Francis likes it a little rough, likes to push lines. So he likes this, the way they touch, how they move together, the fact that Bullseye doesn't act like he's gonna break. He wants this, wants him, wants the heat and the friction, and the way they both have blood on their skin. The way that his fingers move pull rough sounds from his lips, hot pleasure in whimpers and gasps. Even if he knows why he takes his fingers away, it's still an ache.
He leans into the kiss, nipping playfully at his lips as he lets the older man push him down onto the bed. He helps kick off his pants, leaving him naked, all hard and skin flushed. He's only too eager to help him settle between his legs, breath rough with how much he wants it. So when he finally lines up and starts to sink in, he almost forgets how to breathe for a moment. That low moan as his body stretches around him. It might be a demand, but it's not like Francis would have been able to help himself anyway.
He's tactile, touchy even outside of sex with the right person, so like this? He doesn't worry about the blood, how it smears under his hands as he palms his way over Bullseye's skin, against his chest. He sort of likes it; a little tacky as it dries, more slick on the deeper ones. He pushes his cock into Francis inch by inch, pulling heated sounds from the blonde's lips, rough gasps with every drag of slick friction that makes his hips jerk. He pushes back against him, greedy until he's buried all the way.
And then he draws back, and it's not as gentle, but if anything Francis seems to like that even more. The way his body arches, the way he moans at the feeling, hands clutching tighter against skin. He likes it rough, likes it so the friction and the sex are all he can focus on. He likes seeing just how far someone can take him.
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He leans into the kiss, nipping playfully at his lips as he lets the older man push him down onto the bed. He helps kick off his pants, leaving him naked, all hard and skin flushed. He's only too eager to help him settle between his legs, breath rough with how much he wants it. So when he finally lines up and starts to sink in, he almost forgets how to breathe for a moment. That low moan as his body stretches around him. It might be a demand, but it's not like Francis would have been able to help himself anyway.
He's tactile, touchy even outside of sex with the right person, so like this? He doesn't worry about the blood, how it smears under his hands as he palms his way over Bullseye's skin, against his chest. He sort of likes it; a little tacky as it dries, more slick on the deeper ones. He pushes his cock into Francis inch by inch, pulling heated sounds from the blonde's lips, rough gasps with every drag of slick friction that makes his hips jerk. He pushes back against him, greedy until he's buried all the way.
And then he draws back, and it's not as gentle, but if anything Francis seems to like that even more. The way his body arches, the way he moans at the feeling, hands clutching tighter against skin. He likes it rough, likes it so the friction and the sex are all he can focus on. He likes seeing just how far someone can take him.