[ lance has to kiss him again just to make him be quiet, not wanting
to hear the words that ricochet inside him like a bullet in a metal room.
he could argue and say he’s not, he’s not like matt, he’s not wet
and needy and desperate for touch, he’s not guiltily imagining how it would
feel to see his stomach grow huge and full like matt’s, life squirming
under his fingertips. he could say that, and he’d be lying, and matt knows
it. it’s telegraphed in every shiver of lance’s skin, every shift in his
scent.
he lies anyway. he presses matt down to the warm, soft sand in a
spasm of fear-driven aggression, leaning down over him and sealing their
mouths together like he can change the truth if he just keeps matt’s mouth
occupied. ]
I’m not-- like you.
[ he pants it out between angry kisses, sliding his hand down
helplessly to pull open the rest of matt’s robe. his fingers are
trembling, adrenaline rolling through him. ]
I’m-- you don’t know-- you don’t know anything about me--
[ except then he’s staring at the reality of it, the thing between
matt’s legs that is driving him to this, the thing the galra made for him.
it’s slick and swollen and glistening-wet, a hungry little fluttering
mouth. if he still had a cock it would be wet and warm and clinging
around him and he moans like a wounded animal, need and fear cramping
inside him, and instead of recoiling he cups the whole of it in his palm,
wet searing warmth and a hot piece of metal from the stud pressing into his
skin.
his free hand dives traitorously between his own thighs, rubbing and
pressing over the top of the fabric in a horrible mirror of how he’s
touching matt. he thumbs the stud in matt’s swollen clit back and forth
mercilessly, wanting to watch him fall apart the way lance is falling
apart, panting harshly and mouth open, eyes hot and stinging, horrified at
himself and how fucking good it feels as his own fingers grope blindly
between his legs. ]
T-touch me, [ he begs finally, another round of tears spilling down
his cheeks. ] Show me how, I don’t, I need it, show me how,
please.
no subject
[ lance has to kiss him again just to make him be quiet, not wanting to hear the words that ricochet inside him like a bullet in a metal room.
he could argue and say he’s not, he’s not like matt, he’s not wet and needy and desperate for touch, he’s not guiltily imagining how it would feel to see his stomach grow huge and full like matt’s, life squirming under his fingertips. he could say that, and he’d be lying, and matt knows it. it’s telegraphed in every shiver of lance’s skin, every shift in his scent.
he lies anyway. he presses matt down to the warm, soft sand in a spasm of fear-driven aggression, leaning down over him and sealing their mouths together like he can change the truth if he just keeps matt’s mouth occupied. ]
I’m not-- like you.
[ he pants it out between angry kisses, sliding his hand down helplessly to pull open the rest of matt’s robe. his fingers are trembling, adrenaline rolling through him. ]
I’m-- you don’t know-- you don’t know anything about me--
[ except then he’s staring at the reality of it, the thing between matt’s legs that is driving him to this, the thing the galra made for him. it’s slick and swollen and glistening-wet, a hungry little fluttering mouth. if he still had a cock it would be wet and warm and clinging around him and he moans like a wounded animal, need and fear cramping inside him, and instead of recoiling he cups the whole of it in his palm, wet searing warmth and a hot piece of metal from the stud pressing into his skin.
his free hand dives traitorously between his own thighs, rubbing and pressing over the top of the fabric in a horrible mirror of how he’s touching matt. he thumbs the stud in matt’s swollen clit back and forth mercilessly, wanting to watch him fall apart the way lance is falling apart, panting harshly and mouth open, eyes hot and stinging, horrified at himself and how fucking good it feels as his own fingers grope blindly between his legs. ]
T-touch me, [ he begs finally, another round of tears spilling down his cheeks. ] Show me how, I don’t, I need it, show me how, please.