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"The tree lit within the moon's rays, a vestige of the sun's blooming pride. Although, how could the tree remain in life's side?" Dusekkar hummed from his study desk; babbling whichever words he could form, inspecting and wiping off a layer of liquids from his staff's head. The clock ticked towards the end of the night, but neither of them were finished.
Dusekkar's smooth sentences flowed alongside Taph's ragged breaths. Flicking his head-wings in tandem with the thrusts, Taph straddled on to a soft pillow on their bed. A sigh held then released—slowly at first, as Taph savoured the moment through the pressure in the air holding him up. But his robes soon wrinkled with the bedsheets as if it'd stick to him.
The slick sliding in his underwear kissed his skin until they held together, wet, and unbelievably cold. Taph shuddered even when he disconnected from the pillow, clenching in on his own flesh.
"Pumpkin." Taph shakily signed. His body tilted forwards to collapse had he not grasped on the bed in time, back arching like he'd become a physical message; one to read and speak of, one Dusekkar would string melodies from.
However, Dusekkar bore all his attention to his staff. A subtle grin on his mouth. The beauty within that stare... It was meant to be for Taph. So delicate yet hefty, inspecting each tiny detail even as it smoothened out. Then, understanding its intricacies, explaining its use and origins—speaking for it.
To think Taph would survive under that gaze? Such a greedy fantasy. He'd be satisfied with even the slightest mumble from Dusekkar.
Thus, as Dusekkar's form stayed silent, Taph's recklessness grew bigger than him.
Taph grinded harder. Setting ablaze a spark in his cunt, a gentle fabric turned rough, vibrating along like a fire's flicker. He blinked, twice, and for as long as he could keep the tears in—the ache murmuring in his head guiding him to repeat; again, again, until the world was only a frame for the man in front of him.
How Taph wished he could turn that ethereal face around and show Dusekkar his desperation. The bed creaked louder and louder, thumping alongside Taph's grinding, calling out a name.
"'The moon is sure of his wisdom and ways,' the sun replied." The chair screeched a rushed and violent tune against the hardwood floor. Dusekkar loomed at the edge of the bed, his shadow enveloping Taph's desires, but he didn't dare fuel it. Not yet. "'Then how sure are you of my own fate?' The tree tried and pried."
The vibrations of Dusekkar's voice teased Taph, probing into another crevice inside him. He nodded. Hard. Leaning towards Dusekkar, with his hips chanting an agreement, the tension clogged Taph's ability to breathe.
"Taph." Dusekkar's hand rested on Taph's shoulder—though its effects was everything but resting.
Taph couldn't decide what had controlled him by that moment; was it Dusekkar's hand? Was it his voice? Or was it the distinct zap of magic, gripping his hips to a still? He let out a breath—
—subsequently humping faster, chasing the built-up pressure on his abdomen; slacking his fingers' grip as he quivered.
Dusekkar set his other hand on Taph's own, caressing through the folds. "How lovely you'd look on my staff."
The feeling in his cunt loosened alongside Dusekkar's pronunciation, exaggerating each pulse as he came. Taph's head collapsed into Dusekkar's embrace, with a mouth gasping for air, taking in all of Dusekkar's scent.