Perfect, 2/2
Set in the Stab Bruno Mars Universe, by Justsaynotopants. 3!
Thanks to Cork and Zee for suggestions and support! Much lub, homies! 3
NSFW. Eventually. Gird your virgin eyes/loins.
A/N: Fucking finally. Gamzee and Tavros are huge awkward dorks. I love them. So much. But writing their conversations, and having to listen to them talk in your head. Omg. *ARG GETS FRUSTRATED AND THROWS AT INTERNET : [*
Fun fact/shameful confession: I actually listened to the eponymous (omfg an excuse to use that worrrddd) band while writing this. This song popped up on Pandora, and I heard miracles, and then I was like, ooh, relevant to my interests, and then I saw the band name, *cackled*, downloaded it, and put it on repeat.
Actual song list: (If you're curious) Locked out of Heaven: Bruno Mars, Make Love: Daft Punk,Something About Us: Daft Punk. Any Other Name: Thomas Newman. Bonub points if you can figure out which song was on repeat where in the story. (IDK, a smut fic of your choosing?)
Silence is something you're accustomed to. Something that can lay down ease in your bones what when it's the right kind. Like when Karbro holds you tight in the dark of the night, plays with your hair till the world tips back on it's axis. This lack of noisome, however, ain't all that relaxing.
Tavros won't even look at you, lids closed shut tighter 'n a bank's fist after foreclosing on a motherfucker. Ain't the best feeling in the world. Brother's got some serious unhappy that done emanates from his every motherfucking pore. He rolls up and away, scooting hisself to the other end of the couch. For a motherfucker what looks so big, he sure does scrunch up small when he's wanting to.
You take up the other end, scratching the back of your head and wondering on how to say to a motherfucker that won't emit a peep outside of the occasional snuffle. Tear tracks trace themselves anew on your Tavbro's face, and it breaks your motherfucking heart.
Words slip and slide out your gaping maw fore you have proper control of 'em. "Tavbro, I got to be getting my admittance on, I ain't all unhappy on the way our lovin was motherfucking unfolding, but, um. Being that we was in some hot-cold goings on, what with the sleepover, and the touching and then nothing at the nighttide, and now with the rubbing and pinching and pulling, which I motherfucking love like no else." Tavros slits open an eye, makes an ugly baby between a laugh and a cry. That stupid mouth a yourn ain't about to stop any time soon, running an off-track train in a bad action movie.
"But I'm all on the worry that iffen I let this shit go without some jabber-talk winding it's way out of my noise-maker we'll fuck this all up and I ain't wanting to do that none coz I got some songs in my heart for you motherfucker, and I'm just to be thinking maybe sommat is different from when you left and I'm really really nervous coz you ain't said nothin but sniffles and I'm getting all the anxiety climbing up and making comfortable on my insides and I kinda feel not to be not knowing what you're thinking and I'm sorry as motherfuck to be making this rowdy ruckus at you but I ain't got no other way of telling a motherfucker how it is all on my insides sides blabbing it out like a motherfucking schoolgirl what done up in those short skirts in them animes…" Tav outright snorts when you mention the animes, straight up hides his face behind his hands in mirthful woe.
It's a relief. You keep going, in hopes he'll get reciprocal soon, "So. Brother. What all I'm asking is iffen you're of the mind to be telling me what's gotten you the gumption to be all hot and heavy? Ain't like a motherfucker don't approve none, but it seems to being there's sommat off on the action, yeah?"
The question hangs in the air as Tavros considers your words, brow furrowed and unfurrowed, grin there and gone like a ninja. You squirm for a moment in awkward wait while he weighs and gathers his words.
He looks away. He always looks away when he's saying something that don't sit right. Shit. You don't even know a motherfucker all the way and you're knowing his tells. "I don't think, that we did anything, wrong." Orisons to lost gods and goddesses pour out from the neurons tween your ears. Least the tears of your near and dear done bottled themselves up.
You ain't entirely sure how to prompt a brother to get his truth-thought on. "All I'm saying is it were a motherfuck of a surprise when you up and got your kissing on. Again, this brother here ain't complaining none. But, like, have you even ever been with someone of the dudely persuasion?"
Tavros giggles at 'dudely persuasion,' and it eases up some of the worry in you. You try again, hoping your babble will eventually get him on to talking. "Or, you know, been with a fine ass motherfucker such like myself?" You wiggle your brow as Tav sounds a guffaw.
