[ Hei makes a noise into their kiss, broken and jittery and barely-there, a sure sign of how close he is. The mattress dips and whines beneath their weight as he fucks her with the hungry deliberation of restrained violence. His sinews are taut, and his mouth is open against hers, feeding on her humid breath, his teeth rasping against her lower-lip. The tension in him strings tighter and tighter, heat prickling across his skin; every outstroke is an aching self-denial, every return like a warm glide into completion. He can barely get the words out between gulps for air, scattered between slurred, indecipherable -- Mandarin? Portugues? -- he doesn't know, or care. ]
That's so good, god, fuck -- fuck. [ And then he hits that bright-red moment he's aching for, when the world drops away. ]
Sunday! \^^/
That's so good, god, fuck -- fuck. [ And then he hits that bright-red moment he's aching for, when the world drops away. ]