Who gave Cater Diamond the right to be so-- so-- attractive. Amazing. Beautiful, even now, especially now, during this heated moment between them and only them. No one else would know, no one else even mattered right now.
"Saying something like that-- now?" Riddle barely gets through his complaint (as much of a complaint as it CAN be, with how those few words made his heart ache in an unrecognizable way) before Cater pushes all the way in, a gasp escaping the smaller man.
Oh, Seven, he feels like his mind was clouded over completely, blank with nothing other than the focus on those little moans of Cater's, the hold they both have on each other, as if letting go would mean the other vanishes from sight.
Riddle's legs shift, hips move, to allow himself to wrap his legs around Cater's hips, pressing him closer, urging their bodies to let them be pressed even further together.
This was one way to shut them up, it seems. Usually one of them was talking, whether it was Cater's incessant rambling on about something inconsequential or Riddle's own lectures and complaints, or the rare moment where Riddle was gushing about something. Riddle doesn't feel like he has to talk, like he has to say anything. Instead, he lets his hips and the plethora of noises slipping past his lips do the talking, falling into that pace with Cater.
no subject
"Saying something like that-- now?" Riddle barely gets through his complaint (as much of a complaint as it CAN be, with how those few words made his heart ache in an unrecognizable way) before Cater pushes all the way in, a gasp escaping the smaller man.
Oh, Seven, he feels like his mind was clouded over completely, blank with nothing other than the focus on those little moans of Cater's, the hold they both have on each other, as if letting go would mean the other vanishes from sight.
Riddle's legs shift, hips move, to allow himself to wrap his legs around Cater's hips, pressing him closer, urging their bodies to let them be pressed even further together.
This was one way to shut them up, it seems. Usually one of them was talking, whether it was Cater's incessant rambling on about something inconsequential or Riddle's own lectures and complaints, or the rare moment where Riddle was gushing about something. Riddle doesn't feel like he has to talk, like he has to say anything. Instead, he lets his hips and the plethora of noises slipping past his lips do the talking, falling into that pace with Cater.