[At this rate, they are feeding into one another. It's easy to do, having been deprived of each other's presence and bodies for so long. Sholmes' hasn't enough pride (rather, his pride hinges upon other things) to halt the sounds coming from him, heavy breaths and low moans. Mostly inarticulate murmurs, professing what he's told her on repeat, She's perfect, this is perfect, she feels wonderful.
The fact that he's aware of her hand moving as his pleasure builds is only because he cannot turn off a detective's innate perception, though he doesn't change his rhythm. Only wonders if he can hold out long enough for her to come, and maybe he might feel her clench around him tightly before he spills, too, but—
He's not entirely sure if he can.]
Ahh, please what, my love? Should I spill... all of me, inside of you? Tell me all that you want.
no subject
The fact that he's aware of her hand moving as his pleasure builds is only because he cannot turn off a detective's innate perception, though he doesn't change his rhythm. Only wonders if he can hold out long enough for her to come, and maybe he might feel her clench around him tightly before he spills, too, but—
He's not entirely sure if he can.]
Ahh, please what, my love? Should I spill... all of me, inside of you? Tell me all that you want.