[There's a moment of consideration as he thinks about which he definitely preferred. The slip of German is interesting; he doesn't think he heard much of an accent in Edgeworth's voice, but perhaps that just has more to do with the prosecutor's sense of professionalism.
He opens his mouth a bit more, nipping the thumb still pressed against his lips.]
I liked both. [That's the truth, but also:] Liked sucking him off a bit more. Felt like I was doing something worthwhile.
[That's an interesting choice of words — worthwhile. Another point to note for himself and add to his list of plans. Leone Abbacchio, for all his forceful exterior, seems to be considerably more partner-focused than he'd previously expected. His own gratification derives from that of others. It's a different dimension to wanting to be told what to do, but it's certainly one Edgeworth can work with.]
I'm going to take care of Pess, so that she won't feel the need to disturb us. In the meantime...
[He presses his thumb lightly past Abbacchio's lips, staining it with lipstick as he fucks it shallowly in and out of his mouth.]
My bedroom is down the hall. Sit on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Open your pants, but don't remove them. And toy with yourself until you're hard.
[There's the temptation to just grab Edgeworth and kiss him hard enough to make real bruises -- but he likes granting the control over into his hands, someone who evidently values that not unlike he does. His teeth bite down just a bit, just so, but hardly enough to hurt.
Then he pulls his head back to let it slip from his lips.]
Don't keep me waiting, bello.
[Reluctantly, he pulls away, but he completely obeys. It's easy enough to determine which is Edgeworth's room even without his instruction; he saw the immaculate care to the room before and concluded at least there was no way Caesar was staying there specifically.
He does as he was told, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door as if he's waiting for Edgeworth -- which he is, of course. Breathing in, he opens his leather pants, cupping himself before he starts to squeeze and encourage his cock to harden. It's not just a matter of letting him feel good, but he thinks about Edgeworth assuming control, even if it was just starting.
Sure, he's had sex since after Florentino, but nothing has really been satisfying, not even remotely. This could be different, could be good.]
[Of course, this move was never really about Pess; she's too good a girl to make trouble, and could've behaved herself just fine while he was otherwise occupied. But she's also an easy excuse to make Abbacchio wait, and power transfer really isn't about the physical so much as it is the mind game that comes attached to it.
Abbacchio wants to be told what to do. Wants to serve. Wants to please. So, let him have one direction to follow, and let him wait for the rest. Let the physical sensation of stroking himself get tangled up with the anticipation of what might be coming next. Let his mind do the work for him.
After all, there's nothing that Edgeworth could come up with that will ever be half as enticing as leaving it fully up to Abbacchio's imagination.
So he takes care of Pess, finding one of her toys and settling her with it, rattling around so that Abbacchio will be able to track his movements by hearing. What must the man look like right now, Edgeworth wonders idly. Perhaps he's not the only one susceptible to the allure of the imagination.
But finally, finally, he walks at a leisurely pace down the hall, and pauses in the doorway to admire the spectacle that's waiting for him.]
My. Aren't you filthy.
[It's hardly a chastisement. Everything about his tone says well done.]
[There's a soft snort at Edgeworth's words. He pushes his hand down the front of his pants, squeezing himself with a soft grunt.]
And it was your idea. Guess you're worse than me, huh?
[With his chin up, it isn't said with any sense of defiance -- just with a challenge in his eyes as he peers at Edgeworth. He's still touching himself, shifting his hips so he can tuck his dick out, letting it jut out from his pants.]
Naturally, I wanted to see. And from the looks of it, you'll do nicely.
[It's a challenge Abbacchio offers, and it's one that Edgeworth ultimately accepts, looking him over only another minute before stalking into the room and positioning himself between Abbacchio's spread knees.]
You did say, after all, that you wanted to be useful.
[He leans forward a touch, resting one hand on Abbacchio's shoulder for balance while the other goes between his legs, taking him confidently in hand.]
