[Biology may not betray Zenyatta, but he is certain that she has already begun to read his own peculiar little foibles; there's no other way to explain all the wicked little ways Angela's fingers move within him, the sounds lurid against the soft symphony of her gasps, the smile that reaches her eyes until they gleam like pale stars. Clever, and just a little impish. Amazing, she says, and his body responds ahead of any conscious answer with a chirp and a full-body twitch as his vocals offline for just a fraction of a second.]
N-nor did I. But- [he steals seconds inside of her (or does she steal them from him?) and the momentary stillness is a space to breathe] - I am sure I will return the favour.
[Though, oh, she makes it so difficult to think at allwhen she reaches for him all over again and takes his ovipositor in one of those beautiful hands. Even that most considered of touches burns through him like wildfire, the pressure against his shaft giving way to the pressure within, its precious cargo shifting restlessly towards its tip.
Zenyatta had never known animal instinct until this place. Now it bucks his hips wildly upwards, through the tender circle of her hand, into the welcoming heat of her body, once, twice, a third time--
A third hand materialises in a golden arc; its hand finds purchase on Angela's waist to smooth tense muscle, thumbing over the place lower still where he knows she must be full of him. He is making a mess of her, he knows. Each time he recedes he feels his slick pool against his thighs, displaced by his cock with every thrust. And yet. And yet.]
no subject
N-nor did I. But- [he steals seconds inside of her (or does she steal them from him?) and the momentary stillness is a space to breathe] - I am sure I will return the favour.
[Though, oh, she makes it so difficult to think at allwhen she reaches for him all over again and takes his ovipositor in one of those beautiful hands. Even that most considered of touches burns through him like wildfire, the pressure against his shaft giving way to the pressure within, its precious cargo shifting restlessly towards its tip.
Zenyatta had never known animal instinct until this place. Now it bucks his hips wildly upwards, through the tender circle of her hand, into the welcoming heat of her body, once, twice, a third time--
A third hand materialises in a golden arc; its hand finds purchase on Angela's waist to smooth tense muscle, thumbing over the place lower still where he knows she must be full of him. He is making a mess of her, he knows. Each time he recedes he feels his slick pool against his thighs, displaced by his cock with every thrust. And yet. And yet.]
Are you ready?
[He does not explain. Angela knows.]