[ The stroking melts the skin from his spine with sensation, leaving him only with the anchoring sparks those fingers drift over vertebrae. It's electric even through cloth. Quiet, appreciative sounds are earned, harvested from the play of fingers, vines. They accentuate the natural fluidity of his movements, an unintentional dance choreographed by touch. It's been so long that the rush over his senses is almost painful, somehow sweetly.
Kaspar doesn't stifle the sounds as they rise up on breathy draws, releases of air by needy lungs. Heating their joined mouths or slipping by when the seal breaks messily, gossamer and silk fall from his lips. Or maybe they feel all the softer with the persistent and molten heat of his confident hands.
It doesn't broach pain, but Kaspar feels the way his skin protests and gives in to the scrape of nails. The touch bears new, fuller fruit. A low sound, rumbling, eaten up greedily by one or both of them. It is his loudest sound tonight, yet still clearly a whisper of the moan it could be. The feel of it warms his throat, pitches him forward to tilt Steinbeck back just so.
His hands flatten, palming down to his settled thighs. Lava into the crevices, a deft hand moves to free at least part of him, to ghost fingers over bare skin. Kaspar is heavy between them, an outline so solid it is a wonder there is blood left to pound in his ears and keep his skin so flushed. Kaspar's glow brightens as the fire burns low.
A sudden want sows the seeds of suggestiveness between their lips. His tongue presses firmly, encircling, following the line of its underside like a vein. ]
Cw uhhhh nsfw now 🙈
Kaspar doesn't stifle the sounds as they rise up on breathy draws, releases of air by needy lungs. Heating their joined mouths or slipping by when the seal breaks messily, gossamer and silk fall from his lips. Or maybe they feel all the softer with the persistent and molten heat of his confident hands.
It doesn't broach pain, but Kaspar feels the way his skin protests and gives in to the scrape of nails. The touch bears new, fuller fruit. A low sound, rumbling, eaten up greedily by one or both of them. It is his loudest sound tonight, yet still clearly a whisper of the moan it could be. The feel of it warms his throat, pitches him forward to tilt Steinbeck back just so.
His hands flatten, palming down to his settled thighs. Lava into the crevices, a deft hand moves to free at least part of him, to ghost fingers over bare skin. Kaspar is heavy between them, an outline so solid it is a wonder there is blood left to pound in his ears and keep his skin so flushed. Kaspar's glow brightens as the fire burns low.
A sudden want sows the seeds of suggestiveness between their lips. His tongue presses firmly, encircling, following the line of its underside like a vein. ]