He hears the feedback of the mic coming on and watches it transform in Gentaro's hand as the base falls to the side and the author lifts the mouthpiece. And then it's like life stops. It slows down to a crawl that's barely movement at all, and he feels rather than hears every single word. It's the way Gentaro first rapped at length, flowing prose, words to a beat no one needs to hear but them, and it makes Dice feel cornered.
But it's so good. It doesn't hurt, but rather sinks into him until his body aches with heat, choking him in the most erotic way. Gentaro's voice already has an effect on him on a normal day with no assistance, but amplified by the mic's powers, he's done for.
He braces a hand to one side of the prone author, letting the words hit him, cover him, coax him until he's so painfully wanting that he doesn't give a damn if Gentaro is done or not. He pushes the hand holding the mic out of the way with his own mic, still gripping it, ready to use it again. It's much more important to feel contact with something other than Gentaro's words, which may be his soul and his creativity and everything Dice first admired about him, but which probably won't get him off entirely unless--
Unless.
He kisses Gentaro soundly, teeth and tongue and vicious affection, like a man who has never had a concept of control. Then he pulls back just far enough and starts another verse, this one full of images, painting Gentaro as his symbol of victory, and darker, more dangerous things about Gentaro's body, the way he sounds, the way he moves.]
no subject
He hears the feedback of the mic coming on and watches it transform in Gentaro's hand as the base falls to the side and the author lifts the mouthpiece. And then it's like life stops. It slows down to a crawl that's barely movement at all, and he feels rather than hears every single word. It's the way Gentaro first rapped at length, flowing prose, words to a beat no one needs to hear but them, and it makes Dice feel cornered.
But it's so good. It doesn't hurt, but rather sinks into him until his body aches with heat, choking him in the most erotic way. Gentaro's voice already has an effect on him on a normal day with no assistance, but amplified by the mic's powers, he's done for.
He braces a hand to one side of the prone author, letting the words hit him, cover him, coax him until he's so painfully wanting that he doesn't give a damn if Gentaro is done or not. He pushes the hand holding the mic out of the way with his own mic, still gripping it, ready to use it again. It's much more important to feel contact with something other than Gentaro's words, which may be his soul and his creativity and everything Dice first admired about him, but which probably won't get him off entirely unless--
Unless.
He kisses Gentaro soundly, teeth and tongue and vicious affection, like a man who has never had a concept of control. Then he pulls back just far enough and starts another verse, this one full of images, painting Gentaro as his symbol of victory, and darker, more dangerous things about Gentaro's body, the way he sounds, the way he moves.]