[He wonders, in a way, if this will ever be less uncomfortable. If he'll ever feel less like the spotlight turned in his direction is too hot, too bright. So, too, does he wonder what a mess he probably looks like underneath its glow: disheveled, the flush spread across his cheeks and neck uneven, lips ruddy, half a step from losing it completely. It feels too easy to spiral out of control, to completely unravel.
In a way, that feels nice, too. Exciting. Knowing his composure could fray away at any moment.]
Mikey, [he gasps as they come together. His hands clench and unclench, holding onto the bindings in lieu of being able to touch the other boy. He wants to, he so desperately wants to feel his skin, his hands, and his inability to make that happen is going to drive him utterly out of his mind.] I want-- I-- come here.
[Is that an edge of desperation in his voice? A crack in his composure? A thread coming undone? He's almost beyond caring about it at the moment.]
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In a way, that feels nice, too. Exciting. Knowing his composure could fray away at any moment.]
Mikey, [he gasps as they come together. His hands clench and unclench, holding onto the bindings in lieu of being able to touch the other boy. He wants to, he so desperately wants to feel his skin, his hands, and his inability to make that happen is going to drive him utterly out of his mind.] I want-- I-- come here.
[Is that an edge of desperation in his voice? A crack in his composure? A thread coming undone? He's almost beyond caring about it at the moment.]