[As soon as Edgeworth makes himself comfortable between Abbacchio's legs, his hand moves away to let him do as he pleases out of instinct. He lets out a sharp breath at the contact, hips twitching. Fuck, Edgeworth's hand is soft...]
You are impatient, aren't you. Well. I'm familiar enough with my own preferences to know what's capable of satisfying me, and I expect this will suffice to make me see stars.
[Even as he speaks, there are tells that he's hiding his own attraction behind composure — the occasional hitch in his breath, his too-steady words. It's not boredom or disinterest or even cruelty that's keeping Edgeworth sounding methodical and considered; it's duality, the image he's crafting, perfect Miles Edgeworth and wrecked Leone Abbacchio taken in tandem, in opposition.
He continues stroking Abbacchio easily, too slow to really be satisfying, but steady enough that he can't be ignored.]
I was thinking of tying your hands to the headboard and riding you. But what a shame it would be to let so much of the rest of you go to waste. You couldn't be satisfied with just that, could you? Not with this pretty mouth.
[The smallest tells are enough to inform him of Edgeworth's own enjoyment, even if he's masking himself. The appearance of a man who is in control. Frankly, that's exactly what Abbacchio wants out of him.
He shudders, testing the boundaries as he lets his hips roll forward to chase after Edgeworth's hand, especially after the description. Sinking right into this man and letting him ride wouldn't be bad, it'd be enough, but there could be more. He's glad he sees it.
So he licks his mess of lips, enough purple there to still wet and shine them.]
[The hand on Abbacchio's shoulder moves up to rake fingers through his hair, petting it back from the side of his head while he takes in the feeling of Abbacchio fucking up into the warmth of his hand. That's attractive, to say the least; it's a strange sensation for Edgeworth to feel wanted, but in a moment like this, there's absolutely no denying it, even to himself.]
You wouldn't feel right if I didn't put you on your knees. That's what you need, isn't it? What you're waiting for.
[His hand stills briefly as he says it, like he's testing to see if Abbacchio's cock will jump at the words. Or maybe he just wants Abbacchio to focus fully on them, without any distraction.]
[When it was just him and Florentino, his hair had been too short for this. The hair petting, fingers combing through, almost a form of physical praise. It's new, but he likes it, leaning his head slightly toward the hand touching his hair.
Fuck, it's true. He wants that, wants to be useful, more praise. There's a decisive twitch in his cock and he bites the inside of his mouth.
It's like permission given: Abbacchio is sliding down off of the bed, kneeling in front of Edgeworth. Regrettably, his dick slips free of Edgeworth's warm and soft hand, but that's fine. This is better.
[He takes a minute to swallow a faint lump in his throat, his eyes never leaving Abbacchio as he slides down to the floor. Edgeworth shifts back a bit to help make room, and it's probably going to be a bad idea to try to stay on his two feet while this unfolds, but that's a problem he'll deal with later.
Abbacchio on his knees, eager, obedient. Already the front of his sweatpants is tented by his hardening length, so close to where Abbacchio is nuzzling.]
Once. He had blond hair and long eyelashes. Not as pretty as you, of course.
[He pets Abbacchio again, breathing shallowly as he tries to keep up the facade.]
[It's impossible to ignore the way that Edgeworth's sweatpants outline his hard on, but Abbacchio doesn't immediately give it his attention. Instead, his eyes go half-lid as he leans into the hand petting his hair, finding how much he enjoys the contact. Verbal praise really gets him going, but this is the kind of physical touch that almost feels comforting.
His fingers curl into the front of his pants, working them down bit by bit. Abbacchio is slowly kissing at his hip and thigh, smudging purple along the way. Clothing is not stained, but skin is marked accordingly.
Finally, he pulls it down enough that he can free the other man's cock. Opening his mouth, he gives the tip a wet kiss, his ombre eyes peering up at Edgeworth almost curiously.]
[It's almost a playful taunt, the way he remarks it; as though anyone could think Abbacchio was shy at a time like this, mouthing at another man's cock while bent on his knees. But there's something about the look on his face that's just attractive, the way he looks so content with the attention he's receiving. He'd said something similar when describing what he'd previously done for his partner, hadn't he? Wanting to feel useful. Or wanting to feel used, maybe.
