulnerable--to have no say in any of it, no role but to receive. ...It has been a very long time since these things were last felt, if indeed Luocha ever has. After so long treading through a journey where his grip on his circumstances cannot soften for even a moment--where he must pursue the promise without rest--isn't it different, to have the control forcibly ripped from his hands, if only in this brief window of time in this quiet cell?
Isn't it disgusting? Isn't it thrilling? Isn't it intoxicating, as all terrible poisons are?
--Too much, not enough and too much. It's overwhelming, the way Caelus's hips continue pushing into him through his orgasm, the way his hot mouth closes against Luocha's neck and teeth sink into skin--a wonderful sear of pain twining with the sinking tide of pleasure, the damp press of tongue against the wound yet another contrasting sensation to contend with. Caelus might be slowing his pace slightly as Luocha comes down--an insulting display of consideration in its own right, probably, if Luocha were aware enough of it to actually have any thought on the matter--but the slide and pulse of that hard cock inside him is still an over-stimulation that briefly peaks to a sort of numbness. Nearly enough of a reprieve for Luocha's panting breath to draw back in a bit deeper, for the involuntary sounds leaving his throat to be quelled. For some semblance of a line of thought to nearly settle back into the haze of his head, something about a revulsion at this, a resentment at how undeniably good this feels--
And then the grip on Luocha's hips is vice-like again, dragging his pleasure-pliant body into a new position that turns his hips and spreads his thighs even more obscenely. There's barely enough time to even register the shift before Caelus is fucking into him anew, that harsh pace of earlier picking up again--that punishing cock pushing right into his prostate at a new and even deeper angle that tears a new choked moan from Luocha's lungs. The over-sensitive walls of his hole shiver and tighten weakly around the Trailblazer's length once more, not that it does anything at all to alleviate the brutal rhythm--numbness is throttled up into a new burst of pleasure, nearly circling around to painful once more in its sharpness, pulsing through every nerve ending with every thrust. There's no room to breathe around it, to think around it. It's cruel and torturous and some traitorous part of him still can't get enough of it--
Caelus comes. He must have, the way he clutches and sinks into Luocha all the way to the hilt and his hips still, the way he's finally making a pleasured groaning sound of his own, gasping and trembling. It's an intimately familiar sight--a sight that Luocha had once relished bringing about himself, unraveling the boy under his own hands time and time again in those encounters past--but the feelings accompanying it couldn't be more different, here and now, this sticky damp heat of being claimed as he's filled with the boy's cum. Worse still--thrillingly still--he can't do anything in response to this, can't pull away or push closer. Luocha can only tremble and shift his hips minutely while Caelus works through his post-orgasmic bliss, panting under the acute sensation of the cock still filling him, every slight movement a new light stroke against his too-sensitive walls and abused prostate. Under this much stimulation his own cock is starting to grow half hard again already; the world is a hot and lightheaded haze once more, save for Caelus's face as he leans near, reaches behind the seat.
Luocha hadn't realized how acute the numb ache in his arms had grown until they're being moved, pins and needles at his fingertips after an indeterminate amount of time spent straining reflexively and repeatedly against the cuffs on his wrists. ...He doesn't have the presence of mind to try struggling, as Caelus adjusts the bindings until Luocha's hands are pinned over his head against the back of the seat, but it's somehow a new wave of helpless vulnerability to be displayed like this. Adjusted into new pretty poses as if he were some sort of doll for the pleasured viewing of Caelus and the Ten-Lords all alike--and maybe he may as well be, at this point. Embers of a proud frustration still flicker, at this; Luocha wants to demand that Caelus unshackle him, wants use of his hands again so that he might at least be able to touch and grip and claw any initiative back, reap some kind of vengeance for all he's been made to receive--
His head has tipped back against the seat, too heavy to keep raised at some point in the last minute or so of coaxed ecstasy. It's only in this slight lull now that Luocha tries to lift it again, and level a glare up at Caelus once more--diminished as the effect probably is by the unfocus in his eyes...]
--Bastard. [Panted out at length, venom still tinged with too much lust--he just can't seem to modulate his own tone anymore--] You...you've craved this just as much. [Perhaps Caelus always has, since that very first encounter. Perhaps being linked with a Stellaron's nature made it inevitable. Luocha's hands curl into fists.] How much more--do you plan to take, before you're satisfied?
[The Trailblazer's still inside him, after all. Of course, some lingering fragment of a thought muses feverishly, it'd be too much to expect that Caelus would be content with only one round of release; the boy always had been in possession of a notable recovery. Fascinating to observe and tease upon in times past; sickening to remember now. (Thrilling, too, that traitorous part of him still whispers--the part that tingles down to his cock, an anticipation against all reason.)]
no subject
...But all the same. All the same. Isn't there something blasphemously novel about this? To be rendered at the helpless mercy of another--to be pulled open and vulnerable--to have no say in any of it, no role but to receive. ...It has been a very long time since these things were last felt, if indeed Luocha ever has. After so long treading through a journey where his grip on his circumstances cannot soften for even a moment--where he must pursue the promise without rest--isn't it different, to have the control forcibly ripped from his hands, if only in this brief window of time in this quiet cell?