You let him laugh, the sweet sound of it working away the knots tied up in your belly. His voice is hoarse and breathy when he finally speaks, "Oh, shit, Gamzee…I can't, breathe!" He wipes away tears and chokes on giggles. You wait, let it play out. Pushing any more would lend to more quiet than you can stand.
He keeps his joyful sounds on the low, looking you over with puffy reds that you wish were from finest sneeze and not saline bombs. That skin you'd love to be in turns a darker shade when Tav speaks,"Actually, Gamz, I haven't been with, a guy before." Your inveterate brother does this cute thing where he scratches the back of his head when he's nervous, and you'd love to just up and pounce and hug the shit out of him for it. You refrain. Ms. Lalonde would be proud of you.
Tav studies the far wall like it's got a script writ in neon as he keeps his voice up in pitter-patter, "But, um. I think, that doesn't really matter?" You nod vigorous as a branch shaking in a windstorm. "Is that all, you were worried about?" Tavros' body-talk screams hopeful, 'can we just drop this?' Deep down, you wish you could. Though it ain't a should, nor a would.
Easy or comfortable ain't the words to describe the conversate you're like to have. "Sure, brother, that's definitely some a the bootybother in me." He chuckles soft at your stupid pun. Progress in the righteous directive. You clear your throat, dare to make request. "Ain't the all and all, though. Been thinking that, ah."
He's all wide-eyed bunny right now, and you're a motherfucker with a cleaver. Shit. "Maybe, um. Something on the haps when you was away…that I don't got any know on, which done changed your 'pinion on things?" You pray to whatever deity that will listen that this ain't just about Tav getting his dick dirty.
It's subtle, how he gets stiff, then shaky. Iffen you weren't eyeing him hawk-like, you would have missed it. Brother's blinking fast 'nuff to be getting you thinking S.O.S, quaking apart bolt by bolt. You blurt out, "Bro? You aight?"
His head snaps up, eyes windows to the soul as they fucking be, showing all sorts of torn and broken. Strikes fear through you with the force of a nuke-blast. You try to take it back, retract, redact, but he cuts you off with a wave of his square hand, surprising you with his question in return. "What, are the pills for?" Deflection. It disappoints you, though it was something you been meaning to bring up anyhows.
It's your turn to go eye wide, bite your lip, and tremble like a motherfucker prostrate before Oz. ('Fore that cute as hell dog went behind the curtain, course.) You swallow, search for words what need speaking. Goddamn this silence down to its roots.
You rub cross your brow as the word comes out painful as cold needles, "Schizophrenia." Can't look at a motherfucker when he takes the time to consider the poison in you. All the wrong, the rent up little bits that don't fit together right. Think on how you don't belong with nobody coz of all the dangerous crazy what stews in you. Fiddling with the blanket you still got clutched in your hand, you wonder how long it would take you to bolt toward the door, call Karbro, and disappear in a pile of comfort and understanding.
A rude-ass foot nudges you out of your head, jostling your thigh. Voice all sortsa serious Tav mumbles, "Oh. Okay." Forcing your look-bulbs to make contact, you see relief hammered out in big letters all over your finest of motherfuckers. Okay. Now you're the brother what's confused some. He keeps his lip flap on, " I thought it was something, terminal. And I was pretty sad, about that." Sad? A little bit of the warm fuzzies creeps back into the heart that's busy galloping scared. "I thought, I wouldn't have, you know, a lot of time with you."
Oh. OH. Your ticker makes to stutter and start real quick. Suns ain't got shit on your smile. "Nah, motherfucker. You got me as long as you're wanting me." That shy grin you love to fucking bits comes back, turning his skin a darker shade of brown with a blush. You're near to bursting, though it makes you sick to think there's still more talk needed.
"Thank you, Gamzee. I appreciate that." He swings his legs off the couch, scooting a tidbit closer to you. It don't cover up none he's needing to look away from you when he says what all comes next. "And as, to the things…that happened over the summer." The shakes come back with fearsome strength, making your beloved brother curl in on himself for steadying. "I…ah. Its…"
Motherfuck. It's the only word to accurately describe the awful taking residence in the cavity 'neath your ribs. Scooting closer, your hand hovers over his shoulder. Does he want you to..? Should you? Indecision is a bitch, and you would like to slap it. Tavros makes the decision for you, rolling into your arm, reacting into your touch instinctive. He fists his hands into the back of your shirt, crushing himself to your chest, tears back in earnest.
