[You'd better believe he's going to damn well try. He's not going to stop just at one measly thrust of his hips. Hell, he isn't going to want to stop after just one orgasm. Vash has shown his proclivity for getting it up again pretty much instantly, which leads Wolfwood to believe he has stamina befitting someone who is nonhuman. Meaning...their only limitation here, probably, is how long Wolfwood can last and, well.
Wolfwood isn't exactly a normal human himself. Superhuman, in essence. And he's decided that unless Vash protests, he's going to keep going until one or the other of them can't go any more.
Vash's gentle praise only serves to spur him on further. He can feel his own cock leaping deep inside Vash, equal parts begging for stimulus as much as release, yet he's forcing himself to restrain it, if only for just a few moments more. Please, he just wants...to be like this with Vash for a bit longer.
His movements are jerky. Sloppy, and uncoordinated. It takes a little bit for him to find his rhythm, his thighs quaking as each errant twitch sends shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. There's a moan of Vash's name on his lips, reverent and low, as he rolls his hips and rocks back into him again. Soon, that tenuous movement becomes a proper rhythm, slow and languid and purposeful. And...for as much as he kept imagining that he would fuck Vash into a smear on the mattress in a way that was rough and punishing, he's...not doing that.
As corny as it sounds, they're not just having sex. They're making love. And it makes Wolfwood's chest ache as he envelops Vash with his body, this time seeking to kiss his lips like before as he moves.
His friend. His lover. Boyfriend. Vice.
There's irony in a man doomed to hell falling in love with an angel.]
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Wolfwood isn't exactly a normal human himself. Superhuman, in essence. And he's decided that unless Vash protests, he's going to keep going until one or the other of them can't go any more.
Vash's gentle praise only serves to spur him on further. He can feel his own cock leaping deep inside Vash, equal parts begging for stimulus as much as release, yet he's forcing himself to restrain it, if only for just a few moments more. Please, he just wants...to be like this with Vash for a bit longer.
His movements are jerky. Sloppy, and uncoordinated. It takes a little bit for him to find his rhythm, his thighs quaking as each errant twitch sends shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. There's a moan of Vash's name on his lips, reverent and low, as he rolls his hips and rocks back into him again. Soon, that tenuous movement becomes a proper rhythm, slow and languid and purposeful. And...for as much as he kept imagining that he would fuck Vash into a smear on the mattress in a way that was rough and punishing, he's...not doing that.
As corny as it sounds, they're not just having sex. They're making love. And it makes Wolfwood's chest ache as he envelops Vash with his body, this time seeking to kiss his lips like before as he moves.
His friend. His lover. Boyfriend. Vice.
There's irony in a man doomed to hell falling in love with an angel.]