[it’s not like koby can’t measure his responses – he can, he has, he does most of the time, bottles them up and boxes them away for later, for another time, another life. but will has a way of drawing them out coaxingly, soothing and caressing until the walls crumble, until the dam sags enough to let in the ebb of deep, dark water, and koby doesn’t notice until it’s pooling around his ankles, his knees, his waist. until there’s no choice but to sink, because swimming’s never been an option, not with doctor graham.
so he lets his knees rock open, apart, one nudging the hard bulge almost carelessly, curled against will’s chest and moaning open-mouthed into the crook of his neck, near-cradled, a pieta sort of pose – he’s been to rome, he’s seen it, he’d been compelled by the fragility of the held body, the power and stoicism of the holding. but he’s no christ, and will’s no virgin mary, so koby rocks his hips up once more, grinds into the hand cupped between his legs, then pulls away.]
Y-Yeah, I can. I can. [gulping, earnest, like will’s mouth hadn’t left his neck, his ear tingling, singed with contact, with the forbidden bliss of his tongue, his teeth. like koby couldn’t feel every touch like a brand, imagining it layered on top of thousands of other touches and burning them away, all in one measure. he wonders, mildly, what will had fed him, what sort of drug is taking effect, but he waits until he’s up on his shaky legs, then down on his wobbly knees, hands on his doctor’s thighs, pushing them apart and bullying his way between them.
it’s there, there only that koby pauses, a penitent kneeling, tips his chin up and drums his fingers against will’s firm thighs.] What’d you give me? [pointed, bemused even, tilting his head to one side and letting the overgrown fluff of his hair fall into his eyes.]
no subject
so he lets his knees rock open, apart, one nudging the hard bulge almost carelessly, curled against will’s chest and moaning open-mouthed into the crook of his neck, near-cradled, a pieta sort of pose – he’s been to rome, he’s seen it, he’d been compelled by the fragility of the held body, the power and stoicism of the holding. but he’s no christ, and will’s no virgin mary, so koby rocks his hips up once more, grinds into the hand cupped between his legs, then pulls away.]
Y-Yeah, I can. I can. [gulping, earnest, like will’s mouth hadn’t left his neck, his ear tingling, singed with contact, with the forbidden bliss of his tongue, his teeth. like koby couldn’t feel every touch like a brand, imagining it layered on top of thousands of other touches and burning them away, all in one measure. he wonders, mildly, what will had fed him, what sort of drug is taking effect, but he waits until he’s up on his shaky legs, then down on his wobbly knees, hands on his doctor’s thighs, pushing them apart and bullying his way between them.
it’s there, there only that koby pauses, a penitent kneeling, tips his chin up and drums his fingers against will’s firm thighs.] What’d you give me? [pointed, bemused even, tilting his head to one side and letting the overgrown fluff of his hair fall into his eyes.]