[Even knowing what was coming, even knowing the familiar press of her lips at his spine, he still tenses slightly when she slides her finger inside. Its is short lived discomfort — this is one of those few things he has trouble keeping quiet for. A needy and soft exhale escapes his lips when she manages to push down to her knuckle. The sensation is different when she isn’t there, but not so different that he would trade her touch across the stars for someone else’s right next to him.
As instructed, his hand follows the movement of her finger, just as slowly — the first stroke causes one of his own knuckles to lock impatiently, but this isn’t something to be rushed (even knowing that he might be left squirming and unsatisfied if they took too long.]
More.
[She had to miss this as much as he did, right? She wouldn’t drag this out unnecessarily and risk the absence of an end. His hand moves from his mouth to tangle in the bedsheet, an effort to brace himself.]
no subject
As instructed, his hand follows the movement of her finger, just as slowly — the first stroke causes one of his own knuckles to lock impatiently, but this isn’t something to be rushed (even knowing that he might be left squirming and unsatisfied if they took too long.]
More.
[She had to miss this as much as he did, right? She wouldn’t drag this out unnecessarily and risk the absence of an end. His hand moves from his mouth to tangle in the bedsheet, an effort to brace himself.]