[ His stops fighting when he ends up on his back with Larus' mouth hot and wet around him, one hand splayed over his own face as he groans, his neck arching, and the other sliding into Larus' hair, closing around his thick locks almost painfully tight. His grip loosens, then tightens, then loosens again, his breath stuttering with how good this feels, and maybe it's Larus or maybe it's the pot, or maybe it's the thrill that one of the campus security guards doing rounds at the dorms could bust them any minute now. No matter -- he couldn't ask Larus to stop, not with the way his tongue has him writhing against the seat like this. He knows what he's doing, and Jericho knows that he wants this.
The pressure builds, sending heat through his body; his hair already feels damp, the enclosed space of the cab too warm now with the air off, and his soft moans and muffled grunts slowly take on a more breathless quality, tremors stacking up within him, in his hands, in his thighs. He grips the edge of the seat, fingers digging hard into the fabric as he tries to stop pushing his hips so firmly into his mouth, but holding back becomes harder and harder as the seconds tick by, this entire moment made of spit and liquid heat and the soft wet sounds coming from Larus' mouth. He would let him fuck him right now if he wanted to -- he'd let him do anything he wanted to, his chest quivering with the way he's gasping for breath, and his eyes squeeze shut as the edge of a tremor takes hold of him, refusing to let him spill over, so for the longest moment he's suspended in a limbo of piercing hot agony, unable to speak or breathe or do anything but shiver, and then he pushes over with a quiet cry, rolling his face to press into the back of the seat. He just barely manages to give Larus a warning first, his shaking fingers nudging at his jaw to lift him off, and then he's gone, vision whiting out, his legs tightening against the way he tries to hold them open.
He wouldn't say his body necessarily relaxes after, still strung through with tension, weak now with the force of his orgasm, and he can't stop the light tremors that flow through him every time he moves. His breath slowly returns, though shallowly; it's not enough, and it's so hot in the truck that he can feel the sweat edging Larus' temples when his fingers slide away, and when he runs his hands down his own face his skin is damp, flushed. He weakly kicks at the door, still on his back but trying to push himself up with limbs that feel like water. ] Open it. I need some air. [ And some help dragging himself from the truck, but one problem at a time. He pushes out a breath, his eyes fluttering open, his voice thin. ] You're so good, Larus. I could just... crumble away and join the earth right now.
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The pressure builds, sending heat through his body; his hair already feels damp, the enclosed space of the cab too warm now with the air off, and his soft moans and muffled grunts slowly take on a more breathless quality, tremors stacking up within him, in his hands, in his thighs. He grips the edge of the seat, fingers digging hard into the fabric as he tries to stop pushing his hips so firmly into his mouth, but holding back becomes harder and harder as the seconds tick by, this entire moment made of spit and liquid heat and the soft wet sounds coming from Larus' mouth. He would let him fuck him right now if he wanted to -- he'd let him do anything he wanted to, his chest quivering with the way he's gasping for breath, and his eyes squeeze shut as the edge of a tremor takes hold of him, refusing to let him spill over, so for the longest moment he's suspended in a limbo of piercing hot agony, unable to speak or breathe or do anything but shiver, and then he pushes over with a quiet cry, rolling his face to press into the back of the seat. He just barely manages to give Larus a warning first, his shaking fingers nudging at his jaw to lift him off, and then he's gone, vision whiting out, his legs tightening against the way he tries to hold them open.
He wouldn't say his body necessarily relaxes after, still strung through with tension, weak now with the force of his orgasm, and he can't stop the light tremors that flow through him every time he moves. His breath slowly returns, though shallowly; it's not enough, and it's so hot in the truck that he can feel the sweat edging Larus' temples when his fingers slide away, and when he runs his hands down his own face his skin is damp, flushed. He weakly kicks at the door, still on his back but trying to push himself up with limbs that feel like water. ] Open it. I need some air. [ And some help dragging himself from the truck, but one problem at a time. He pushes out a breath, his eyes fluttering open, his voice thin. ] You're so good, Larus. I could just... crumble away and join the earth right now.