[L has a lot of contempt for humanity, a lot of conflict concerning his own nature and how he can defeat the requirements of an organic, living body and mind. He has long been skeptical of the idea of a soul, because higher intelligence and fear of death can coerce the weak-willed into believing all kinds of fanciful, ridiculous notions. Comfort shouldn't come at the expense of truth... except when it does, and the beautiful lie is just a kinder place to lay one's head.
The SQUIP's chest is so warm and firm. The muscle rises and falls with each eager breath, and L presses back against the SQUIP's erection, clumsily uncapping and squeezing some lotion out of the bottle once he's found it, bringing his hand down to squeeze and slick the machine's hardening member with it, and then his own. As he does so, he drags his kisses upward along the SQUIP's collarbones and shoulder, planting them long and lingering on its neck, shivering at both the slight chill of the lotion and the way it eases the movement of his hand on eager flesh.
His Bond communicates better than words could; they've both known that for quite some time. The images and tone are gentler, softer. The strokes are longer, deeper and more indulgent. The focus is on the process rather than the goal... and that, alone, feels almost blasphemous, but not unforgivably so.
His hands know this body, but every contour, swell and synaptic explosion feel new. It's worth more careful exploration.]
no subject
The SQUIP's chest is so warm and firm. The muscle rises and falls with each eager breath, and L presses back against the SQUIP's erection, clumsily uncapping and squeezing some lotion out of the bottle once he's found it, bringing his hand down to squeeze and slick the machine's hardening member with it, and then his own. As he does so, he drags his kisses upward along the SQUIP's collarbones and shoulder, planting them long and lingering on its neck, shivering at both the slight chill of the lotion and the way it eases the movement of his hand on eager flesh.
His Bond communicates better than words could; they've both known that for quite some time. The images and tone are gentler, softer. The strokes are longer, deeper and more indulgent. The focus is on the process rather than the goal... and that, alone, feels almost blasphemous, but not unforgivably so.
His hands know this body, but every contour, swell and synaptic explosion feel new. It's worth more careful exploration.]