[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.]
[Right. Right, yes, now is a good time to get himself over to the bed, letting the mattress catch him in the few seconds he has before his legs turn to rubber and sweet exhaustion starts to set in. Fuck, his sweatpants are still around his knees; he's sticky with sweat, his hair is damp. Fuck.
Fuck, Abbacchio is still on his knees, writhing and seeking to touch himself and he could tell him to stop, if he wanted. He could prevent him, and make him obey — fuck.]
Don't come.
[His words are thick, his breathing ragged.]
Touch yourself all you like, but — don't you dare.
[The command makes him groan, both pleased and frustrated. His hand squeezes over the base of his cock, struggling with himself. God, he wants to come so fucking bad, but he pulls himself back from that baseless urge.
Instead, he idly fondles himself, keeping himself interested but no where close to completion.
He licks his disaster of a mouth, lipstick smeared and glistening.]
C'mon. [It comes out more as a whine than a commanding growl.]
[He rakes a hand through his own hair, panting, and they're so far off-script by now that he's genuinely just making this up as he goes in the moment. They're not going to make it to proper fucking, at least not like this, so that idea has to go by the wayside in favor of something else.
Haphazardly, he kicks off his dangling sweatpants, letting the fabric bunch and fall onto the ground in order to get his legs free. It's a reach, but once his calves are unhindered, he's able to stretch his leg out and draw his foot back at the ankle, letting the sole of his cashmere sock brush up against Abbacchio's cock.]
[No. For a moment, Abbacchio bites hard on his lower lip, his arms shaking from the strain of staving himself off. It's frustrating, but part of it is just so fucking good, too.
He shudders and yanks his hand away when he feels the foot just barely touch him. It's so soft, and at this point he'll take anything Edgeworth feels like giving him.
Abbacchio pushes his knees further apart, exposing himself more.]
[...Says the guy who isn't being edged just for the sake of being difficult, but at least it'll hopefully be worth it in the end. Having Abbacchio's knees spread wide makes for a better sight and a better angle, and so Edgeworth settles in and gets comfortable, flexing his toes and stroking more firmly against Abbacchio's aching cock.]
I won't even make you ask permission. Keep your hands off, but — other than that, as you see fit. I want to watch you.
[The words are far from biting as he might like them to be, his voice strained yet airy as he speaks. Abbacchio curls his hands around his own thighs, fingernails digging, keeping his hands to himself as instructed.
He huffs, then he rolls his hips, rubbing himself against Edgeworth's foot, enjoying how the fabric feels against his cock. It's not enough to get himself off, but it's at least something. Abbacchio peers up at Edgeworth, not taking his eyes off of him, peering from under the mess of his hair and half-lidded eyes.]
You were right. It would've been such a waste not to put you on your knees.
[This won't last forever, he knows. Perhaps only until he's able to catch his breath, and work some of the sated numbness out of his own limbs. But it'll do for a little while, letting Abbacchio ache and simmer and wait for the chance to finally get free.
Something like this, he decides at length, really doesn't do much for him except the power of it. Abbacchio likes the feeling of being used. He likes the feeling of having this go at his pace, according to his schedule. He likes taking the time to memorize the glitter in Abbacchio's half-closed eyes and appreciate it in a way that tactile frenzy will soon override.]
How would you like to come, I wonder? In my mouth, on my face? Inside me?
[He bears down a little more firmly still, timing the strokes to the cadence of his voice.]
Do you no longer care? Your own hand would suffice, if I'd only just let you do something?
[Hips buck forward at the firmer contact, desperate and eager. He can hardly think to speak as he listens to Edgeworth, his voice even and more in control than Abbacchio is, but that's the way he prefers it. Getting unraveled under the direction of someone else, someone that can be relied on--
He bites his lip and lets out a frustrated whine.]
[He makes him wait, because of course he does. A little more, a little more. Until finally he's the one who can't wait any longer.]
I suppose you've suffered enough.
