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Yesod can barely keep his eyes on the scene in front of him, but he feels obligated to. Otherwise, he’s burying his face in Netzach’s shoulder, too terribly sentimental for his liking. So he’s here, gripping onto the other man’s crumpled button-up, eyes trained on his fingers working at his entrance, in and out at a leisurely pace that verges on maddening.
Because it’s good. He’s good. He’s very good.
Already familiar with all his weak spots, Netzach is taking his sweet time in unraveling Yesod underneath him as he looms over him, his fully clothed body acting like a shield for Yesod’s half-naked form. He’s grateful for it, on one hand. If anyone were to walk in, their activities would be blatant, but at least he’d be saved the embarrassment of being seen with his pants down. It’s not likely though, that they’ll be interrupted. In some deep corner of the Art Floor, hidden behind the many winding shelves in a nook that feels as though Netzach carved it out just for them.
He probably did. Yesod has no complaints with that fact. Somewhere private(ish) for just them and their escapades. He appreciates the privacy, however small it is. It’s preferable over getting caught in the Floor’s foyer. Which, unfortunately, has nearly happened more than once. Damn both of their insatiable libidos. Regaining human form has only made it worse.
Even more so when it seems that Yesod’s body is irresistible to Netzach. He was already rather touchy before, as touchy as was possible in their limited bodies. But this has reached an absurd degree. Always draped over him, an arm slung over his shoulders, he’s practically kissing his ears when he whispers to him, which is fairly frequent. Then he laughs when Yesod’s ears burn red.
As if his lips weren’t so delicate against the shell of cartilage, so intimate after thousands of years of metal and wires.
He’s doing it again right now.
“How’s there?” His fingers prodding inside of his cunt, slow and steady like waves lapping at the shore. They’ve been at this for long enough now that Yesod’s folds are a mess of slick and strings, sticking to Netzach’s knuckles and making a sound obscene enough that he’s grateful for how deep into the Library they are, too far for anyone to be wandering around.
The spot he’s petting with his digits isn’t particularly sensitive in and of itself, but with how far they’re in this session (at least an hour, he wants to guess), every part of him is taut and eager to be touched. Even in this unspecific spot inside of him, he flinches and trembles slightly.
“It’s fine,” he finally hisses. Netzach hums, burying his face in Yesod’s neck and sighing.
“You’re a picky guy, y’know?” Lips brushing his skin. Yesod’s lungs tighten to keep whatever sound that just tried to escape within him.
He’s being a deliberate tease. Poking around the best parts and petting hard at wherever causes the least reaction. Purposefully driving him insane. But he’s always been known for that, pushing Yesod’s buttons with a clinical precision that no one would expect from a bum like him. Knows exactly what to say, what to do, to drive him mad. And he’s doing it again, right now.
“You know exactly what you’re doing.” Yesod’s grip on his shirt curled to take in fists of fabric. He can feel him smirk against his neck too.
“Not a clue.” Then his fingers are there, there. There’s no way to conceal the full-body flinch that precedes the honed jab against his g-spot that makes him gasp and choke down a moan. And that smirk widens. “Oh? Did I find it?”
He decides not to grace that blatant mockery with a response, just trying to limp and let Netzach finally work him to completion. The sounds from his cunt are pornographic, squelching and wet, but it’s also serving to drive him towards completion faster. Yes, Netzach does arouse him in this deep, satisfying way that feels far too profound to ignore. What they have, what they’ve built, allowing moments like this to feel that much better.
Arousal fogging his mind and making him sappy. But with how good Netzach is treating him, it’s hard not to. Shoving two fingers in and out of him at a blinding pace while he speaks sweet, syrupy words to him. Encouragement, assurance, praise. With how long he’s been teased, his mind is melting within seconds of the pace being adopted.
“There you go,” he’s humming against his jaw. “Feels good, yeah? You’re getting all wet about it…”
“Just don’t fucking stop.” The words are quiet and strained, but plenty audible from where Netzach is positioned. Practically speaking into his ear. He chuckles, low and deep in his throat. Yesod isn’t sure if Netzach is even aware of what that does to him.
“‘Kay, boss.” His pace slows again, in his defense, not to a stop. But the languid speed of his fingers is supplemented by his thumb on the sizable, erect clit that’s practically aching for touch. And it’s electric. Slow circles to match the pace of his internal administrations. Pushing at the hood and dragging over the sensitive tip. There’s no stopping the sound it punches out of him, a quick groaning gasp.
Netzach is ruthless in his movements, varying the pressure he works with, changing the speed in minute ways. Yesod feels his head spin, like he might pass out after he cums. Becoming more and more likely as his lover keeps his teetering on the edge. Too familiar with all the signs of impending orgasm, too willing to let them recede before starting up again.
When he brings the pace to a crawl again, Yesod hisses and grabs his wrist, guiding him into a clumsier version of what he’d slowed from. Netzach’s chuckle blows over him again, a little heartier this time.
“Too impatient?”
“You’re too slow.” Each word huffed out with excessive effort.
“If that’s what you think. Well… Won’t stop you. Looks like a lot of fun.” Even with the man’s face half buried against his neck, he can feel those hazy eyes on their point of connection. Yesod screws his own eyes shut as he begins barrelling towards completion again, this time with no sign of stopping. Especially when Netzach resumes his fingerfucking without guidance.
“You know how pretty you are right now? Fuck, kinda making me hard watching you like this…”
As if his erection hasn’t been outlined against his slacks this entire time. But his words are getting to him. Feeding into that building satisfaction at the column of his spine. Please more, beg his breathy moans and pitching voice. Netzach is kind enough to give him exactly that.
“C’mon, I know you can do it…” Those damn lips against his ear again. “Wanna taste your cum on my fingers.”
Oh fuck.
Netzach works his fingers perfectly through his orgasm. Following his hips as they cant and buck into the air effortlessly, not a moment in which he slips. Constant beautiful pressure against his clit, abusing his sweet spot. Ecstasy blooms from the base of his nerves and explodes out to every ending like fireworks, mimicking the blooming white in his vision. He’s sure he’s being louder than he’d prefer to be but all his mind can focus on is perfect bliss, perfect completion. Like a piece clicking into place.
Yesod tries to rasp out his partner’s name, but the second syllable is stuck in his throat, only able to breathlessly call to him by the nickname that others more commonly refer to him with. He certainly hears, based on how he hums and kisses his neck and rams his fingers into him sweetly. Feels his mouth move to make words, but they’re lost to the mind numbing pleasure.
Finally, he starts to come down. Realizes he’s made quite the mess, groaning as he watches Netzach’s fingers leave him. All slick and glistening, thick strings drawing out from his insides. The sight makes him burn. But his lover is definitely enthralled. Bringing those fingers to his mouth just as he said he would.
Yesod turns away from the sight. “That’s filthy.”
An exaggerated pop, a small moan from Netzach as he lets the taste pool in his mouth. “And yet, you love it.”
Can’t exactly refute that. Yesod sighs. He feels boneless after that type of orgasm, laying motionless in the bedded nook. There’s white noise clogging his brain, rendering him unable to spit venom back at him. But even if he did, it’d be wasted effort. Both of them know he doesn’t mean anything by it.
Far too fond of this man to ever do anything more than bare his teeth a bit. Would never really bite.
Some shuffling, Yesod watches Netzach settle his head between his bare legs, grunting as he lifts a thigh over his shoulder. The kiss he drags against his skin makes him shudder.
“You’re filthy here too… Ought to be cleaned up before going back to work, huh?”
Yesod huffs again, propping up his other leg over his shoulders.
He really does love him.