[Whenever Miyano read books like this -- where the protagonist resisted and blushed and insisted that they felt nothing, nothing at all, that it wasn't them acting like this, it was something else, something bigger than them -- he used to roll his eyes, because they always gave in eventually. What use was all the protesting and fighting, when it obviously felt good and they obviously wanted it so badly?
Now, inexplicably in his own version of those fantasies, Miyano sort of understands. If he doesn't cling to that tiny thread of logic, of rationality, he feels like he's going to completely lose himself. It feels so much better than anything he's ever felt before, anything his hand alone could've ever achieved. The teasing, dragging feel of the demon's tail has him fully hard against his stomach, the tease of teeth against his ear has his whole body shivering, and even the audience of hooded figures doesn't matter anymore.
Then there's the heat on his stomach, rising gradually, relentlessly, pushing that sense of need, of impatience ever higher and more intense. The demon turns his head and Miya's wide, teary eyes are locked with the bright, glowing blue ones that seem to look right into his soul any know exactly what he wants. He's opening his mouth to answer when the demon kisses him, tongue curling hot and slick and sweet, drowning Miya's senses even more. There isn't a single inch of him that isn't completely saturated in the demon's touch, scent, taste, and it's still not enough.
The boy's gasping for air by the time the demon pulls away from the kiss, and that tiny tenuous thread of sanity snaps as he answers, compelled and helpless and lost:] Fuck me, p-please, please, please...
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Now, inexplicably in his own version of those fantasies, Miyano sort of understands. If he doesn't cling to that tiny thread of logic, of rationality, he feels like he's going to completely lose himself. It feels so much better than anything he's ever felt before, anything his hand alone could've ever achieved. The teasing, dragging feel of the demon's tail has him fully hard against his stomach, the tease of teeth against his ear has his whole body shivering, and even the audience of hooded figures doesn't matter anymore.
Then there's the heat on his stomach, rising gradually, relentlessly, pushing that sense of need, of impatience ever higher and more intense. The demon turns his head and Miya's wide, teary eyes are locked with the bright, glowing blue ones that seem to look right into his soul any know exactly what he wants. He's opening his mouth to answer when the demon kisses him, tongue curling hot and slick and sweet, drowning Miya's senses even more. There isn't a single inch of him that isn't completely saturated in the demon's touch, scent, taste, and it's still not enough.
The boy's gasping for air by the time the demon pulls away from the kiss, and that tiny tenuous thread of sanity snaps as he answers, compelled and helpless and lost:] Fuck me, p-please, please, please...