[Much like before, what he imagines doing and what actually happens are at a dissonance. He wants to swallow effortlessly, or maybe just enough to leave a little in his mouth, just enough to get Toshinori all riled up again right after he'd finished. He wants to crawl up his body and rest atop him and be smug and distant and cool, the picture of experience and maturity towards this man who so clearly has done this before.
What happens is that his mouth fills very, very quickly, and his reflexes kick in before his conscious mind does-- which means that he sputters, jerking back, swallowing what he can and sputtering and spitting out what he can't. It ends up on his hand, and with a little grimace he wipes it on his leg, ignoring his own embarrassment. His mouth twists-- it's not necessarily an unpleasant taste, but it's also not one he wants to linger-- and he pretends that he'd meant to do all that.
Totally cool.
At least Toshinori's still got his hand over his face.
He scrubs his wrist over his mouth again, then sits back, looking at Toshinori just a bit uncertainly. Was that all right? He won't be an absolute infant and ask, he's embarrassed himself enough already, but then again, surely it was fine. Toshinori finished with a whine, surely that was fine.
Is he fine? His boxers feel wet, he concludes after a moment, and he'd like a shower, but . . . he feels short of breath, but there's no great emotional upheaval. He'd finally had sex, well done him, and there really isn't much difference between virginal Shouta Aizawa and experienced Shouta Aizawa.
Huh. Interesting.]
Warn me next time.
[He says it with a wrinkle of his nose. Vaguely, he wonders if Toshinori realizes he'd just been his first. That seems like something he'd be soppy over? And speaking of soppiness, they should probably talk about their relationship status . . .
Or he could just sort of stiffly lie on the bed, that's an option too.]
no subject
What happens is that his mouth fills very, very quickly, and his reflexes kick in before his conscious mind does-- which means that he sputters, jerking back, swallowing what he can and sputtering and spitting out what he can't. It ends up on his hand, and with a little grimace he wipes it on his leg, ignoring his own embarrassment. His mouth twists-- it's not necessarily an unpleasant taste, but it's also not one he wants to linger-- and he pretends that he'd meant to do all that.
Totally cool.
At least Toshinori's still got his hand over his face.
He scrubs his wrist over his mouth again, then sits back, looking at Toshinori just a bit uncertainly. Was that all right? He won't be an absolute infant and ask, he's embarrassed himself enough already, but then again, surely it was fine. Toshinori finished with a whine, surely that was fine.
Is he fine? His boxers feel wet, he concludes after a moment, and he'd like a shower, but . . . he feels short of breath, but there's no great emotional upheaval. He'd finally had sex, well done him, and there really isn't much difference between virginal Shouta Aizawa and experienced Shouta Aizawa.
Huh. Interesting.]
Warn me next time.
[He says it with a wrinkle of his nose. Vaguely, he wonders if Toshinori realizes he'd just been his first. That seems like something he'd be soppy over? And speaking of soppiness, they should probably talk about their relationship status . . .
Or he could just sort of stiffly lie on the bed, that's an option too.]