His breath hitches. It's surreal to meet Abbacchio's upturned gaze in a moment like this, to make and hold eye contact when he's so close and so indecent.]
[There's a soft snort at the suggestion, but he surmises it's mostly part of role Edgeworth is playing here. Shy? Oh so far from it. He opens his mouth and slides his tongue over the tip, then opens his lips wider.
This part, he's a bit more careful on, not just taking Edgeworth all the way at once. He sticks out his tongue and slowly begins to take him into his mouth inch by inch, pausing to swallow before he keeps taking of him in. It's oddly familiar like this, again something of a comfort; he's only too glad that Edgeworth is indulging him like this.
His hands settle onto Edgeworth's hips, bracing against him as he finishes swallowing him down, Abbacchio's nose bumping against skin. His throat is so full, and he can feel his own cock twitching eagerly with the position he's in now. It's good.]
[Ideally, he wouldn't make any embarrassing noises while Abbacchio sets to work; it doesn't altogether fit well with the role he's supposed to be taking on, or the cool confidence he's trying to project. But it's not as though anyone could stay fully quiet while watching a display like that — the obscene movements of Abbacchio's lips, the way his throat bobs when he swallows — and that's not even taking into account the other senses, the sound of it, the heat.
At first it's just a half-sigh, a shudder of breath, but before long the breathiness of it rounds out into a deeper, richer moan, and without even thinking he moves his hand around to the back of Abbacchio's head, giving only the suggestion of guiding him along and encouraging it by touch alone.
Oh, it would've been such a waste to skip right to riding him. He would've missed this, and what a shame it would have been.]
Good.
[And he thinks about the memory Abbacchio had described — sitting, finishing paperwork, while all the while having this knelt before him, warming him, waiting...
Oh. Oh, how decadent.]
I'm...I'm going to move. You're allowed to pull back if it's too much.
[He waits a moment, just to be sure the meaning sinks in, and then rocks his hips shallowly forward, testing what he can get away with.]
[Just servicing alone is enough to make him satisfied, but it's always gratifying to hear his partners enjoy themselves. Edgeworth is no different, that smooth voice of his moaning, making Abbacchio huff in approval through his nose. Good, even Edgeworth can't keep up that mask forever. It'd be hell of a sight to watch him unravel.
His eyes gaze up, and he lets Edgeworth move, slowly rock into his mouth. It isn't too much, and he keeps his jaw as relaxed as possible.
But Abbacchio reaches up for one of Edgeworth's hands, tugging it down so that he can cup his palm over his throat. Just to feel the way Abbacchio swallows around him.]
[There's a touch of color that rises in his cheeks when Abbacchio moves his hand, when there's a bulge sitting beneath his palm where it presses against Abbacchio's throat; it only gets worse when he rocks his hips again and feels it move, leaving no room for doubt about the cause.]
Close your eyes and focus. I want to see you lose yourself in this.
[He gives Abbacchio's throat a faint, fleeting squeeze, before his hand darts up to stroke along the underside of his chin, like teasing a cat.]
Show me there's nowhere you'd rather be right now.
[Fuck. There's a distinct tremor that runs through him, and he feels his dick twitch at Edgeworth's words. He likes it both, being debased verbally while also praised. A soft groan is pressed around Edgeworth's cock, his tongue rolling slightly.
And he obeys, closing his eyes, his hands squeezing around Edgeworth's hips to encourage him to do as he pleases. And it's just so easy, to think of nothing else but following orders, keeping his mouth open, be good. Despite all of his physical strength, here he is on his knees, gladly serving.
He swallows again, giving his head a slight bob, focusing purely on the heat in his mouth.]
