He felt himself being hypnotized by her actions. Each part of him seemed to be a willing instrument, eager to be played by her, ripping the sounds which she looked to be so pleased to drawn out of his embarrassed throat. Every touch, as light as it was, seemed to set his skin on fire. The flames burned in an agonizing leisurely rhythm, just as slow and enticing as her pace was. It ignited so many sensations on him that the only possible response for Kiku was to let his head hit the cold wall behind him, his mouth open and gaping every so often, like a fish out of water. He gasped for air, when he knew that it wouldn’t be enough, nor it was what he was really trying to reach.
Though he was starting to have trouble in discovering what exactly he wished for.
And he could feel it. Within each stroke her lips gave the aching parts of his body, Japan would feel it far too well, and the mixed feelings he’d get from it every time.
[f/n] was smirking all along.
There were different kinds of pains dueling inside of him. The sting of shame of the scene he was playing his quiet part in. The ache of his wounded pride, roaring for him to take action within each new cocky gesture of hers. The soreness of wanting her to carry on, the need to scream so that she’d continue, that she’d touch him more, and not with that mocked gentleness. That she’d touch him, making him stop fighting to retain the last string of any coherent piece of his mind and just groan under her.
But, above all those, there was the rising hunger, a famine sensation, that’d make his hands bawl into fists, his nails digging their way inside, but at the same time making they shake every now and then, indecisive of what should be done.
-And so, Japan? Nothing to say? – She teased, and her voice was at the same time an invitation for him to drawn into thoughts that were only about her, and [f/n] alone, and an offer to his new found desires. It made him pant heavily, the battle that barely had begun already lost once her tongue ran along his ear shell.
Thinking was starting to seem such a useless action. All he could do was moan once more as she scraped her teeth against his neck, her fingertips ghosting under his half way opened shirt. The piece of cloth was also barely tugged inside his pants, crumbled and dirty with the chocolate, the sweet smell invaded his nostrils, along with the scent that was nothing but [f/n], the combination of it spinning inside his lungs, almost making him drunk.
She let a single finger make all the way from the waistband of his jeans to his chest, coating it with the slightly dried cake batter that stained his abdomen. She looked considerately to it, rubbing her index and against her thumb, as if she was feeling its consistence before licking them clean, playfully. The only thing Japan could do was staring, another ache added to his list: to not have her warmth over his own feverish skin.
Like a drug, he was craving for her. Another thing to remember later, if he ever recovered his sanity back.
[f/n] was additive.
She clicked her tongue, as if disappointed.
He felt himself being hypnotized by her actions. Each part of him seemed to be a willing instrument, eager to be played by her, ripping the sounds which she looked to be so pleased to drawn out of his embarrassed throat. Every touch, as light as it was, seemed to set his skin on fire. The flames burned in an agonizing leisurely rhythm, just as slow and enticing as her pace was. It ignited so many sensations on him that the only possible response for Kiku was to let his head hit the cold wall behind him, his mouth open and gaping every so often, like a fish out of water. He gasped for air, when he knew that it wouldn’t be enough, nor it was what he was really trying to reach.Though he was starting to have trouble in discovering what exactly he wished for.And he could feel it. Within each stroke her lips gave the aching parts of his body, Japan would feel it far too well, and the mixed feelings he’d get from it every time. [f/n] was smirking all along.There were different kinds of pains dueling inside of him. The sting of shame of the scene he was playing his quiet part in. The ache of his wounded pride, roaring for him to take action within each new cocky gesture of hers. The soreness of wanting her to carry on, the need to scream so that she’d continue, that she’d touch him more, and not with that mocked gentleness. That she’d touch him, making him stop fighting to retain the last string of any coherent piece of his mind and just groan under her.But, above all those, there was the rising hunger, a famine sensation, that’d make his hands bawl into fists, his nails digging their way inside, but at the same time making they shake every now and then, indecisive of what should be done.-And so, Japan? Nothing to say? – She teased, and her voice was at the same time an invitation for him to drawn into thoughts that were only about her, and [f/n] alone, and an offer to his new found desires. It made him pant heavily, the battle that barely had begun already lost once her tongue ran along his ear shell.Thinking was starting to seem such a useless action. All he could do was moan once more as she scraped her teeth against his neck, her fingertips ghosting under his half way opened shirt. The piece of cloth was also barely tugged inside his pants, crumbled and dirty with the chocolate, the sweet smell invaded his nostrils, along with the scent that was nothing but [f/n], the combination of it spinning inside his lungs, almost making him drunk.She let a single finger make all the way from the waistband of his jeans to his chest, coating it with the slightly dried cake batter that stained his abdomen. She looked considerately to it, rubbing her index and against her thumb, as if she was feeling its consistence before licking them clean, playfully. The only thing Japan could do was staring, another ache added to his list: to not have her warmth over his own feverish skin.Like a drug, he was craving for her. Another thing to remember later, if he ever recovered his sanity back.[f/n] was additive.She clicked her tongue, as if disappointed.
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