Tavros treats the front of your shirt like a confessional, hurt pouring out of him in waterfall.
"She…and I. Fuck, Gamzee. I'm so fucking sorry, I never wanted to, but she made me, she always makes me, and I'm so fucking awful, and weak, and terrible, and I can never tell her no, because she'll never leave me alone, I can never make him stop, I can't protect them, I know I deserve it, but I'm such a fucking coward, I'm horrible, and shallow, and empty, and you should fucking run from me, as fast as you can and never look back, because I'll always end up hurting you, hurting myself, fucking…" Sobs choke off the rest of his sentence as the tremors that travel up your Tavbro's body take on new meaning. You don't know who 'she' or 'he' is. They are motherfucking lucky you don't. You hug tighter, trying to quiet the storms breaking up the peace in your bro.
He's mumbling broken, snot may or may not be getting on your shirt. You don't care, murmuring assurance and rubbing his shoulders as he keeps spitting out the broken pieces a glass stuck in his maw, "and she…just, forces me to…and I wished every time, it could have been you, I wanted it to be you so bad because…because." He hiccups and snorts, and it's pretty fucking cute, but you keep those 'pinions to yourself. Another quake tears him asunder, and you're near to ripping apart the skies for your brother on account of him being treated so.
You take a deep breath. No amount of rage bubbling up in you will help. Just got to accept what the fuck is and get on with patience. Tavros' time at confession is winding down as his breath slows, rubbing his mug deeper into your front-side as if to fuse the two together. You hang on to him like you're holding a delicate glass ornament. He finishes his thought on the low end of hearing, "I wanted it, to be you, because…I want to be with you." Any thought all else fades awful quick when he says that. The world stops for a short, sweet second when he peeps up at you through damp eyelashes.
You're Gamzee Makara, and the world is suddenly beautiful again. Cupping his face with the most infinite of cares, most reverent caress, you breathe over his pucker-maker 'fore crashing down on it, "Want to be with you too, Tavros." It's not poetic, ain't a serenade out in the rain. But it's perfect. A pair of odd-man-out puzzle pieces fitting together harmonious, chords what don't belong together normal making joyous sound. He's broken and bitter, and it fills you with silken, slack-faced awe.
Motherfucking granted, no amount of loving will ever fix the damage in the both of you what like it needs must be. It just. Makes things a little easier to bear. Something in you shines because of that, swells to burst in sweet cleansing flame. Consumes you as you consume him through touch and kiss, need burning you up from the inside out. This motherfucker just became your house of worship, and you intend to pray on the motherfucking through.
You decide it's your turn to be on top for a bit, you ain't no shitty lover. Shirts are shucked in a matter of seconds, and you gasp when skin touches skin. Brother's warmer than an oven, holy shit. Your bro looks up at you with nerves and lust, reaching up to tug on your shoulders, bring you closer. Tavros' words are soft, pleading, "Gamzee, I…?" He's all sortsa conflicted.
You brush away tear-stains, smooth worry-lines. "Don't worry none, bro. I got you. Ain't going farther than you're wanting. " He sags down into the couch, dragging you down with soft kisses that belong on the faces of saints. "You just let a motherfucker know when you need stopping, yeah?"
Tavros nods, pushing some of your unruly mess of hair behind an ear. Grabbing himself a handful of ass, he grins and murmurs, "Thanks, Gamz. I'll be sure, to let you know, when we need to hit the air-brakes, on this crazy train." You roll your eyes and dive for those lips you got craving for. He may or may not be humming the Ozzy Osbourne tune as you do so. You are definitely laughing.
Doesn't take long to get back to where you all had left off, and maybe a little further. You're cautious as all motherfuck, taking care to check on your bro's reactions 'fore you lift a finger in movement pleasurable. Tav gasps wordless when you give a harsh suck and nibble on a nipple, keens and writhes when you trace over his muscles with light pressure of nails. The both of you are down to your skivvies, and from what all you can tell, brother's got it going on downstair.
You lick your lips a when you see it jump and move around some when you pinch a nub. Your shit is harder than calculus on account of knowing he quivers, wants, and moans all for you. Makes you greedy as fuck, leaning down to capture whines with sucking kisses, mapping his arching chest with eyes wide in wonder, grinding down hard so's you're fit to bust. His eyes flutter shut as you suckle hickies down his chest, his warm, calloused hands pushing and pulling like he can't decide what direction he wants you to go.