[There'll be time, later, to wonder about the enigma that is Leone Abbacchio. To compare and contrast the man he'd met polishing off a bottle of wine in a quiet bar with the one on his knees right now, obeying. He's the sort of puzzle that someone like Edgeworth can't possibly hope to leave alone; he's just got to take him apart, piece by piece, and discover what it is that makes him tick.
But later. There'll be time for that later. Now, it would be insulting to turn his thoughts away from the services Abbacchio is offering him, and just because Edgeworth is capable of being a demanding partner doesn't mean he's an inconsiderate one.
So much better than just sticking to his initial impulse.]
Well deserving of a reward.
[Not that there's any real ambiguity about the reward he's got in mind; a moment later, he rests his hand back against Abbacchio's throat and picks up the rhythm of his hips, properly using him for the first time.]
[God damn it, he can't help it. He whines, accepting the slide into his mouth, minding his gag reflex as Edgeworth actually starts to use him now. With his eyes closed, all of his senses are focused on his mouth and how it's being fucked a bit more properly now. He's a mess and he knows it, drool running down his chin and doing nothing to clean it as he lets the other man do as he pleases.
Another roll of his tongue is given, inviting Edgeworth to do more, please do more. The hands on his hips don't even try to control Edgeworth, just there to steady himself, gently squeezing, feeling how he moves. This is all he can think about, pleasing this man, and something is just so satisfyingly simple about it.
It's good. He could just jerk himself off like this and that would be enough. It's tempting.]
[Fuck, fuck, he should've sat down. No wonder Abbacchio's old partner had chosen to do this while sitting at a desk, and not have to worry about the necessity of keeping himself standing while he makes use of Abbacchio's throat. But there's something so good about that, too — towering over him, emphasizing the disparity between them, reminding him of his service — and he can't really make himself complain about it, not when he's pushing his thumb gently against Abbacchio's Adam's apple to remind him of the hand on his throat and giving himself over to the desire to snap his hips into the encompassing heat of his mouth.
Fundamentally, he supposes, he can understand Abbacchio's desire here. On paper, it sounds...nice, to let go and unwind and just reduce down to a body performing a task. But he can't imagine allowing himself to, in practice. There's no one he could possibly trust enough, no one who wouldn't look at him afterwards and remember how he'd looked and know.
It must be nice, he thinks idly, except that notions of his own inadequacy are counterproductive to his ability to get off, and so he makes himself refocus on Abbacchio, instead.
It works, of course. It takes moments of looking at him for the urgency of his arousal to come back full force, sharp in the pit of his stomach, pulsing in his blood.]
Leave your mouth open —
[Another few thrusts, and then he draws back altogether, depriving himself of the heat of Abbacchio's mouth for a few moments in favor of dragging his cock along Abbacchio's cheek and chin, adding to the mess on his face before pushing back past his lips.]
Ah...damn it, I'm — show me. Show me where you want it, when I come.
[The sudden loss from his throat makes him gasp, leading into pants for air; his eyes open, drunk from the experience alone so far. He gazes up, mouth staying open obediently.
Where...
He gives the tip of the cock just past his lips a slow lick. Show, not speak. So he pulls his head back and lets it slide once more against his cheek, his eyes still staring up at Edgeworth.
[The edge of his mouth pulls up in a crooked half-smirk, and he rakes his hand through Abbacchio's mussed, dangling hair, pushing it back off his face.]
Good. It was never really up to you, anyway — but it's nice to see we're in agreement.
[And fuck, that — just that — has him teetering toward his peak, never taking his eyes off of how fuck-drunk Abbacchio looks as his free hand comes down to stroke himself once, twice, again —
He bites his lip, but it's not enough to keep in a low whine of pleasure as the combination of Abbacchio's glassy eyes and the friction of his hand tips him over, and his release spatters in ropes across Abbacchio's cheek, nose, and mouth.]
[Obediently, he keeps his mouth open, tongue out and ready. He's hardly done anything for himself, but there's almost nothing more satisfying than just following orders.
And finally, Edgeworth finishes. He closes an eye, but the rest lands messily across his face. Slowly, he licks his lips before he goes back to panting. His own cock twitches, still untouched, and he squirms with a groan before he reaches down to touch himself finally.]
