( it’s terrifying to think that in his entire time here, dice had continually been the only person he wanted. while others were convenient, dice had been the one that gentaro saw himself finally opening up to; someone that had showed how protective he could be and how little fucks he gave about the past. if dice hadn’t wanted him, there wouldn’t have been anyone else. just dice, always dice.
sentimental thoughts aren’t great when you’re rapping and sitting on your boyfriend’s lap, achingly hard and mind drenched in need. thinking that dice is his muse, is the perfect complement to him, is the thing he wants to see each and every night and morning isn’t paired well with sweaty hair and palms and bruising lips.
but he indulges in it, allowing dice’s words to flood him. they cause him to arch, bending like a bow, body pressing hard against dice’s, down against dice, into dice. it’s intoxicatingly consuming and he trembles at the suggestions in dice’s rhyme.
he barely has the power to raise his own mic, which he knows will be the last time because the words cause him to spill over the edge. his rap is a direct response to dice, the sort of moan that always follows dice’s heavy touch. there’s no metaphor in this one, either, just honest want, desire, lo—
he finds himself coming undone with his last words, body having ground down on dice’s lap perfectly to tip him over the edge and into an orgasm. apparently it’s possible.
no subject
sentimental thoughts aren’t great when you’re rapping and sitting on your boyfriend’s lap, achingly hard and mind drenched in need. thinking that dice is his muse, is the perfect complement to him, is the thing he wants to see each and every night and morning isn’t paired well with sweaty hair and palms and bruising lips.
but he indulges in it, allowing dice’s words to flood him. they cause him to arch, bending like a bow, body pressing hard against dice’s, down against dice, into dice. it’s intoxicatingly consuming and he trembles at the suggestions in dice’s rhyme.
he barely has the power to raise his own mic, which he knows will be the last time because the words cause him to spill over the edge. his rap is a direct response to dice, the sort of moan that always follows dice’s heavy touch. there’s no metaphor in this one, either, just honest want, desire, lo—
he finds himself coming undone with his last words, body having ground down on dice’s lap perfectly to tip him over the edge and into an orgasm. apparently it’s possible.
for the record, those last words include:
there is nothing better,
steal me away forever )