The path of destruction pauses when you get to his waistband. You hum and nuzzle along the elastic line that separates you from the thing that makes you wanna cuss and shove away his hands so's you can ride away to oblivion on it. Tav hisses a moan above you, fingers curling in your hair. "Gamzee…" You freeze, looking up at your beloved bro. There's tears hiding round his eyes, so you make to back off.
But you're halted by his grip, which tightens almost to the point of pain, sending a throb to the beef truncheon something fierce. Ooh. Little controlling, then? Sessy. His hands guide you back up to his lips. "Gamzee, I, um." His lips are gentle, asking questions you're not too sure how to answer. You feel him fumbling with the front of your boxers like a nervous schoolgirl, and you try *really hard * not to smirk. "Shouldn't I, like…be helping you out?" His fingers are fucking magic. Helping. Yes. That's a thing.
You grin against the red troublemakers that done started this mess. "If you're wanting to be helping, sure, bro." Fire and ice skitter across your skin as he touches you. Your fingers skate under his tidies, give him a proper squeeze that sends him panting and arching. "But I'm just as happy as motherfuck to be giving and not take right now."
Tavros moans against your collarbone, "Fuck, Gamzee!" Sexiest thing you've ever heard in your life. "I," You give a teasing stroke, tight at the base and loosening as you go up, cuz you think it's cute as shit when he stutters. He's bucking and groaning, fumbling with the button on your boxers. (Why the hell did they put those there, really? Peeing in the dark is complicated enough.) When he finally gives up, pushing your boxers down to take you in hand, you groan in unison. Fuck. Yes.
Tav finally finishes his sentence in the moment you forget to breathe, "Jesus. Stop teasing me, you dick." You arch an eyebrow and chuckle. Greedy motherfucker. (Like you're any better.)
Though you're not to be rushing. You ask one more time, coz you are a caring sonofabitch, "Sure, bro?"
He grinds against your hand, voice all sorts of breathy and needy, "I swear to God, Gamzee, if you don't make me come I'm going to scream."
Your grin is bedevilment in it's finest. Twisting your wrist, you give him a pulsing squeeze up and over, "Whatever my finest motherfucker wants." His words are officially lost. You wave goodbye to them as they escape out the window. Pushing him down on the couch again, you wag your brows in promise of a good ass time.
Keeping a firm grip around the base of his cock, you suck with hollowed out cheeks till those breathy sighs come to screams and shivers. Tavros sure does act his motherfucking birthright, what with the way his hips are bucking up against your chin every time you push down deep enough to swallow. Tavros' litany of sound tries, and fails, to make words. It's adorable. "ff-ha! Moth-fu-got-da-Ga-pl-" Garbled Tavrosese is the best language, and you are a promising young scholar.
Pulling off, you blow cool air over his flushed tip. He's a sight, flushed dark skin slick with sweat, bright eyes blown till all you see are thin little rings a hazel, sex-drunk grin near to dripping off his chin. "Don't worry none, brother, gonna take care of you real good, aight?" Tavros nods, weakly trying to gesture you closer. Stepping just out of range, you stare at your backpack, deciding. There's some deep needs curling up on your insides what are demanding to be taken care of. But you're not knowing whether or not he'd be okay with them moves.
A soft hand sneaks up your thigh, grabbing itsself some of your non-ass. If ever there was a siren call, uneven as it may be, "Zee? Would you, want to…?" Brother has a way of not finishing questions in a way that answers your own. You smile like predators do.
There's fire in your gut and a throb in your groin as you bounce over to your bag."Hell yes, bro. Gimme a sec." Hands a quaking, you pull out the needfuls: lube, condoms, latex gloves. Yes. You are prepared. Boy-scouts taught you a lot. Don't mean you're not to feel a shade pervy when you turn back to Tav with hands full a fuck aides. A blush that ain't got nothin to do with how sexy you just was starts burning away under your paint.
Tav stares at the objects in your hands, then up at you. Then back down at the stuff in your hands, and maybe your junk. Decision makes itself clear when he leans back, jiggling his pecs at you. "So, are we going to, ah, play doctor? Or fuck?"
Scrubbing a hand over your chin to wipe off a wee grin of relief, you snark back, "Little of both, supposing."
He pulls you onto his knee with a hopeful look. Least he ain't intimidated. "That sounds like fun. Care to show me, Nurse Zee?"
