drink in the wild air

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Alas, fifteen minutes is a finite amount of time, however much Mateo would like to tease each second between his fingers and stretch it into hours. Add in the brutal perfection of Vesper's fucking, the way his voice growls honey against the shell of his ear in the form of desire and demands, and the botanist is all but undone already - and that's without taking into account the intimate addition of the coils of shadow.

Hearing, distantly, the way the force of Vesper's thrusts causes the shelving to rattle and drags ever more desperate moans from his throat, Mateo watches their reflections through half-lidded eyes, his mind unravelling into sensation and snippets of half finished sentences. More and yes and gods, fuck me litter his thoughts like petals on the wind, and as he feels that tell-tale trickle of molten static race through the base of his spine, those thoughts only grow more sordid.

"Vesper--!" he bites out a second before he cums, the other man's name leaving his lips like a rough curse or a prayer, before pleasure seizes him entirely, and the rest of the world fades away for a brief, blissful few seconds.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand