( vash is absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt the one in the driver's seat here, because even hoping that nai has an inkling of what he's doing at this point is being incredibly generous on his part, but … he's catching on, and he'll catch up in full sooner rather than later, he just needs a moment to catch his breath and make sure his head is still on straight for how deeply and thoroughly vash has knocked his world off-center.
( yes, he'd been the one to instigate this. yes, he'd been the one to kiss his brother first and encourage things to go the way they had — but this has to be the one time in his life that he hasn't thought himself twelve steps ahead and is, effectively, just flying by the seat of his pants. )
vash straightens, leans back against his legs and he makes sure to lock his knees just in case his legs decide to give out on him even though he'd given himself that leverage for a reason, and god, is he a vision. naked, scarred, beautiful in every movement he makes and every sound that climbs up from the back of his throat, and he wants to commit every single moment of this to memory. not because he wants to be able to recall it anytime he wants in case this never happens again — it will, it will, he isn't about to give this newfound intimacy up anytime soon — but because every important thing in his life, he's committed to memory, and there is nothing about this that is not important.
mapping out every inch of his brother's body. parsing out all the little noises he makes and what they mean beyond the pleasure making its way through him like tiny little strikes of lightning. what makes him moan, what makes him whimper, if he always sounds as he had the first time right before he comes —
vash asks him if he's ready, and he breathes out a stunted yes that's barely a sound at all, and he's captivated by the way he moves, even when it's only to brace his hands against his chest. life himself up.
and sink back down in an achingly slow pace, and he doesn't think of it as teasing as such until he's rocked against him so slowly a handful of times, maybe even less, because as delicious as the slow drag of his inner walls against his cock is, it brings the heat settled in the pit of his stomach to a rolling simmer and nothing more. it's not enough, even as his brother sings to him with the smallest sounds he makes.
beautiful. you're so beautiful. i am going to tell you as often as you'll let me.)
Vash. ( he whines, actually whines as he brings his hands to settle against narrow hips, choosing the very moment that his brother sinks back down onto him fully to grip him hard and grind upward just short of mercilessly. his teeth are bared, and it looks like a snarl, but it's only because he can't seem to catch his breath. )
What did I tell you about teasing? ( you heathen. you glorious, perfect heathen. you're going to drive him clear out of his mind, and you know it, don't you? )
no subject
( yes, he'd been the one to instigate this. yes, he'd been the one to kiss his brother first and encourage things to go the way they had — but this has to be the one time in his life that he hasn't thought himself twelve steps ahead and is, effectively, just flying by the seat of his pants. )
vash straightens, leans back against his legs and he makes sure to lock his knees just in case his legs decide to give out on him even though he'd given himself that leverage for a reason, and god, is he a vision. naked, scarred, beautiful in every movement he makes and every sound that climbs up from the back of his throat, and he wants to commit every single moment of this to memory. not because he wants to be able to recall it anytime he wants in case this never happens again — it will, it will, he isn't about to give this newfound intimacy up anytime soon — but because every important thing in his life, he's committed to memory, and there is nothing about this that is not important.
mapping out every inch of his brother's body. parsing out all the little noises he makes and what they mean beyond the pleasure making its way through him like tiny little strikes of lightning. what makes him moan, what makes him whimper, if he always sounds as he had the first time right before he comes —
vash asks him if he's ready, and he breathes out a stunted yes that's barely a sound at all, and he's captivated by the way he moves, even when it's only to brace his hands against his chest. life himself up.
and sink back down in an achingly slow pace, and he doesn't think of it as teasing as such until he's rocked against him so slowly a handful of times, maybe even less, because as delicious as the slow drag of his inner walls against his cock is, it brings the heat settled in the pit of his stomach to a rolling simmer and nothing more. it's not enough, even as his brother sings to him with the smallest sounds he makes.
beautiful. you're so beautiful. i am going to tell you as often as you'll let me. )
Vash. ( he whines, actually whines as he brings his hands to settle against narrow hips, choosing the very moment that his brother sinks back down onto him fully to grip him hard and grind upward just short of mercilessly. his teeth are bared, and it looks like a snarl, but it's only because he can't seem to catch his breath. )
What did I tell you about teasing? ( you heathen. you glorious, perfect heathen. you're going to drive him clear out of his mind, and you know it, don't you? )