[Well well well if it isn't Joseph Joestar's cock thickening considerably in his hand, pulsing, like a homing beacon straight for his lips. He licks his lips again at the thought. Caesar has seconds to smirk, giving as good as Joseph got, thrusting hard and curling his fingers expertly around his friend's cock, swirling his thumb around the head of his dick and squeezing just right.
Then, then those words leave those lush lips and Caesar's eyes widen, his cock twitches in Jojo's hand, that clumsy, honest, breathtaking italian falling from Jojo's lips and dragging him asunder. It wasn't a purr, it was a growl, a low hum, a beat of their hearts in sync, the spark of the gunpowder that seemed to coat the very air, to ignite in a shower of flame, dragging them with it. And honestly, he could care less if he fell to it's mercy. He'd go willingly if only knowing he'd never lose this again.
Caesar lo-likes Jojo like a gunshot, wild and explosive and damning. His pulse pounds and roars in his ears, much like that bullet, lingering; the recoil quakes through his very marrow, leftover for days and days and days.
He sighs, ragged, breathless, arm curling around Jojo's back, desperate, knuckles white. He nuzzles his forehead against Jojo's, thrusts, his composure cracking, hanging by the tips of fingers on the ledge. He whispers--]
Mi stai uccidendo. To think your first grade italian would make me ache for you so.
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i hate them so much
29/8/13 08:36 (UTC)Then, then those words leave those lush lips and Caesar's eyes widen, his cock twitches in Jojo's hand, that clumsy, honest, breathtaking italian falling from Jojo's lips and dragging him asunder. It wasn't a purr, it was a growl, a low hum, a beat of their hearts in sync, the spark of the gunpowder that seemed to coat the very air, to ignite in a shower of flame, dragging them with it. And honestly, he could care less if he fell to it's mercy. He'd go willingly if only knowing he'd never lose this again.
Caesar lo-likes Jojo like a gunshot, wild and explosive and damning. His pulse pounds and roars in his ears, much like that bullet, lingering; the recoil quakes through his very marrow, leftover for days and days and days.
He sighs, ragged, breathless, arm curling around Jojo's back, desperate, knuckles white. He nuzzles his forehead against Jojo's, thrusts, his composure cracking, hanging by the tips of fingers on the ledge. He whispers--]
Mi stai uccidendo. To think your first grade italian would make me ache for you so.