Isn't it disgusting? Isn't it thrilling? Isn't it intoxicating, as all terrible poisons are?
--Too much, not enough and too much. It's overwhelming, the way Caelus's hips continue pushing into him through his orgasm, the way his hot mouth closes against Luocha's neck and teeth sink into skin--a wonderful sear of pain twining with the sinking tide of pleasure, the damp press of tongue against the wound yet another contrasting sensation to contend with. Caelus might be slowing his pace slightly as Luocha comes down--an insulting display of consideration in its own right, probably, if Luocha were aware enough of it to actually have any thought on the matter--but the slide and pulse of that hard cock inside him is still an over-stimulation that briefly peaks to a sort of numbness. Nearly enough of a reprieve for Luocha's panting breath to draw back in a bit deeper, for the involuntary sounds leaving his throat to be quelled. For some semblance of a line of thought to nearly settle back into the haze of his head, something about a revulsion at this, a resentment at how undeniably good this feels--
And then the grip on Luocha's hips is vice-like again, dragging his pleasure-pliant body into a new position that turns his hips and spreads his thighs even more obscenely. There's barely enough time to even register the shift before Caelus is fucking into him anew, that harsh pace of earlier picking up again--that punishing cock pushing right into his prostate at a new and even deeper angle that tears a new choked moan from Luocha's lungs. The over-sensitive walls of his hole shiver and tighten weakly around the Trailblazer's length once more, not that it does anything at all to alleviate the brutal rhythm--numbness is throttled up into a new burst of pleasure, nearly circling around to painful once more in its sharpness, pulsing through every nerve ending with every thrust. There's no room to breathe around it, to think around it. It's cruel and torturous and some traitorous part of him still can't get enough of it--
Caelus comes. He must have, the way he clutches and sinks into Luocha all the way to the hilt and his hips still, the way he's finally making a pleasured groaning sound of his own, gasping and trembling. It's an intimately familiar sight--a sight that Luocha had once relished bringing about himself, unraveling the boy under his own hands time and time again in those encounters past--but the feelings accompanying it couldn't be more different, here and now, this sticky damp heat of being claimed as he's filled with the boy's cum. Worse still--thrillingly still--he can't do anything in response to this, can't pull away or push closer. Luocha can only tremble and shift his hips minutely while Caelus works through his post-orgasmic bliss, panting under the acute sensation of the cock still filling him, every slight movement a new light stroke against his too-sensitive walls and abused prostate. Under this much stimulation his own cock is starting to grow half hard again already; the world is a hot and lightheaded haze once more, save for Caelus's face as he leans near, reaches behind the seat.
Luocha hadn't realized how acute the numb ache in his arms had grown until they're being moved, pins and needles at his fingertips after an indeterminate amount of time spent straining reflexively and repeatedly against the cuffs on his wrists. ...He doesn't have the presence of mind to try struggling, as Caelus adjusts the bindings until Luocha's hands are pinned over his head against the back of the seat, but it's somehow a new wave of helpless vulnerability to be displayed like this. Adjusted into new pretty poses as if he were some sort of doll for the pleasured viewing of Caelus and the Ten-Lords all alike--and maybe he may as well be, at this point. Embers of a proud frustration still flicker, at this; Luocha wants to demand that Caelus unshackle him, wants use of his hands again so that he might at least be able to touch and grip and claw any initiative back, reap some kind of vengeance for all he's been made to receive--
His head has tipped back against the seat, too heavy to keep raised at some point in the last minute or so of coaxed ecstasy. It's only in this slight lull now that Luocha tries to lift it again, and level a glare up at Caelus once more--diminished as the effect probably is by the unfocus in his eyes...]
--Bastard. [Panted out at length, venom still tinged with too much lust--he just can't seem to modulate his own tone anymore--] You...you've craved this just as much. [Perhaps Caelus always has, since that very first encounter. Perhaps being linked with a Stellaron's nature made it inevitable. Luocha's hands curl into fists.] How much more--do you plan to take, before you're satisfied?
[The Trailblazer's still inside him, after all. Of course, some lingering fragment of a thought muses feverishly, it'd be too much to expect that Caelus would be content with only one round of release; the boy always had been in possession of a notable recovery. Fascinating to observe and tease upon in times past; sickening to remember now. (Thrilling, too, that traitorous part of him still whispers--the part that tingles down to his cock, an anticipation against all reason.)]