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teaserving) wrote2020-12-11 08:54 am
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He opens his mouth a bit more, nipping the thumb still pressed against his lips.]
I liked both. [That's the truth, but also:] Liked sucking him off a bit more. Felt like I was doing something worthwhile.
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I'm going to take care of Pess, so that she won't feel the need to disturb us. In the meantime...
[He presses his thumb lightly past Abbacchio's lips, staining it with lipstick as he fucks it shallowly in and out of his mouth.]
My bedroom is down the hall. Sit on the edge of the bed, facing the door. Open your pants, but don't remove them. And toy with yourself until you're hard.
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Then he pulls his head back to let it slip from his lips.]
Don't keep me waiting, bello.
[Reluctantly, he pulls away, but he completely obeys. It's easy enough to determine which is Edgeworth's room even without his instruction; he saw the immaculate care to the room before and concluded at least there was no way Caesar was staying there specifically.
He does as he was told, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door as if he's waiting for Edgeworth -- which he is, of course. Breathing in, he opens his leather pants, cupping himself before he starts to squeeze and encourage his cock to harden. It's not just a matter of letting him feel good, but he thinks about Edgeworth assuming control, even if it was just starting.
Sure, he's had sex since after Florentino, but nothing has really been satisfying, not even remotely. This could be different, could be good.]
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Abbacchio wants to be told what to do. Wants to serve. Wants to please. So, let him have one direction to follow, and let him wait for the rest. Let the physical sensation of stroking himself get tangled up with the anticipation of what might be coming next. Let his mind do the work for him.
After all, there's nothing that Edgeworth could come up with that will ever be half as enticing as leaving it fully up to Abbacchio's imagination.
So he takes care of Pess, finding one of her toys and settling her with it, rattling around so that Abbacchio will be able to track his movements by hearing. What must the man look like right now, Edgeworth wonders idly. Perhaps he's not the only one susceptible to the allure of the imagination.
But finally, finally, he walks at a leisurely pace down the hall, and pauses in the doorway to admire the spectacle that's waiting for him.]
My. Aren't you filthy.
[It's hardly a chastisement. Everything about his tone says well done.]
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And it was your idea. Guess you're worse than me, huh?
[With his chin up, it isn't said with any sense of defiance -- just with a challenge in his eyes as he peers at Edgeworth. He's still touching himself, shifting his hips so he can tuck his dick out, letting it jut out from his pants.]
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[It's a challenge Abbacchio offers, and it's one that Edgeworth ultimately accepts, looking him over only another minute before stalking into the room and positioning himself between Abbacchio's spread knees.]
You did say, after all, that you wanted to be useful.
[He leans forward a touch, resting one hand on Abbacchio's shoulder for balance while the other goes between his legs, taking him confidently in hand.]
Mm. Yes. This will do very nicely.
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Hm. Glad that it meets your standards.
What're you thinking of, then?
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[Even as he speaks, there are tells that he's hiding his own attraction behind composure — the occasional hitch in his breath, his too-steady words. It's not boredom or disinterest or even cruelty that's keeping Edgeworth sounding methodical and considered; it's duality, the image he's crafting, perfect Miles Edgeworth and wrecked Leone Abbacchio taken in tandem, in opposition.
He continues stroking Abbacchio easily, too slow to really be satisfying, but steady enough that he can't be ignored.]
I was thinking of tying your hands to the headboard and riding you. But what a shame it would be to let so much of the rest of you go to waste. You couldn't be satisfied with just that, could you? Not with this pretty mouth.
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He shudders, testing the boundaries as he lets his hips roll forward to chase after Edgeworth's hand, especially after the description. Sinking right into this man and letting him ride wouldn't be bad, it'd be enough, but there could be more. He's glad he sees it.
So he licks his mess of lips, enough purple there to still wet and shine them.]
I'd want more.
