[ that growl rocks his whole world. it's a new sound—his new favorite sound—and it rumbles against his lips and resounds with a sharp pang deep within his gut. nevermind whatever else is happening; langa makes that sound and it immediately feels like he's been set aflame, his face burning, his skin going fever-hot and more sensitive than ever before.
it makes those hands smoothing up his back feel divine, all cool and rough and invoking pleasant shivers that quake through his entire body. he's closer before he knows it, greedily squirming into langa's touch for more. it just make sense to close the distance between them by sliding into the perfectly unoccupied space on langa's lap, so that's exactly where he ends up.
this is new too, swooning in langa's arms and upon his lap, finally in the mood to field all those sweet things langa tells him, as he tries as desperately as possible to match those wonderful licks langa is taking out of his mouth. he knows exactly what he wants to do here—or, honestly, what his body really wants to do—but the prospect makes his ears burn and his pulse flutter anxiously. langa's hands don't really give him a choice in the matter either way; they smooth and reach for places on his skin that make him turn molten inside, leaving him whining softly and slowly, mindlessly rocking on langa's lap.
all he can think to say in response is this, sounding like half a warning and half a plea: ]
no subject
it makes those hands smoothing up his back feel divine, all cool and rough and invoking pleasant shivers that quake through his entire body. he's closer before he knows it, greedily squirming into langa's touch for more. it just make sense to close the distance between them by sliding into the perfectly unoccupied space on langa's lap, so that's exactly where he ends up.
this is new too, swooning in langa's arms and upon his lap, finally in the mood to field all those sweet things langa tells him, as he tries as desperately as possible to match those wonderful licks langa is taking out of his mouth. he knows exactly what he wants to do here—or, honestly, what his body really wants to do—but the prospect makes his ears burn and his pulse flutter anxiously. langa's hands don't really give him a choice in the matter either way; they smooth and reach for places on his skin that make him turn molten inside, leaving him whining softly and slowly, mindlessly rocking on langa's lap.
all he can think to say in response is this, sounding like half a warning and half a plea: ]
Langa...