[ Irving's eyes, wide as ever, snap up to Jack's face, his expression sharp and stricken even though he, too, has his own doubts about if he could possibly muster up the kind of restraint he'd had before all this again, now that he's actually tasted the forbidden fruits (... so to speak) of temptation for himself. He takes neither relief nor pleasure in this prospect, a look flashing briefly over his face like in fact the thought might normally make him want to cry, if not for--
Well, he's a bit too far gone at this point, too deeply surrendered in shameless, wanton pleasure, to weep over something he can do nothing about right now short of ending it all by leaping off Jack and fleeing the room-- something which very clearly will not be happening any time soon; if he's too weak to have resisted the temptation in the first place, then how could he ever possibly manage to summon the strength to put a stop to it now while so half-mindless and dick drunk he's not sure what Jack could do to him he'd actually say no to.
And on that note: ]
Yes. [ Whispered, his throat hoarse from how much he's cried out already. ] But I...
[ Is there any point in protesting the touch, though? (Is he really about to be brought to finish again, twice in one day?) The rhythmic stroking pulls a soft, needy whine from him, makes him dig his rough fingernails harder into Jack's skin as he clings to him, legs shaking as predicted. His body clenches around Jack's cock, grinding down, tight and desperate, not wanting this to end. ]
[ Shaking more, trembling with every complicated, turbulent feeling that's built up and been locked inside him, caught between too much and not enough simultaneously. Every groan and gasp is progressively raspy, his throat rough and sore, but Irving continues heedless of that fact, letting the noises tumble from his lips as if he doesn't even notice.
Not there yet, but close and getting closer. He accidentally makes eye contact again briefly, eyes fucked-out and blurry like fogged up glass, though he holds them there for a moment before letting his gaze drop again. Somehow his eyes keep finding their way back even against his own will, taking in different details each time they sweep over Jack; his thick hair, his sharply pointed face, his eyes, his lips, features that still fail to come together for Irving into a man he understands even slightly.
(Not that he's entirely sure he actually wants to.) ]
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Well, he's a bit too far gone at this point, too deeply surrendered in shameless, wanton pleasure, to weep over something he can do nothing about right now short of ending it all by leaping off Jack and fleeing the room-- something which very clearly will not be happening any time soon; if he's too weak to have resisted the temptation in the first place, then how could he ever possibly manage to summon the strength to put a stop to it now while so half-mindless and dick drunk he's not sure what Jack could do to him he'd actually say no to.
And on that note: ]
Yes. [ Whispered, his throat hoarse from how much he's cried out already. ] But I...
[ Is there any point in protesting the touch, though? (Is he really about to be brought to finish again, twice in one day?) The rhythmic stroking pulls a soft, needy whine from him, makes him dig his rough fingernails harder into Jack's skin as he clings to him, legs shaking as predicted. His body clenches around Jack's cock, grinding down, tight and desperate, not wanting this to end. ]
Oh... oh-- [ He gasps, teeth grazing Jack's shoulder. ] J-Jack--
[ Shaking more, trembling with every complicated, turbulent feeling that's built up and been locked inside him, caught between too much and not enough simultaneously. Every groan and gasp is progressively raspy, his throat rough and sore, but Irving continues heedless of that fact, letting the noises tumble from his lips as if he doesn't even notice.
Not there yet, but close and getting closer. He accidentally makes eye contact again briefly, eyes fucked-out and blurry like fogged up glass, though he holds them there for a moment before letting his gaze drop again. Somehow his eyes keep finding their way back even against his own will, taking in different details each time they sweep over Jack; his thick hair, his sharply pointed face, his eyes, his lips, features that still fail to come together for Irving into a man he understands even slightly.
(Not that he's entirely sure he actually wants to.) ]