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[The hand on Abbacchio's shoulder moves up to rake fingers through his hair, petting it back from the side of his head while he takes in the feeling of Abbacchio fucking up into the warmth of his hand. That's attractive, to say the least; it's a strange sensation for Edgeworth to feel wanted, but in a moment like this, there's absolutely no denying it, even to himself.]
You wouldn't feel right if I didn't put you on your knees. That's what you need, isn't it? What you're waiting for.
[His hand stills briefly as he says it, like he's testing to see if Abbacchio's cock will jump at the words. Or maybe he just wants Abbacchio to focus fully on them, without any distraction.]
If that's what you want, then do it.
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Fuck, it's true. He wants that, wants to be useful, more praise. There's a decisive twitch in his cock and he bites the inside of his mouth.
It's like permission given: Abbacchio is sliding down off of the bed, kneeling in front of Edgeworth. Regrettably, his dick slips free of Edgeworth's warm and soft hand, but that's fine. This is better.
He leans in, nuzzling at Edgeworth's hip.]
Ever fuck someone's mouth before, Prosecutor?
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Abbacchio on his knees, eager, obedient. Already the front of his sweatpants is tented by his hardening length, so close to where Abbacchio is nuzzling.]
Once. He had blond hair and long eyelashes. Not as pretty as you, of course.
[He pets Abbacchio again, breathing shallowly as he tries to keep up the facade.]
I wonder if you can make me forget him.
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[It's impossible to ignore the way that Edgeworth's sweatpants outline his hard on, but Abbacchio doesn't immediately give it his attention. Instead, his eyes go half-lid as he leans into the hand petting his hair, finding how much he enjoys the contact. Verbal praise really gets him going, but this is the kind of physical touch that almost feels comforting.
His fingers curl into the front of his pants, working them down bit by bit. Abbacchio is slowly kissing at his hip and thigh, smudging purple along the way. Clothing is not stained, but skin is marked accordingly.
Finally, he pulls it down enough that he can free the other man's cock. Opening his mouth, he gives the tip a wet kiss, his ombre eyes peering up at Edgeworth almost curiously.]
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[It's almost a playful taunt, the way he remarks it; as though anyone could think Abbacchio was shy at a time like this, mouthing at another man's cock while bent on his knees. But there's something about the look on his face that's just attractive, the way he looks so content with the attention he's receiving. He'd said something similar when describing what he'd previously done for his partner, hadn't he? Wanting to feel useful. Or wanting to feel used, maybe.
His breath hitches. It's surreal to meet Abbacchio's upturned gaze in a moment like this, to make and hold eye contact when he's so close and so indecent.]
Show me you can take all of it.
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This part, he's a bit more careful on, not just taking Edgeworth all the way at once. He sticks out his tongue and slowly begins to take him into his mouth inch by inch, pausing to swallow before he keeps taking of him in. It's oddly familiar like this, again something of a comfort; he's only too glad that Edgeworth is indulging him like this.
His hands settle onto Edgeworth's hips, bracing against him as he finishes swallowing him down, Abbacchio's nose bumping against skin. His throat is so full, and he can feel his own cock twitching eagerly with the position he's in now. It's good.]
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At first it's just a half-sigh, a shudder of breath, but before long the breathiness of it rounds out into a deeper, richer moan, and without even thinking he moves his hand around to the back of Abbacchio's head, giving only the suggestion of guiding him along and encouraging it by touch alone.
Oh, it would've been such a waste to skip right to riding him. He would've missed this, and what a shame it would have been.]
Good.
[And he thinks about the memory Abbacchio had described — sitting, finishing paperwork, while all the while having this knelt before him, warming him, waiting...
Oh. Oh, how decadent.]
I'm...I'm going to move. You're allowed to pull back if it's too much.
[He waits a moment, just to be sure the meaning sinks in, and then rocks his hips shallowly forward, testing what he can get away with.]
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His eyes gaze up, and he lets Edgeworth move, slowly rock into his mouth. It isn't too much, and he keeps his jaw as relaxed as possible.
