[ Kaspar only hums in response, one that rumbles up from his chest, effusive as a tender eruption. The trail of lava, pressing, circling and teasing as his free hand loses the bottle blindly beside them. Kaspar, long oppressed beneath rock and ore. Tempered need and purer affection, long kept to himself and never fully sated by his own hands and thoughts alone. Heat, pressurized by repressed wants and imaginings, finds scalding release in the breaking of ceramic and clay. Freeing roots only to singe and entangle. Steam rises in feeling alone from his fingertips when he reclaims purchase on one cheek, spreading and gripping.
Changing the landscape again, Kaspar's knees part wider and he fluidly slides forward as he sinks back. Lifting, effortless with more than average human strength to take the weight of Steinbeck's legs in the crooks of his elbows with both hands cupping him firmly by his ass. The dip and rise of softly glowing abs flex to greet his cock, the heat of Kaspar's own a heavy promise grazing sensitive skin between his legs. So close to its final destination that Kaspar pauses for a deep breath, a heady drag of air against his skin.
His hips still, even when excess lube drips thickly from his fingers. Kaspar eases one slowly into him, fingertip rough but softened by the clear and viscous fluid; the pressure is agonizingly gentle, whole body melting towards the push inside him, holding him like a precious grove in the night.
There's meaning in the reverant and careful sinking of his touch, the slow slide of his tongue up Steinbeck's neck to every sense with the other man. Hazy warm tone, still hoarse, Kaspar presses deep and starts to move, curling his finger, rotating to soothe resistance. Somehow, playfulness slips into the undercurrent of his very delayed answer-- ]
I will. ... but have you never touched yourself, surrounded by beauty?
[ Admitting nothing while explaining why the bottle was already opened, face still flushed. ]
no subject
Changing the landscape again, Kaspar's knees part wider and he fluidly slides forward as he sinks back. Lifting, effortless with more than average human strength to take the weight of Steinbeck's legs in the crooks of his elbows with both hands cupping him firmly by his ass. The dip and rise of softly glowing abs flex to greet his cock, the heat of Kaspar's own a heavy promise grazing sensitive skin between his legs. So close to its final destination that Kaspar pauses for a deep breath, a heady drag of air against his skin.
His hips still, even when excess lube drips thickly from his fingers. Kaspar eases one slowly into him, fingertip rough but softened by the clear and viscous fluid; the pressure is agonizingly gentle, whole body melting towards the push inside him, holding him like a precious grove in the night.
There's meaning in the reverant and careful sinking of his touch, the slow slide of his tongue up Steinbeck's neck to every sense with the other man. Hazy warm tone, still hoarse, Kaspar presses deep and starts to move, curling his finger, rotating to soothe resistance. Somehow, playfulness slips into the undercurrent of his very delayed answer-- ]
I will. ... but have you never touched yourself, surrounded by beauty?
[ Admitting nothing while explaining why the bottle was already opened, face still flushed. ]