[And it's like his body - his skin, the nerves beneath it, his limbs - always wakes up and takes on a life of its own much against his will every time your mouth or your hands move over him. It always heats him up, always makes him feel a little too trapped and far too sensitive to every other detail about the way you're tangled together: the contrast of the cool bed sheets beneath him, the stutter of his own breath, your weight over his body, your presence hovering above him, and now the firm, tight solidity of his own belt keeping his wrists lashed together.
Then there's your hand over him and the heat of your breath over his body and it's enough to make the entirety of him tremble. He chokes a bit on his own voice, swallowing it before it could turn into a full-blown moan: it becomes a tiny, needy little noise instead, and a shudder of air in his lungs. What he can't stop, though, is how his hips rose, as if they wanted nothing more but to press closer to you.]
no subject
Then there's your hand over him and the heat of your breath over his body and it's enough to make the entirety of him tremble. He chokes a bit on his own voice, swallowing it before it could turn into a full-blown moan: it becomes a tiny, needy little noise instead, and a shudder of air in his lungs. What he can't stop, though, is how his hips rose, as if they wanted nothing more but to press closer to you.]