[He draws back, pushing himself back a short way on the mattress to make room for Abbacchio to climb up and sit over him, and still have enough space for the both of them to balance.]
Up. I'm going to kiss that filthy mouth while you come.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
teaserving) wrote2020-12-11 08:54 am
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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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[Right. Right, yes, now is a good time to get himself over to the bed, letting the mattress catch him in the few seconds he has before his legs turn to rubber and sweet exhaustion starts to set in. Fuck, his sweatpants are still around his knees; he's sticky with sweat, his hair is damp. Fuck.
Fuck, Abbacchio is still on his knees, writhing and seeking to touch himself and he could tell him to stop, if he wanted. He could prevent him, and make him obey — fuck.]
Don't come.
[His words are thick, his breathing ragged.]
Touch yourself all you like, but — don't you dare.
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Instead, he idly fondles himself, keeping himself interested but no where close to completion.
He licks his disaster of a mouth, lipstick smeared and glistening.]
C'mon. [It comes out more as a whine than a commanding growl.]
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[He rakes a hand through his own hair, panting, and they're so far off-script by now that he's genuinely just making this up as he goes in the moment. They're not going to make it to proper fucking, at least not like this, so that idea has to go by the wayside in favor of something else.
Haphazardly, he kicks off his dangling sweatpants, letting the fabric bunch and fall onto the ground in order to get his legs free. It's a reach, but once his calves are unhindered, he's able to stretch his leg out and draw his foot back at the ankle, letting the sole of his cashmere sock brush up against Abbacchio's cock.]
You can have this.
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He shudders and yanks his hand away when he feels the foot just barely touch him. It's so soft, and at this point he'll take anything Edgeworth feels like giving him.
Abbacchio pushes his knees further apart, exposing himself more.]
Then give it to me.
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[...Says the guy who isn't being edged just for the sake of being difficult, but at least it'll hopefully be worth it in the end. Having Abbacchio's knees spread wide makes for a better sight and a better angle, and so Edgeworth settles in and gets comfortable, flexing his toes and stroking more firmly against Abbacchio's aching cock.]
I won't even make you ask permission. Keep your hands off, but — other than that, as you see fit. I want to watch you.
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[The words are far from biting as he might like them to be, his voice strained yet airy as he speaks. Abbacchio curls his hands around his own thighs, fingernails digging, keeping his hands to himself as instructed.
He huffs, then he rolls his hips, rubbing himself against Edgeworth's foot, enjoying how the fabric feels against his cock. It's not enough to get himself off, but it's at least something. Abbacchio peers up at Edgeworth, not taking his eyes off of him, peering from under the mess of his hair and half-lidded eyes.]
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[This won't last forever, he knows. Perhaps only until he's able to catch his breath, and work some of the sated numbness out of his own limbs. But it'll do for a little while, letting Abbacchio ache and simmer and wait for the chance to finally get free.
Something like this, he decides at length, really doesn't do much for him except the power of it. Abbacchio likes the feeling of being used. He likes the feeling of having this go at his pace, according to his schedule. He likes taking the time to memorize the glitter in Abbacchio's half-closed eyes and appreciate it in a way that tactile frenzy will soon override.]
How would you like to come, I wonder? In my mouth, on my face? Inside me?
[He bears down a little more firmly still, timing the strokes to the cadence of his voice.]
Do you no longer care? Your own hand would suffice, if I'd only just let you do something?
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[Hips buck forward at the firmer contact, desperate and eager. He can hardly think to speak as he listens to Edgeworth, his voice even and more in control than Abbacchio is, but that's the way he prefers it. Getting unraveled under the direction of someone else, someone that can be relied on--
He bites his lip and lets out a frustrated whine.]
Just wanna come. Stronzo.
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I suppose you've suffered enough.
[He draws back, pushing himself back a short way on the mattress to make room for Abbacchio to climb up and sit over him, and still have enough space for the both of them to balance.]
Up. I'm going to kiss that filthy mouth while you come.
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