[ It isn't quite as nice as being encased by the warm, soft walls of a woman (or a man for that matter), but the younger's thighs provide pressure to his neglected cock. A sigh rushes out of his nose as Cain rocks back against his lap, and he answers it with a sudden thrust forward. His cock slides through the tight gap between, cock throbbing and hot against his skin. Cain will feel how thick he is by way of clamping around the girth of his dick, feel the bulbous, swollen head poke out against his balls before the other man is drawing his hips back and snapping them into him again. The friction is like fire licking every nerve-ending in his dick, but it's all worth it just to feel another body jerk against every rocking motion of his hips. Eventually, the ensuing strokes roll smoother as beads of precome stick to the insides of Cain's thighs.
They're simulating sex, and to any onlookers it might look like the real thing. Achilles makes a guttural noise that is weighted in his chest, voice slightly raw from having had his throat thoroughly fucked by the other man.
A wide hand comes up to the back of Cain's neck, fingers outstretched as they press into his skin and squeeze. There's no threat in the gesture, but the direction is quite clear; he isn't going anywhere until he's finished. With Cain's head pinned to the floor, Achilles can adjust the angle of his hips, lift ing his ass higher into his lap so that his cock is riding right up against the hole.
Cain can't read his thoughts or even be able to pick up on the euphoria bleeding into whatever he's feeling right now. ]
[In some distant reach of his memory, Cain recalls lying facedown on a cot in the closet-of-a-bedroom he shared with someone else, someone whose pale features are like an opaque mirror in his mind, and the difference now is stark. The hands on him aren't gentle and unsure, they command strength as he's held down and directed into the best position to cradle that hard cock between the tight clench of thighs. He doesn't know this person, he doesn't even know where he is, and maybe seeking sex with a stranger around other strangers is exactly where he was going to end up tonight even without the aid of drugs. It scratches the itch, sates a void of loneliness, makes him feel the keen dichotomy of safety and loneliness, escape and affection.
So much affection, bleeding out of him in waves as Achilles slides his dick into that soft shelter between legs, tucked below the crease of his ass in that warm furrow just behind balls. A slip with the wrong angle could drive Achilles hard against his hole - that threat (and temptation) has his throat closed around a low, breathy whimper.
There's not much he can do in this state except take it until the other man is done using him. The hand on the back of his neck is a burning brand, and it's almost degrading, except that Cain doesn't care. Maybe he'd like softer hands, and words in his ear, and reassurance - but then, maybe he wouldn't. He just wants to get fucked. This is good enough.]
[ If he had the time to, he would have preferred drawing this out, taking measures to gradually unwind this man and have him sprawled out afterwards, spent and sticky with come. Given the situation and the looming urgency of figuring out where the hell he's wound up now, he can only do as much as sating this desperate need that has been inflicted on him by way of a magic connection.
These are not thoughts he's entertains when he has his cock buried between the thighs of this stranger.
It's not enough, though. It never is. And once he's gotten to the point where his cock is painfully throbbing, he draws his hips back, slick from his own fluid that he had smeared against the inside of his legs and hole. He continues to pin Cain down with a single hand while he uses the other to reach down and grip himself. He squeezes with all the pressure that a pair of strong legs can't provide alone, and he starts to rapidly stroke himself from root to tip.
His breathing is erratic, giving away just how close he is as he jerks himself off to completion. ]
[Frustration burns in Cain at being pinned, but it mingles in with a surge of arousal, knowing there's little he can do to fight the hand at the back of his neck. He can't even fully turn to see what Achilles is doing - he can only feel it in the barest press of a body, staccato breath fluttering somewhere behind, a burst of warmth gusting across his skin. He's too aware of his own thighs, slick between from the mockery of fucking. And maybe it's better this won't escalate to penetration. Maybe that would be too much, in this state, an overstimulation he couldn't bear.
This is easier. Without facing the other man, some of that tethered emotional connection hardwired in by drugs is a little more muted.
Cain waits. He's expecting a more satisfying aftermath, because he's already missing the physical contact of bodies wrapped around each other, and he did like it better when he could see the man's features. Being turned aside and used like this... despite the burning of his face and the twitch of a spent cock, it feels disconnected.]
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They're simulating sex, and to any onlookers it might look like the real thing. Achilles makes a guttural noise that is weighted in his chest, voice slightly raw from having had his throat thoroughly fucked by the other man.
A wide hand comes up to the back of Cain's neck, fingers outstretched as they press into his skin and squeeze. There's no threat in the gesture, but the direction is quite clear; he isn't going anywhere until he's finished. With Cain's head pinned to the floor, Achilles can adjust the angle of his hips, lift ing his ass higher into his lap so that his cock is riding right up against the hole.
Cain can't read his thoughts or even be able to pick up on the euphoria bleeding into whatever he's feeling right now. ]
no subject
So much affection, bleeding out of him in waves as Achilles slides his dick into that soft shelter between legs, tucked below the crease of his ass in that warm furrow just behind balls. A slip with the wrong angle could drive Achilles hard against his hole - that threat (and temptation) has his throat closed around a low, breathy whimper.
There's not much he can do in this state except take it until the other man is done using him. The hand on the back of his neck is a burning brand, and it's almost degrading, except that Cain doesn't care. Maybe he'd like softer hands, and words in his ear, and reassurance - but then, maybe he wouldn't. He just wants to get fucked. This is good enough.]
no subject
These are not thoughts he's entertains when he has his cock buried between the thighs of this stranger.
It's not enough, though. It never is. And once he's gotten to the point where his cock is painfully throbbing, he draws his hips back, slick from his own fluid that he had smeared against the inside of his legs and hole. He continues to pin Cain down with a single hand while he uses the other to reach down and grip himself. He squeezes with all the pressure that a pair of strong legs can't provide alone, and he starts to rapidly stroke himself from root to tip.
His breathing is erratic, giving away just how close he is as he jerks himself off to completion. ]
no subject
This is easier. Without facing the other man, some of that tethered emotional connection hardwired in by drugs is a little more muted.
Cain waits. He's expecting a more satisfying aftermath, because he's already missing the physical contact of bodies wrapped around each other, and he did like it better when he could see the man's features. Being turned aside and used like this... despite the burning of his face and the twitch of a spent cock, it feels disconnected.]