"Whoa--no. No. Don't just 'okay' me. Don't give me that... that look. I don't want to see that fuckin' look." He finally does pull his arm free, reaches up to take Ranboo's face in both hands. He holds them there, gently, the exertion of mere minutes ago still warm in their skin under his tough palms. Even as he does this, he's feeling the tackiness of cum and slick and sweat drying between his legs and against his hole. The great, post-exertional heaviness weighing down every layer of his body. The stretched-out, used feeling of still being loose and open after it all.
His clit, incredibly, manages to hit him with a twinge of something that's not quite arousal. God, he's fucked up. But if he was ever going to be anything else, it's some thing he doesn't want to know. So he lives with it and he's making it work. The half-smile comes back, then vanishes with another heavy sigh. Not even for emotional reasons--well, maybe for those. But mostly because, honestly, he feels so wrung out. Breathing itself is like a chore.
"This is me we're talking about. Remember how we got on this subject? About how I know what gets me hard? About knowing how I like it? And the fact that I know how I like it? At the end of the day it's just where I got some of the sick fetish material I'd be jerking it to if I had the opportunities."
So maybe it was insane, and maybe it was twisted, and maybe it was wrong, and maybe it made him insane and twisted and wrong. But maybe he was always meant to be this way. That's the worst possibility of them all, but somehow the easiest one to stomach. Because he's his own worst enemy. No matter which explanation you favour, which breakdown you table, that's objectively true. He hesitates, though. Something tugs down at the corner of his mouth.
He doesn't let go of Ranboo's face, but the way he cups their face is... lighter. Lessening. Like he's freeing them to pull away, before the next words can leave his mouth.
no subject
His clit, incredibly, manages to hit him with a twinge of something that's not quite arousal. God, he's fucked up. But if he was ever going to be anything else, it's some thing he doesn't want to know. So he lives with it and he's making it work. The half-smile comes back, then vanishes with another heavy sigh. Not even for emotional reasons--well, maybe for those. But mostly because, honestly, he feels so wrung out. Breathing itself is like a chore.
"This is me we're talking about. Remember how we got on this subject? About how I know what gets me hard? About knowing how I like it? And the fact that I know how I like it? At the end of the day it's just where I got some of the sick fetish material I'd be jerking it to if I had the opportunities."
So maybe it was insane, and maybe it was twisted, and maybe it was wrong, and maybe it made him insane and twisted and wrong. But maybe he was always meant to be this way. That's the worst possibility of them all, but somehow the easiest one to stomach. Because he's his own worst enemy. No matter which explanation you favour, which breakdown you table, that's objectively true. He hesitates, though. Something tugs down at the corner of his mouth.
He doesn't let go of Ranboo's face, but the way he cups their face is... lighter. Lessening. Like he's freeing them to pull away, before the next words can leave his mouth.
"I'm not so different, that way."