[ The buck against his tongue is particularly rewarding. He's almost inclined to stay down there and keep it up, see how much stimulation he could visit on him before Ray was begging for release. It'd be gorgeous to watch. He could just leave the beads inside and suck him, and the movement would make him squirm, and there'd be more movement, and more squirming, and he'd melt into a writhing mess of stimulation. It'd be easy. Ray was relaxing now, he could feel it with the pop of every bead in and out, and his breathing was becoming more ragged, more helpless with arousal.
That's the moment when he turns on the beads, and Ray snaps shut like a steel trap. The wires of his body all tense at once, and he's rising out of the seat on instinct as though to escape that vibration, using Vecchio's body for height, hands and arms and legs and neck and stomach as though every muscle in him runs through the same place. He breathes out "Aah", and it's not a scream, but it's as close to one as he's gotten in the last hour so fuck it, it'll do.
Vecchio doesn't find it pathetic. Every second of fight that Ray puts up, the fact that even in the middle of this he's still holding strong to his own sense of self, endears him to his replacement by the moment. Armando will undo him, but not in a way he can't spring back from, because this guy could take on the world.
So he's powerful, he's strong, and even when he's bucking and trembling at that jackhammer going off inside him he's still himself; he hasn't retreated from reality yet, blocked out the world, let it wash over him. There was something impossibly attractive about it too. Wiry and wild with all his jagged edges, his hair limp from exertion, his eyes burst to pinpricks by the coke. Maybe he's no Marlon Brando, but he's got his own heat, a certain kind of rebellious attractiveness like Sid Vicious or something, pouring out waves of sex and potential violence like it was going out of style.
Sensing the change, everything shifted gear. Vecchio moved up so that those vice like legs were forced to clutch his hips instead, slid his arm around Ray's back, and as he turned off the vibration he supported him, lowering him back into the seat with his arm behind him, his body pressed close, his own erection nudged against the other man's.
His voice was a soft murmur; it had a lighter edge to it that wasn't there before. In another world, it might even have been mistaken as apologetic. ]
Al Capone, right? He learned all his best moves from me. Breathe out, Ray. Long and slow.
[ And even if he didn't obey, he tried to catch him on the exhale anyway, pulling the string of slippery beads out with a single jerk of his wrist. They were unnecessary now. He tossed them down on the floor and then drew his hand back up, rubbing his knuckles against his own eyebrow and leaving a fresh smudge of blood there. His hand was raw with it, but he couldn't feel it any more, couldn't feel anything except arousal, and Ray's legs, and the hot erection nudged against his own.
He was holding back, he realised. He hadn't even touched the lube yet - and yes, he did very much want to reach for it, plunge inside, get this part moving. He was holding back for some reason, though, and he couldn't put his finger on what it was. What did he want? Permission? Forgiveness? He wasn't going to get them. Vecchio licked his lips, ran his free hand back under their bodies, and for a moment he simply stood there on the brink, his thighs aching from holding his weight at the odd angle against the chair, massaging Ray's balls tenderly in the palm of his hand. ]
You ready? [ He said at last. Fuck, he was asking anyway. ]
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That's the moment when he turns on the beads, and Ray snaps shut like a steel trap. The wires of his body all tense at once, and he's rising out of the seat on instinct as though to escape that vibration, using Vecchio's body for height, hands and arms and legs and neck and stomach as though every muscle in him runs through the same place. He breathes out "Aah", and it's not a scream, but it's as close to one as he's gotten in the last hour so fuck it, it'll do.
Vecchio doesn't find it pathetic. Every second of fight that Ray puts up, the fact that even in the middle of this he's still holding strong to his own sense of self, endears him to his replacement by the moment. Armando will undo him, but not in a way he can't spring back from, because this guy could take on the world.
So he's powerful, he's strong, and even when he's bucking and trembling at that jackhammer going off inside him he's still himself; he hasn't retreated from reality yet, blocked out the world, let it wash over him. There was something impossibly attractive about it too. Wiry and wild with all his jagged edges, his hair limp from exertion, his eyes burst to pinpricks by the coke. Maybe he's no Marlon Brando, but he's got his own heat, a certain kind of rebellious attractiveness like Sid Vicious or something, pouring out waves of sex and potential violence like it was going out of style.
Sensing the change, everything shifted gear. Vecchio moved up so that those vice like legs were forced to clutch his hips instead, slid his arm around Ray's back, and as he turned off the vibration he supported him, lowering him back into the seat with his arm behind him, his body pressed close, his own erection nudged against the other man's.
His voice was a soft murmur; it had a lighter edge to it that wasn't there before. In another world, it might even have been mistaken as apologetic. ]
Al Capone, right? He learned all his best moves from me. Breathe out, Ray. Long and slow.
[ And even if he didn't obey, he tried to catch him on the exhale anyway, pulling the string of slippery beads out with a single jerk of his wrist. They were unnecessary now. He tossed them down on the floor and then drew his hand back up, rubbing his knuckles against his own eyebrow and leaving a fresh smudge of blood there. His hand was raw with it, but he couldn't feel it any more, couldn't feel anything except arousal, and Ray's legs, and the hot erection nudged against his own.
He was holding back, he realised. He hadn't even touched the lube yet - and yes, he did very much want to reach for it, plunge inside, get this part moving. He was holding back for some reason, though, and he couldn't put his finger on what it was. What did he want? Permission? Forgiveness? He wasn't going to get them. Vecchio licked his lips, ran his free hand back under their bodies, and for a moment he simply stood there on the brink, his thighs aching from holding his weight at the odd angle against the chair, massaging Ray's balls tenderly in the palm of his hand. ]
You ready? [ He said at last. Fuck, he was asking anyway. ]