Predictably, Yussa tries to squirm away from the intense stimulation of Caleb's fingers. It doesn't work, of course, as Caleb and the echo are still connected. No answer to his breathless inquiry comes, only hard, uneven gasps. That doesn't worry him. It encourages him, actually, signaling that Yussa's mind is far beyond words, scrambled by the intensity of what Caleb has put his body through.
How many times has he made him come tonight? He would know the number if he gave himself a moment to count. Regardless, it should be once more, at least.
That thought has barely glanced across his mind when he feels Yussa shudder through another peak before the ripples of his first have had the chance to fade. The world slants. Oh fuck, he can't--it's too late to even try to draw this out, between the tightness around him and the pressure of his echo's cock. His movements are mindless; his fingers continue to stroke over Yussa's sore clit less because he means to and more because it is what he is already doing. The hand around his throat remains, perhaps even unintentionally tightens a fraction as Caleb's control slips.
His echo drives Yussa back onto Caleb's cock with his own thrusts, and he's lifted his head to nose distractedly against Yussa's sweat-damp curls, brow knit up with rising pleasure. For perhaps the first time, Caleb takes pity on himself; it is a completely foreign feeling. But the echo has done so well. Shouldn't he get something before he's banished back to whatever fading timeline he came from?
"Go ahead." The words scrape out aloud, the best he can manage, but it is enough. There are a few sloppy thrusts from each of them, and then the echo presses closer, head bowed against Yussa's with recognizable tenderness. Though Caleb doubts it's possible for him to produce anything tangible, the relief on his face and the tense shiver of his shadowy form is unmistakable.
Yussa, miracle that he is, takes both of their cocks to the hilt with ease when Caleb follows his counterpart a bare few moments later, sinking and spilling into the velvet-soft heat of his ass. Unlike his echo, his shaky groan is soft, but audible.
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How many times has he made him come tonight? He would know the number if he gave himself a moment to count. Regardless, it should be once more, at least.
That thought has barely glanced across his mind when he feels Yussa shudder through another peak before the ripples of his first have had the chance to fade. The world slants. Oh fuck, he can't--it's too late to even try to draw this out, between the tightness around him and the pressure of his echo's cock. His movements are mindless; his fingers continue to stroke over Yussa's sore clit less because he means to and more because it is what he is already doing. The hand around his throat remains, perhaps even unintentionally tightens a fraction as Caleb's control slips.
His echo drives Yussa back onto Caleb's cock with his own thrusts, and he's lifted his head to nose distractedly against Yussa's sweat-damp curls, brow knit up with rising pleasure. For perhaps the first time, Caleb takes pity on himself; it is a completely foreign feeling. But the echo has done so well. Shouldn't he get something before he's banished back to whatever fading timeline he came from?
"Go ahead." The words scrape out aloud, the best he can manage, but it is enough. There are a few sloppy thrusts from each of them, and then the echo presses closer, head bowed against Yussa's with recognizable tenderness. Though Caleb doubts it's possible for him to produce anything tangible, the relief on his face and the tense shiver of his shadowy form is unmistakable.
Yussa, miracle that he is, takes both of their cocks to the hilt with ease when Caleb follows his counterpart a bare few moments later, sinking and spilling into the velvet-soft heat of his ass. Unlike his echo, his shaky groan is soft, but audible.