undress me as I shake from eternal yearning

Pitiful moans drag themselves out from the tip of Shoto's tongue.

They're quiet yet loud, sounding throughout the room despite being nearly noiseless. Almost mute. Although the wanton notes played from the strings of his vocal cords are anything but thunderous, the weight held behind them creates a jarring dissonance. A heavy and grand thing, possibly even akin to the atmosphere an orchestra holds. Silent but loud. Speechless but talkative.

Everything that Shoto is, everything he embodies and contorts to.

Quiet, so very quiet, with emotions welling up inside him that speak volumes. It's shown in the way he moans, how he whimpers and whines. Presented in the crystalline orbs of liquid trailing down rose-tinted cheeks. In how it frames a feminine facial structure in such an ethereal way, causing it to look softer than already perceived. Illustrated in the bouncing of his lower body, how the purple-haired male's hips bob up and down. Displayed in the quivering of bent legs, the shakiness in thighs, and the wavering in fingers. In those very same fingers that are the cause of every bodily sensation and response. How they take on a curled position, angled into himself in a method that only sparks pleasure throughout the entirety of Shoto's being.

"Fff- fuck. Fuckfuck fuck."

A method that ultimately fails to reach the climax bubbling and practically blossoming within his system.

"Haaah." The hitch of a breath, broken and scattered, dissolves into a weak cry of frustration. "Fucking- aaa why? Why, why why?" Hair strands taking on the shade of royal purple flail about as its owner angrily mutters.

Ribbons of dissatisfaction and bitterness increase in their velocity as they descend past cheekbones and scatter atop flushed skin. The cooling sensation they provide merely registers as a momentary relief to the stark heat filling Shoto's body. His form burns and burns and burns.

Burning touches that are diverse in its range replace all others, overwhelm all others. Muscles burn in the way they strain from nothing but rocking motions and sharp stutters. Tips of fingers inflamed from the repeated furling and unfurling against contracting walls. The flaring onslaughts of emotion held deep in Shoto's core, pulsating and throbbing and burning brighter than any fire could possibly achieve.

It's so intense it hurts, every single emotion running wild in his chest.

A shaky hiss woven in between pained moans escape trembling lips. Glossy eyes remain unfocused as they blearily gaze at the sheets underneath them through the arching and bouncing. "No, no nono. Pl- please, please pl- ease." Shoto whines out in stubborn refusal.

Those emotions exist to taunt him, live to render him a fool.

And a fool he is.

"Fuck this- fffuck this fuck this fuck this." He pants out as the male bounces once, twice more, hole clenching around two slick fingers. The squelch of it all should be disgusting, yet all it does is further ignite the arousal burning in his abdomen. "Just wanna come- c'mon, please. Wanna come, wanna come so bad- just let me come, damn it."

It's been at least two hours, three? Shoto can't tell. But its been literal fucking hours of this same exact pattern with no break or relief. The purple-haired male doesn't even know why he hasn't given up yet, why he hasn't succumbed to the discouraging feeling of not being able to chase after a release. Stubbornness, perhaps. Unyielding perseverance. Flowery and complex adjective combinations that all equal to Shoto being a bitch who doesn't know when to stop.

He's good at finding his limit, yes. But when it comes to sexual situations such as these, he never does finally tap out until he's completely exhausted that limit. Until he's left tired and dazed and overwhelmed. It's fun that way, he thinks. Exciting. Vox certainly agrees with that thought process.