Settling yourself over his thighs, you figure hands on instruction is the order of the day. "Sure nuff." Pouring out a ridiculous amount of lube on you palm, you watch his eyes trace your movements, memorizing your actions. Licking his lip in anticipation. You cup your other hand over the first, blowing into the closed space to heat up the liquid fun in your palm. When it don't feel like ice-chips no more (where the motherfuck do they get this stuff, the fucking frozen lake-center of hell?!), you capture the both of you in a nice firm squeeze that makes for synchronized jumping and moaning.
Handjobs are a shit bit easier with proper slick for the dick. Tav's head is lolled back on the couch, neck bared, and begging for release. Leaning forward, you nip and suck hickeys, wanting motherfuckers to know you been there. You're half tempted to pump the both of you into la-la land, but the snakes of lava deep in your center won't let you. "Bro. I'ma need some assistance on this next one, yeah?" He lifts his head, questions that won't come out in the shape of his expression.
Delivering a final, sharp bite to his collarbone, you kiss up to his ear and whisper, "Wanna fuck you, dude, but I'm needing some, um. Prep work, first." There's something luxurious in the way his skin prickles up all over, how his mouth falls open with surprise. You'd be happy to commit the image to memory, but a hand on your ass brings you back down to earth.
He's all aroused consternation, "Oh, I. I thought, maybe, since you were, doing all the work, that I should?" Sweet motherfucker. But no.
Hushing him with a little peck of a kiss and a sharp, speedy upthrust of your palm, "Naw, bro. I'ma bite the boner bullet on this 'un." Trying any else wouldn't end well, in your most humble of opinions. That shit can wait, and you kinda wanna sit on a dick tonight, anyhows. He tries to refuse, to convince you, but there ain't an ear on your head what wants to hear it. Shifting to the side and pulling him down on top of you, you kiss away worry till he listens, "It's aight. I'll show you, motherfucker. Calm your tatas."
After Tavros kisses you breathless, he sits up, looking apprehensive, though still eager. "So. What exactly do you need me, to do?" This. This is the awkward part.
Rolling your hips under his and licking your lips, you tease, "Welp. You was sayin you wanted to play doctor, brother. Feeling up to proctology?" He tries to stifle a snort, fails miserably.
He puts his hand around you, jerking tight and hard enough to make you see stars, "I think, I might be the very doctor, you need." You can't agree more. It might take you a few minutes fore you can string enough words together to get things moving along. Doctor Feelgood keeps playing in the back of your mind.
Stammers are fast becoming a time-honored form of communication. Tavros still hasn't stopped, working his 'revenge' on you something nice, so's your skin feels et up by skitterbugs set ablaze. "M-m-moth-ffff-ha-mmm-"
Smartass motherfucker gets you gasping with a pulsing grip, "Yeah, Gamzee? What do you need?" You howl when he speeds up, leaning over and growling dirty in your ear. "I thought, you wanted, to fuck me." Whining, you point over in the general direction of the lube and gloves. You hear the soft 'snap' of the glove being pulled on, 'snk' of the cap coming off, and a 'huff' of air you hope is him warming said lube the fuck up. He pauses long enough to shift back and down, nuzzling your dick and looking to you for direction. You mimic with your hands what you want him to do.
Which is a poor substitute for tutelage, you're finding. Whatever he's doing down there feels a lot more like a scavenger hunt than sexytimes. He used more than enough lube, but, motherFUCK his fingers are thick. Grabbing his wrist, you do your best not to laugh when his head jerks up all concentration and nerves, "Bro, hang on. Lemme…just…" Angling your hips, you roll down on the two fingers already in, savoring the steady burn and the strange feel of latex. It's always weird, feeling something blunt and foreign, but when you do it just right…fuck yes.
Your other hand got itself some sneakery, grabbing at your hair when you get him rubbing against the holler bump. Always makes you feel like ya need to pee, first, fore it dissipates into something much more fun. Tavros notices the difference right away, circling round your prostate with a face-splitter, "I take it, that feels good?" He thrusts his fingers experimental, slow, pushing against the jolly button on the in and out. Ain't miracles, but it works. Your dick jumps a little too excited, bumping against his hovering chin. You both giggle, and you thump him again purposeful. Wouldn't be too bad if…FUCK!
