[ temptation is a difficult battle for Getou Suguru. there's his own self-control, a discipline he's whipped and worked since childhood, a firmly held belief that temperance is important, moral, and the challenge worth pursuing. he goes to bed at a decent hour and gets up at another; he keeps up with his training and follows the rules and doesn't use his technique without proper approval; he keeps his desires in check, no matter how easy or difficult. — but then there are the times when indulgence creeps its way in, as it always must, and the battle is over before it began. he has a taste for fine dining, the best clothes, the strongest flavors that turn anything on his tongue hot and sweet. never mind those bottled-up hormones and the aphrodisiac getting to him, setting his skin alight — making Lan Sizhui's ass rocking back into him so plush and sweet that it fills the angel on his shoulder's mouth all full of cotton. ]
[ it's the dam break of his self-control that makes him want to fist up that long hair and fuck him into the gas tank right here and right now. ]
You're very cute.
[ his discipline, and maybe sadism, is what slows him. he liked playing with his food at the best of times. the hand on his own makes him smirk — not stopping him, but marking his unraveling. Getou wants to see more of it. his hips press back, scooting forward on the seat — and it pushes Sizhui's groin more into the gas tank between his legs, the heavy stripe of Getou's chest against his back keeping him pressed into that vibration, from the root of the berries to the tip of the tree. ]
Concentrate, [ he reminds, his own hand ever so gently guiding his back to the handlebars. he checks back in, taking over some control as he tilts the wheel into an item: an ice block that will make the entire path behind him slick, spinning out anyone who crosses it. a few fingers guide him to the button to activate it, while his other hand slips down between his hips, pressing on on his pubic mound, as sinfully low as he can get. ]
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[ it's the dam break of his self-control that makes him want to fist up that long hair and fuck him into the gas tank right here and right now. ]
You're very cute.
[ his discipline, and maybe sadism, is what slows him. he liked playing with his food at the best of times. the hand on his own makes him smirk — not stopping him, but marking his unraveling. Getou wants to see more of it. his hips press back, scooting forward on the seat — and it pushes Sizhui's groin more into the gas tank between his legs, the heavy stripe of Getou's chest against his back keeping him pressed into that vibration, from the root of the berries to the tip of the tree. ]
Concentrate, [ he reminds, his own hand ever so gently guiding his back to the handlebars. he checks back in, taking over some control as he tilts the wheel into an item: an ice block that will make the entire path behind him slick, spinning out anyone who crosses it. a few fingers guide him to the button to activate it, while his other hand slips down between his hips, pressing on on his pubic mound, as sinfully low as he can get. ]
Squeeze whenever you're ready.