[ how is he supposed to think about anything when he's being pressed down to the warm sand, straddled, and kissed like this? his hands move like magnets to the round weight of matt's stomach, flattening and stroking in some kind of hindbrain fascination. he can't stop touching, even when he also wants to slide his palm up that tempting inch of bared thigh, or tease open the top of matt's robes. the tiny peeping hints of rose-colored nipples above him are driving him insane, the promise of breasts swollen with milk.
he whimpers into matt's mouth instead, as if that might communicate the roil of competing instincts, alien and familiar. he can feel himself squirming helplessly under matt's weight, enjoying it, lifting his hips in supplication. the hungry thing between his legs aches fiercely and he knows if either of them reached down they'd find the front of lance's thin robe soaked. ]
I don't, [ he pants, lying. ] I don't want anything, they did this to me, it's not me.
[ it's not him cupping and petting matt's distended belly with eager admiration. it's not him arching his back to let his own robes fall open further, it's not him reaching up finally to cup the weight of a milk-swollen breast, stroking his thumb tenderly over the nipple. ]
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[ how is he supposed to think about anything when he's being pressed down to the warm sand, straddled, and kissed like this? his hands move like magnets to the round weight of matt's stomach, flattening and stroking in some kind of hindbrain fascination. he can't stop touching, even when he also wants to slide his palm up that tempting inch of bared thigh, or tease open the top of matt's robes. the tiny peeping hints of rose-colored nipples above him are driving him insane, the promise of breasts swollen with milk.
he whimpers into matt's mouth instead, as if that might communicate the roil of competing instincts, alien and familiar. he can feel himself squirming helplessly under matt's weight, enjoying it, lifting his hips in supplication. the hungry thing between his legs aches fiercely and he knows if either of them reached down they'd find the front of lance's thin robe soaked. ]
I don't, [ he pants, lying. ] I don't want anything, they did this to me, it's not me.
[ it's not him cupping and petting matt's distended belly with eager admiration. it's not him arching his back to let his own robes fall open further, it's not him reaching up finally to cup the weight of a milk-swollen breast, stroking his thumb tenderly over the nipple. ]