Wet heat and a swirling tongue have all of your attention right now. Jupiter could hit the planet right now and you would not give one fuck. All your fucks are currently being siphoned out of your dick. He eyes you as he works, taking cue as best as he can. Tavros ain't no god a head, but it's been so long you don't even care. There's a shitton of spit, maybe a little sting of teeth when he forgets, but goddamn. It's Tavros. He wants you, and he wants to make you feel good. And that's pretty much all that matters right now.
He manages to synch up each long pull of your funny whistle with an inward thrust on doubletime, and it's got you singing. You pant, cuss, and when you get closer to going toes up, beg. That, more than anything else, seems to fire him up good. "Bro-fuck, got-damn motherfuck wanna, JESUS, motherfucker fuck me fuck me fuckme!"
Tavros' hands and mouth are gone, but he don't give you much time to tie on upset. Tinfoil tearing, huffing into cupped hands, and a blunt nudging at the backdoor tells you what's coming next. He pushes in too fast, you arch and hiss with the sting. Forgivable mistake, ain't like you showed him. He seats home, and you raise up your hips. Before he starts to move, you clutch him still, make him wait. "Just a sec, Tav." Coaxing his knees under your back, you shift till your legs are draped over his shoulders.
He mumbles apologies into your calf, and you squeeze his neck gentle, get him to turn them seein orbs in your directional. "S'okay, brother. Chill. Ain't all gonna be like a porno th' first time."
Tav sighs and nuzzles the skin closest to his lips with a little chuckle, the sharp lines of anxious turning into something much softer, albeit impish. "So, eventually, it will be?" Your eyebrows imitate spastic caterpillars til he laughs.
Finally feeling relaxed enough, you push yourself flush (well, more than you already were), and tease, "Gonna get a move on anytime, cowboy?" His eyes go the deepest brown you've seen them yet, more twin wells than oculars. You realize you might just be in for the ride of your life.
Firm and gentle is the order of his hands cupping under your butt, the angle and pressure of his strokes inside you. The both of you huff and pant as he slowly picks up speed, checking and re-checking to make sure you're okay. Once you've got him angling up when he grinds in, you definitely are. Tav's words are breaking off in quiet ice-floes, "goddamn, Gamzee. You have, no idea, how much I've wanted…" He bites them off in a whimper when you clench down involuntary, goes faster.
The world is an earthquake and a tornado, and you're naught but a trailer done smack dab in the middle. Tavros is chanting your name as he jackhammers you, making everything blur and bounce. There's not a single syllable coming out of your mouth what makes sense, "hnng, mmm, fff, g, pl, shi-" He gets the idea, taking you in hand and working you off-tempo. Somewhere in your head you wonder if it's the sexual equivalent to the belly-rub/head pat trick. What the fuck. Focus. Fuck us. Yes.
Tavros isn't nailing your prostrate every time, but when he does, you feel like to die, screaming wordless and wanton to the ceiling. And mentally apologizing to the neighbors. Again. They are getting the finest brownies you can make. Tavros pulls short, thumbs your head from underneath, changes stroke pattern from deep to shallow so fast it makes your head spin. Your hands can't decide if they wanna pull out your hair, tear holes in the couch, or scratch down Tav's sides as he rips you apart from the inside out. So you try all of them, and let the earth fade from your thought-making. Groans, whispers, and crying out are the only things that anchor you to this side of existence.
When his hand starts pumping erratic on your cock you know he's close, and you dart a hand to the cellar to lend help. He coos when he feels your fingers entwine with his, and the both of you grip tight, make for lightspeed. Tension sings across your body, nigh piano-wire tight, tingling and bubbling right at the edge. Tavros dangles at the precipice with you, thighs shaking, flushed skin, calling at your attention what isn't really there, "Gam, Gamz, Gamzee!" Your eyes flutter open, see the man that made you this way, shook up mountain of muscle he is. Brother's just as wrecked as you, taking a pleadful beg, "Come for me?" This time you're more than happy to oblige, heat and pleasure surging through you, out of you, making you both full and empty at the same time. A gleeful paradox.
Tavros sags over you, spent up like a bad credit card. "Was, that, ah…good, en-" You kiss that blasphemous mouth quiet, give him a sun-flare bright grin. Every time he tries to ask if what he threw down was good enough, you repeat on the action. This here motherfucker, who's broke up on the insides just like you. Don't got nothin to worry or be sorry about.
You pull him close, ignore the sweat, jizz and lube rubbed up on the both of you, intone all brands of reassuring, "Shh. It was perfect."