[He's let his nerves catch up with him, a thing that does not happen very often. Sakamoto has very little knowledge of how it feels to be in Zura's position, though he has quite a few hazy memories of questionable things he's had inside of him after one too many drinks. Pleasure is all he remembers, pleasure of the overwhelming sort.
Sakamoto returns the kiss, pressing his lips to Zura's hands and tasting the sweat, feeling something drip from his own brow and down the side of his face. He bucks his hips clumsily at first, in a piss poor attempt to hit whatever spot he'd gotten hold of the first time, but he gets better as seconds pass, matching Zura's speed eventually.
He alternates between guilt and ecstasy, because he's never felt quite this good, never had his body sing a tune this beautiful. A friend has given him something so valuable, not just a moment of his time but a little piece of his soul and a whole lot of his skin. Sakamoto arcs his head back far, and further still, his back arching into an almost perfect curve as sweat pools on his brow and his abdomen. That already well-defined midline becomes more defined as it glistens with the signs of his own rapture, though his cheeks and chest remain red.
What he wants is something special, something he doesn't deserve to have. Here is a peek at something, what it is like to be someone's most precious person, in ways that Mutsu does not hold him dear.
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[He's let his nerves catch up with him, a thing that does not happen very often. Sakamoto has very little knowledge of how it feels to be in Zura's position, though he has quite a few hazy memories of questionable things he's had inside of him after one too many drinks. Pleasure is all he remembers, pleasure of the overwhelming sort.
Sakamoto returns the kiss, pressing his lips to Zura's hands and tasting the sweat, feeling something drip from his own brow and down the side of his face. He bucks his hips clumsily at first, in a piss poor attempt to hit whatever spot he'd gotten hold of the first time, but he gets better as seconds pass, matching Zura's speed eventually.
He alternates between guilt and ecstasy, because he's never felt quite this good, never had his body sing a tune this beautiful. A friend has given him something so valuable, not just a moment of his time but a little piece of his soul and a whole lot of his skin. Sakamoto arcs his head back far, and further still, his back arching into an almost perfect curve as sweat pools on his brow and his abdomen. That already well-defined midline becomes more defined as it glistens with the signs of his own rapture, though his cheeks and chest remain red.
What he wants is something special, something he doesn't deserve to have. Here is a peek at something, what it is like to be someone's most precious person, in ways that Mutsu does not hold him dear.
She may love him, but not like that.]