[ With a shudder winding down his sweat-soaked frame, Stiles thinks absently that he’s developing an unhealthy obsession for these moments – when Itachi hovers precariously at the precipice of orgasm before tumbling headfirst into sweet oblivion. His body, despite its many human flaws, becomes a reliable vessel through which he can deliver the shinobi to a state of nirvana. He can be of use to Itachi. He can bring something valuable to this relationship. That knowledge is deeply gratifying, soothing the choppy waves of his uncertain psyche. And the mere fact that his boyfriend derives this much pleasure from what they do together is enough to satiate Stiles, neglected and untouched though he may be. Hearing his boyfriend on the cusp of climax, hot air fanning heavily against his ear in unsteady bursts, actually pushes him toward the edge as well.
It doesn’t take much more stimulation. At the first searing pressure of a tongue, dragging slow and heavy over the skin of his back, Stiles violently bucks with a choked-off noise, cock throbbing in vicarious anticipation of the next lick. He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to slow the frenzied acceleration of a libido hungry to come – a battle he loses almost immediately. A paroxysm of pleasure floods him as his vision briefly flicks white, carrying Stiles down rapids without a lifejacket. His dick bobs against his stomach, ejaculate smearing a wet mess over the wall in front of him. Only Itachi’s support keeps the teen upright in the wake of climax, boneless legs wobbling with the consistency of jelly.
They don’t linger long. On unspoken agreement, they redress and straighten up as best as possible – Stiles now featuring the blurred suggestion of a painting on his back where Itachi licked him clean. Hand in hand, the boyfriends escape the club with the exhausted haste of people desperate to properly bathe. And as they travel from the ocean to the surface and from the beach to the lodgings, Stiles can’t help but smugly label “Operation: Dance Club” a smashing success. ]
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/fin
It doesn’t take much more stimulation. At the first searing pressure of a tongue, dragging slow and heavy over the skin of his back, Stiles violently bucks with a choked-off noise, cock throbbing in vicarious anticipation of the next lick. He squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to slow the frenzied acceleration of a libido hungry to come – a battle he loses almost immediately. A paroxysm of pleasure floods him as his vision briefly flicks white, carrying Stiles down rapids without a lifejacket. His dick bobs against his stomach, ejaculate smearing a wet mess over the wall in front of him. Only Itachi’s support keeps the teen upright in the wake of climax, boneless legs wobbling with the consistency of jelly.
They don’t linger long. On unspoken agreement, they redress and straighten up as best as possible – Stiles now featuring the blurred suggestion of a painting on his back where Itachi licked him clean. Hand in hand, the boyfriends escape the club with the exhausted haste of people desperate to properly bathe. And as they travel from the ocean to the surface and from the beach to the lodgings, Stiles can’t help but smugly label “Operation: Dance Club” a smashing success. ]