But Abbacchio reaches up for one of Edgeworth's hands, tugging it down so that he can cup his palm over his throat. Just to feel the way Abbacchio swallows around him.]
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[There's a touch of color that rises in his cheeks when Abbacchio moves his hand, when there's a bulge sitting beneath his palm where it presses against Abbacchio's throat; it only gets worse when he rocks his hips again and feels it move, leaving no room for doubt about the cause.]
Close your eyes and focus. I want to see you lose yourself in this.
[He gives Abbacchio's throat a faint, fleeting squeeze, before his hand darts up to stroke along the underside of his chin, like teasing a cat.]
Show me there's nowhere you'd rather be right now.
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And he obeys, closing his eyes, his hands squeezing around Edgeworth's hips to encourage him to do as he pleases. And it's just so easy, to think of nothing else but following orders, keeping his mouth open, be good. Despite all of his physical strength, here he is on his knees, gladly serving.
He swallows again, giving his head a slight bob, focusing purely on the heat in his mouth.]
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[There'll be time, later, to wonder about the enigma that is Leone Abbacchio. To compare and contrast the man he'd met polishing off a bottle of wine in a quiet bar with the one on his knees right now, obeying. He's the sort of puzzle that someone like Edgeworth can't possibly hope to leave alone; he's just got to take him apart, piece by piece, and discover what it is that makes him tick.
But later. There'll be time for that later. Now, it would be insulting to turn his thoughts away from the services Abbacchio is offering him, and just because Edgeworth is capable of being a demanding partner doesn't mean he's an inconsiderate one.
So much better than just sticking to his initial impulse.]
Well deserving of a reward.
[Not that there's any real ambiguity about the reward he's got in mind; a moment later, he rests his hand back against Abbacchio's throat and picks up the rhythm of his hips, properly using him for the first time.]
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Another roll of his tongue is given, inviting Edgeworth to do more, please do more. The hands on his hips don't even try to control Edgeworth, just there to steady himself, gently squeezing, feeling how he moves. This is all he can think about, pleasing this man, and something is just so satisfyingly simple about it.
It's good. He could just jerk himself off like this and that would be enough. It's tempting.]
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Fundamentally, he supposes, he can understand Abbacchio's desire here. On paper, it sounds...nice, to let go and unwind and just reduce down to a body performing a task. But he can't imagine allowing himself to, in practice. There's no one he could possibly trust enough, no one who wouldn't look at him afterwards and remember how he'd looked and know.
It must be nice, he thinks idly, except that notions of his own inadequacy are counterproductive to his ability to get off, and so he makes himself refocus on Abbacchio, instead.
It works, of course. It takes moments of looking at him for the urgency of his arousal to come back full force, sharp in the pit of his stomach, pulsing in his blood.]
Leave your mouth open —
[Another few thrusts, and then he draws back altogether, depriving himself of the heat of Abbacchio's mouth for a few moments in favor of dragging his cock along Abbacchio's cheek and chin, adding to the mess on his face before pushing back past his lips.]
Ah...damn it, I'm — show me. Show me where you want it, when I come.
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Where...
He gives the tip of the cock just past his lips a slow lick. Show, not speak. So he pulls his head back and lets it slide once more against his cheek, his eyes still staring up at Edgeworth.
On his face.]
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Good. It was never really up to you, anyway — but it's nice to see we're in agreement.
[And fuck, that — just that — has him teetering toward his peak, never taking his eyes off of how fuck-drunk Abbacchio looks as his free hand comes down to stroke himself once, twice, again —
He bites his lip, but it's not enough to keep in a low whine of pleasure as the combination of Abbacchio's glassy eyes and the friction of his hand tips him over, and his release spatters in ropes across Abbacchio's cheek, nose, and mouth.]
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And finally, Edgeworth finishes. He closes an eye, but the rest lands messily across his face. Slowly, he licks his lips before he goes back to panting. His own cock twitches, still untouched, and he squirms with a groan before he reaches down to touch himself finally.]
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