[ he could be licking cute little tablets or the body of Christ himself into him, neither could improve the zealot's high with which he succumbs. lash for lash, tongue chasing its companion, there's smoke and blood in his teeth and gasoline in the promising roil of his body, sparked by their friction and conflagrating. the only cool is the sand under his palms and between his fingers, great fistfuls of it that attempt to root him to the Earth before he falls right off its edge. it's a tolerable replacement for Itachi's hair as he attempts to maintain his promise, void though it might be for the blistering bloom of Synchrony at their mouths. ]
[ vocal even when he has no words to form, he drives into him those desperate little noises, makes him swallow the bawdy grunts and moans that rise as he approaches that threshold hurriedly, eager. for all the lush color and tone the Manna had engendered during their kiss — Guanshan's desire, satisfaction, curiosity, caution, torrential — it all cuts out abruptly as his body jerks and stutters out of their tempo. knees stutter and thighs clamp, tension drawing to a taut bowstring and snapping back into place with a rapid thrum, his spine curving delectably. ]
Oh fuck, oh— ohh. [ suddenly, he feels nothing. no thought, no emotion, all of it thrown out of him as he's reduced to pure sensation, riding out those last dregs of a cleansing euphoria that permeates his bones. blissful and vulnerable, blank and welcoming, it's a precipice he wants to linger on, still tethered to the man beneath him, expression wrenched into rapture or agony. ]
[ it won't. it can't. with a heavy sigh, he slacks all at once, buckling at the shoulders as though he could no longer support his own weight; his shorts and boxer briefs are spotted with damp heat, a few determined beads of semen sprouting out of the fabric and dappling Itachi's shirt. his afterglow is warm, syrupy bliss, a regal sort of laziness — a panther sprawled and soaking in a spot of sun. sated. eyes flutter and crack open, dark with molten heat for how large his pupils are, panting through his nose and sucking on Itachi's swollen bottom lip in relish. ]
[To hold another warm, soft, shaking body through this never loses its intimacy, each time new and vibrant in the act of losing all composure as pleasure cuts a riptide straight down. He holds Guanshan’s weight uncomplaining, their skin sealed in a stamp of sweat and blood and the gritty remnants of cold sand. He betrays himself immediately by encircling him in a tight embrace at that finish. Like holding someone’s life in his arms—the throes of death comparable to that toe-curling shiver of an orgasm—he cradles Guanshan to the end, tasting the flavor of spit and breath and sharp teeth shared between them. Every noise, too, yanked out of his throat or forced down it by the mingling of air. The moment goes on forever.
He didn’t believe he would come from only this. That initial awareness of hot, sticky dampness against his crotch is mistakenly believed to belong to Guanshan, until he realizes his cock is soft, and the wetness is smeared beneath his own waistband, saturating already dark fabric. It’s stunning—and likely a consequence of the fact that Synchrony has betrayed him after all, linking himself to the sieve of Guanshan’s pleasure spilling out at the seams. He can feel the mutual pulses of bliss and contentment, that gauzy sensation from the tether of their gems aglow, green on lilac, unintentional. It seems that in this act he’s far less in control of himself than expected. It’s become a learned pattern; he wasn’t careful enough.
Guanshan’s weight grows heavy, stretched on top of him like an animal that’s claimed its place to sleep. He first begins by clearing his mind in cold reality. Easier to find in the aftermath, harder when joined to Guanshan’s sated web of emotion—he accomplishes it by sitting up and easing that lean, lanky figure onto the sand at his side. Extricating himself into the sobering chill of physical solitude. Looking away from those blown pupils, that slack expression, a mouth kissed red, the vivid cuts on bare flesh.
Itachi leans away, fingers hunting the kunai from the sand to be repocketed. And he’s up on grounded feet. The shadows around his eyes are more noticeable in the fall of firelight on his body from the campfire, although it has begun to die into untended embers.
He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t look back, walking away with all the composure of a man chipped to pieces now scrambling to put himself together again after narrow escape.]
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[ vocal even when he has no words to form, he drives into him those desperate little noises, makes him swallow the bawdy grunts and moans that rise as he approaches that threshold hurriedly, eager. for all the lush color and tone the Manna had engendered during their kiss — Guanshan's desire, satisfaction, curiosity, caution, torrential — it all cuts out abruptly as his body jerks and stutters out of their tempo. knees stutter and thighs clamp, tension drawing to a taut bowstring and snapping back into place with a rapid thrum, his spine curving delectably. ]
Oh fuck, oh— ohh. [ suddenly, he feels nothing. no thought, no emotion, all of it thrown out of him as he's reduced to pure sensation, riding out those last dregs of a cleansing euphoria that permeates his bones. blissful and vulnerable, blank and welcoming, it's a precipice he wants to linger on, still tethered to the man beneath him, expression wrenched into rapture or agony. ]
[ it won't. it can't. with a heavy sigh, he slacks all at once, buckling at the shoulders as though he could no longer support his own weight; his shorts and boxer briefs are spotted with damp heat, a few determined beads of semen sprouting out of the fabric and dappling Itachi's shirt. his afterglow is warm, syrupy bliss, a regal sort of laziness — a panther sprawled and soaking in a spot of sun. sated. eyes flutter and crack open, dark with molten heat for how large his pupils are, panting through his nose and sucking on Itachi's swollen bottom lip in relish. ]
itachi running away, the life and story
He didn’t believe he would come from only this. That initial awareness of hot, sticky dampness against his crotch is mistakenly believed to belong to Guanshan, until he realizes his cock is soft, and the wetness is smeared beneath his own waistband, saturating already dark fabric. It’s stunning—and likely a consequence of the fact that Synchrony has betrayed him after all, linking himself to the sieve of Guanshan’s pleasure spilling out at the seams. He can feel the mutual pulses of bliss and contentment, that gauzy sensation from the tether of their gems aglow, green on lilac, unintentional. It seems that in this act he’s far less in control of himself than expected. It’s become a learned pattern; he wasn’t careful enough.
Guanshan’s weight grows heavy, stretched on top of him like an animal that’s claimed its place to sleep. He first begins by clearing his mind in cold reality. Easier to find in the aftermath, harder when joined to Guanshan’s sated web of emotion—he accomplishes it by sitting up and easing that lean, lanky figure onto the sand at his side. Extricating himself into the sobering chill of physical solitude. Looking away from those blown pupils, that slack expression, a mouth kissed red, the vivid cuts on bare flesh.
Itachi leans away, fingers hunting the kunai from the sand to be repocketed. And he’s up on grounded feet. The shadows around his eyes are more noticeable in the fall of firelight on his body from the campfire, although it has begun to die into untended embers.
He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t look back, walking away with all the composure of a man chipped to pieces now scrambling to put himself together again after narrow escape.]