[ There's really such a sick pleasure in all of it — such a sickness in the way that Caelus knows, instinctively, that he's never going to get this again from anyone but Luocha. Who else could manipulate his body (the vessel) so easily, caressing muscles and nerves and their connections as expertly as playing an instrument? Who else would know how to press into his tongue just far back enough that it stifles his breath, not enough to make him choke and gag, but just enough that he can't breathe and the hazy lightheadedness that sets into his brain makes him feel even closer to vulnerable ecstasy than before?
Caelus struggles to breathe, but he doesn't resist. He has never worshiped the Aeons in a way that matters; he has never tasted true religious fervor. But this, he thinks, is what it must feel like to surrender to the hands of a god.
Luocha calls him good again and it floods his heart with unreasonable pride. Has he really wanted this that much? Has he really craved this that much? Yes, he's a good boy, wants to be even better, wants to beg that he would do anything for that harsh pressure over his cock to just be removed so that he can bask in how good he's been —
— and then, finally, Luocha lets go, and Caelus comes.
Having to hold back for a time seems to have made it that much more potent; the Trailblazer comes with a soft, broken cry and an incoherent whimper, spattering over his abs where his shirt has ridden up his chest from all his writhing. He's staining Luocha's beautiful gloves, too, but he doesn't care, not when that wondrously soft leather is pumping back and forth over his shaft, now slick and warm from everything they've done together, milking him dry. He thinks he's given up everything he has, but Luocha's hand keeps going and then he comes even more with a shudder. So damn soft. He's just so obsessed with how Luocha's hands feel, in those beautiful fucking gloves —
Boneless and jittering for it, Caelus submits completely to Luocha's touch, panting breathlessly, spread-legged on the chair and thoroughly debauched. His short-lived victory is over, but this is a victory for him, too. Perhaps surrender looks better on him than triumph. ]
...Luocha...
[ What is he calling Luocha's name for? Is he beseeching, pleading? His eyes are glazed over and his face is flushed and it's impossible to read his expression for anything but satiated desire.
Maybe it's just acknowledgment of who's done this to him. It's not his real name, but that hardly matters in the moment. It's also just kind of fun to say. Luocha. Luocha.
The Stellaron has stopped singing, but it hums, pleased. Again, as is its nature, it has granted one more twisted wish. ]
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Caelus struggles to breathe, but he doesn't resist. He has never worshiped the Aeons in a way that matters; he has never tasted true religious fervor. But this, he thinks, is what it must feel like to surrender to the hands of a god.
Luocha calls him good again and it floods his heart with unreasonable pride. Has he really wanted this that much? Has he really craved this that much? Yes, he's a good boy, wants to be even better, wants to beg that he would do anything for that harsh pressure over his cock to just be removed so that he can bask in how good he's been —
— and then, finally, Luocha lets go, and Caelus comes.
Having to hold back for a time seems to have made it that much more potent; the Trailblazer comes with a soft, broken cry and an incoherent whimper, spattering over his abs where his shirt has ridden up his chest from all his writhing. He's staining Luocha's beautiful gloves, too, but he doesn't care, not when that wondrously soft leather is pumping back and forth over his shaft, now slick and warm from everything they've done together, milking him dry. He thinks he's given up everything he has, but Luocha's hand keeps going and then he comes even more with a shudder. So damn soft. He's just so obsessed with how Luocha's hands feel, in those beautiful fucking gloves —
Boneless and jittering for it, Caelus submits completely to Luocha's touch, panting breathlessly, spread-legged on the chair and thoroughly debauched. His short-lived victory is over, but this is a victory for him, too. Perhaps surrender looks better on him than triumph. ]
...Luocha...
[ What is he calling Luocha's name for? Is he beseeching, pleading? His eyes are glazed over and his face is flushed and it's impossible to read his expression for anything but satiated desire.
Maybe it's just acknowledgment of who's done this to him. It's not his real name, but that hardly matters in the moment. It's also just kind of fun to say. Luocha. Luocha.
The Stellaron has stopped singing, but it hums, pleased. Again, as is its nature, it has granted one more twisted wish. ]