[ Maybe he'd be less of a mess over it if he understood why Marc stopped, even if it's just a brief pause it's enough for him to drag a hand up over his own face and into his hair. Mussing those already disasterously fluffy curls. How was he supposed to keep it together like this? Of course then Marc replies and it's all a rush in his brain, he can hear his heartbeat thudding against his ears, and maybe it's a good thing that Marc's voice is in his head because it's hard to hear anything else.
He wants to say something smart, or clever or even apropriately sexy-- but there's a short in his brain and all he can do is be noisy in a way he hates. When he had thought he was alone and bothered touching himself it was always quietly, in bed, biting back every sound till he finished with a half grunt and scurried off to clean himself up. It was so different with someone else involved, but more than that it was probably Marc who made the most difference. He wanted to comply with anything he asked, and more over wanted him to know how good he made him feel.
Or so that's the excuse his brain will fill in for why he can't keep quiet now, hitching breaths and a bottled up tension finally, brokenly, falling apart. It's a mess, he can feel it all over his stomach, some on his thighs and the noise he makes is shaky at best. He can't even tell what he's saying, a broken sort of muttering, maybe just pleasure maybe Marc's name, it's like a tap burst and eventually it leaves him tender and exhausted.
A pleading noise is twisted out after a second, stilling bonelessly, straining to catch his breath. ]
no subject
He wants to say something smart, or clever or even apropriately sexy-- but there's a short in his brain and all he can do is be noisy in a way he hates. When he had thought he was alone and bothered touching himself it was always quietly, in bed, biting back every sound till he finished with a half grunt and scurried off to clean himself up. It was so different with someone else involved, but more than that it was probably Marc who made the most difference. He wanted to comply with anything he asked, and more over wanted him to know how good he made him feel.
Or so that's the excuse his brain will fill in for why he can't keep quiet now, hitching breaths and a bottled up tension finally, brokenly, falling apart. It's a mess, he can feel it all over his stomach, some on his thighs and the noise he makes is shaky at best. He can't even tell what he's saying, a broken sort of muttering, maybe just pleasure maybe Marc's name, it's like a tap burst and eventually it leaves him tender and exhausted.
A pleading noise is twisted out after a second, stilling bonelessly, straining to catch his breath. ]
Oh my stars-