The humored sound from Deacon's lips at Danse's reply is short-lived as Danse kisses him heatedly, replaced by a moan that rumbles deep in his chest. He can feel the way Danse's cock throbs between his thighs and his own echoes it in Danse's hand. Instinct takes over with a carnal need, hips thrusting to fuck himself into Danse's fist, abs tightening and a hand grasping firmly at Danse's thigh.
"Fuck," he whines against Danse's lips, feeling wound and ready to snap at any moment. His other hand clutches at Danse's where it's held at his waist, squeezing it as he starts to breath more heavily, face still pressed against Danse's. He can barely hold out another second, and his voice cracks with a moan as he spills into Danse's hand and over his own stomach.
"That's it, that's it--" His voice takes over without thought, all but begging Deacon to come for him, and his growl of satisfaction is almost feral as he feels that hot pulse over his hand. The strain of ecstasy in Deacon's voice makes his nerves sing, a spike of heat that sends him tumbling over the edge with one last slam of his hips as he paints Deacon's cock and balls and inner thighs with his release.
It takes longer to catch his breath than it might, when he's trying to do it between kisses that taper gradually from messy still-urgent desire to slow and sweet and languorous, but finally he leaves off doing that with a last nuzzle to Deacon's cheekbone.
The feeling of Danse's orgasm against him prolongs his own pleasure and leaves him twitching in Danse's arms, muscles jumping as he whines into every kiss, meeting them with equal urgency. As they slow, and Deacon's body turns more to face Danse, he sighs happily against the nuzzle to his cheek and pets a hand through his hair.
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"Fuck," he whines against Danse's lips, feeling wound and ready to snap at any moment. His other hand clutches at Danse's where it's held at his waist, squeezing it as he starts to breath more heavily, face still pressed against Danse's. He can barely hold out another second, and his voice cracks with a moan as he spills into Danse's hand and over his own stomach.
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It takes longer to catch his breath than it might, when he's trying to do it between kisses that taper gradually from messy still-urgent desire to slow and sweet and languorous, but finally he leaves off doing that with a last nuzzle to Deacon's cheekbone.
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"Mmh," he hums, "Good morning to you, too."