[ Yes, would have been his answer — yes, twist your fingers into my hair. Yes, pull me, push me, grind me down until I feel your skin like a blush on my cheeks. Yes, you can do whatever you want. His only stipulation would have been that it not hurt, not too long or too much. And as if the two of them are in lockstep, Agent Choi seems to intuit this, seems aware exactly how far Soleum's willing to lose himself in-between the palm bearing down on his head and the cock deepening past his molars with each rushed swallow.
His throat is burning. It's different from all the other times. Different from Tamra Express, where even with the Happy Maker numbing his pain receptors, he knew something terrible was happening to his body. With this, he doesn't need a painkiller; it hurts, the pressure is excruciating, but…
Does he like it? Is he enjoying it?
The answer to those questions doesn't come easily to Soleum, but he's reminded this is something he's choosing to do of his own accord every time he moves and the muscles along his airway flex, flinch, pinch. All the assorted molecules in his body aching and hopping with the effort, all of him reaching for it.
Is this how you do it, Soleum thinks, twice now. A simple push is the only thing it takes for his index finger to slowly follow the warm ridge inside of Agent Choi. He never would have pegged the older man as someone keen on being attended to, spoiled, considering how more interested he appears to be in doting on his juniors, but when his leg thigh parts, he can feel his wet entrance widening around the digit. His thumb pad rubs around the rim at first, assessing if it's enough for him to nudge his middle finger into the narrowed stretch, and thankfully it is. Another push, just as slow as the first, a shipwreck sinking to the ocean floor; he can't quite manage the same attentiveness with this as what he's doing above water, unfortunately. The majority of his concentration is nearly spent on remembering to breathe as his cock touches home at that back crook of his throat, hits that spot. In and out. Back and forth.
Not good.
His hand has to briefly pause as the nauseating reflex to cough Agent Choi out takes hold. ] Hh — mmnn — [ It sounds more like a moan than Soleum struggling to take him at that depth, but with a squeeze of his eyes he trains his thoughts elsewhere. Right, the age-old trick of thinking of something else. His fingers swivel, looking for the best angle before retreating slightly, then sliding back into the agent. Soleum's brow furrows. He doesn't reach his prostrate yet with that one, so he does it again, this time bending his fingers in search — ah, is that it? There? It's rounder than everything else, soft and fleshy. He must be at least hitting the very bottom of it.
He squints his eyes open, checking through his eyelashes for a response from Agent Choi, while he inches his fingertips inward, massaging against him. But he's downed him to the point that the only thing he can see is the light sheen of sweat glinting off his toned stomach. How disappointing. ]
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His throat is burning. It's different from all the other times. Different from Tamra Express, where even with the Happy Maker numbing his pain receptors, he knew something terrible was happening to his body. With this, he doesn't need a painkiller; it hurts, the pressure is excruciating, but…
Does he like it? Is he enjoying it?
The answer to those questions doesn't come easily to Soleum, but he's reminded this is something he's choosing to do of his own accord every time he moves and the muscles along his airway flex, flinch, pinch. All the assorted molecules in his body aching and hopping with the effort, all of him reaching for it.
Is this how you do it, Soleum thinks, twice now. A simple push is the only thing it takes for his index finger to slowly follow the warm ridge inside of Agent Choi. He never would have pegged the older man as someone keen on being attended to, spoiled, considering how more interested he appears to be in doting on his juniors, but when his leg thigh parts, he can feel his wet entrance widening around the digit. His thumb pad rubs around the rim at first, assessing if it's enough for him to nudge his middle finger into the narrowed stretch, and thankfully it is. Another push, just as slow as the first, a shipwreck sinking to the ocean floor; he can't quite manage the same attentiveness with this as what he's doing above water, unfortunately. The majority of his concentration is nearly spent on remembering to breathe as his cock touches home at that back crook of his throat, hits that spot. In and out. Back and forth.
Not good.
His hand has to briefly pause as the nauseating reflex to cough Agent Choi out takes hold. ] Hh — mmnn — [ It sounds more like a moan than Soleum struggling to take him at that depth, but with a squeeze of his eyes he trains his thoughts elsewhere. Right, the age-old trick of thinking of something else. His fingers swivel, looking for the best angle before retreating slightly, then sliding back into the agent. Soleum's brow furrows. He doesn't reach his prostrate yet with that one, so he does it again, this time bending his fingers in search — ah, is that it? There? It's rounder than everything else, soft and fleshy. He must be at least hitting the very bottom of it.
He squints his eyes open, checking through his eyelashes for a response from Agent Choi, while he inches his fingertips inward, massaging against him. But he's downed him to the point that the only thing he can see is the light sheen of sweat glinting off his toned stomach. How disappointing. ]