[L's cheek is singing with pain. His throat aches through the Bond, and his breath comes in short, shallow puffs against the SQUIP's face. He feels alive, though. His blood is fire, his skin is clear water, and the clash drives steel and hail against his ribs. Like any hungry thing that's been starved for too long, he can't refuse being in a position to take, and his kisses are a bruising mash of lips and teeth. He won't kill it, but he'll leave it looking like it's been through Hell. He'll know that it has, because they went together, limping alongside one another like a battered Dante and Virgil into the yawning abyss.
It's not clear to L who is Dante, and who is Virgil. Someone is being led, and someone is following, but that's wildly ungrounded at present. The SQUIP even seems unsure, and the SQUIP is always sure. He yanks the machine's pants down around its hips, followed by his own, not remembering removing his partner's belt but feeling it doubled and clenched in his left hand. Shifting his hips, he presses against the SQUIP, wrapping his right hand around both their cocks like a noose.
Their struggle has resulted in sweat, but it's paltry lubrication. The pulling and plying could be far more comfortable, but the added friction certainly matches the mood well enough. ]
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It's not clear to L who is Dante, and who is Virgil. Someone is being led, and someone is following, but that's wildly ungrounded at present. The SQUIP even seems unsure, and the SQUIP is always sure. He yanks the machine's pants down around its hips, followed by his own, not remembering removing his partner's belt but feeling it doubled and clenched in his left hand. Shifting his hips, he presses against the SQUIP, wrapping his right hand around both their cocks like a noose.
Their struggle has resulted in sweat, but it's paltry lubrication. The pulling and plying could be far more comfortable, but the added friction certainly matches the mood well enough. ]