As far as Wolfwood is concerned though, Ain may as well be the only person in the world right now who exists. It's just the two of them, caught in a rainstorm, in the throes of passion at the mercy of the elements. And yeah, if Wolfwood did have full control right now, he would be railing Ain so hard it'd make him cry. He'd have him face-down in the wet grass and by morning his pelvis would still be numb by the time he was done.
But that scenario is for another time and another place, because right now it's Ain's turn to shine. His turn to be on top with his wings spread beautifully and his back arched, his throat flexing with each desperate moan and cry in a way that makes Wolfwood feral. He grips him even harder, his nails dug in until they leave crescent-moon indents behind. Not deep or hard enough to draw blood, but only just.
They're too far gone for words. It's just the sound of their moaning and the sound of skin slapping against skin, made extra loud thanks to the rain. The contrast between the lukewarm rain and the searing heat of Ain's seed as it falls onto his chest is immediate, and it makes his heart race as he redoubles his efforts, practically throwing himself against Ain to meet him in the middle. It doesn't take long at all, because seconds later he's following after him, spilling over inside for a second time. This time, his semen dribbles out of him in much larger quantities, less because Wolfwood came a lot, and more because he's displacing what was already there.
no subject
As far as Wolfwood is concerned though, Ain may as well be the only person in the world right now who exists. It's just the two of them, caught in a rainstorm, in the throes of passion at the mercy of the elements. And yeah, if Wolfwood did have full control right now, he would be railing Ain so hard it'd make him cry. He'd have him face-down in the wet grass and by morning his pelvis would still be numb by the time he was done.
But that scenario is for another time and another place, because right now it's Ain's turn to shine. His turn to be on top with his wings spread beautifully and his back arched, his throat flexing with each desperate moan and cry in a way that makes Wolfwood feral. He grips him even harder, his nails dug in until they leave crescent-moon indents behind. Not deep or hard enough to draw blood, but only just.
They're too far gone for words. It's just the sound of their moaning and the sound of skin slapping against skin, made extra loud thanks to the rain. The contrast between the lukewarm rain and the searing heat of Ain's seed as it falls onto his chest is immediate, and it makes his heart race as he redoubles his efforts, practically throwing himself against Ain to meet him in the middle. It doesn't take long at all, because seconds later he's following after him, spilling over inside for a second time. This time, his semen dribbles out of him in much larger quantities, less because Wolfwood came a lot, and more because he's displacing what was already there.
Ain is stuffed.]