[The surprise in Zenyatta's voice makes it sound like a minor revelation, as if beneath the gentle modulations his body does not burn with unashamed need with it- with the thought that he has not only been looking, but that Genji has caught his gaze and thrown it back to him with a vengeance.
Genji moves with all the liquid grace expected of a shinobi, even encumbered by his own heat, and it is suddenly the most natural thing in the world to insinuate their bodies together.
Zenyatta falters. Centres himself, reaches into the peace within for guidance- and finds it.]
I had not realised how long I have been waiting for this...
[Breathless. How is it that, without lungs, he can sound breathless? But he does, and husky, too, as the hesitation bleeds away from his movements into adoring urgency instead. Once his student has settled into position astride him Zenyatta follows with his hands, covering one hand above with the first, and below... below, the second curves his fingers around Genji's and guides them to the waistband of his trousers, his sash, his belt.
The third and fourth hands may come as a surprise. But it feels so wonderfully right to place them on Genji's hip and chest even so, in search of every patch of warm skin and sensitive mesh their hardlight fingers can reach.]
[ genji has, at his core, been someone who enjoys flirting, even with friends. it is something he muted during his time of recovery, but here, it has come out in full force.
and yet he cannot deny it is different with zenyatta. he had wondered, back home - but his sparrow's heart was taken with another, and so he never explored the idea. here, there are no such restrictions. it's easy to fall back into old habits - habits that are sure to leave someone with a broken heart at some point.
he leans his head against zenyatta's forehead, feeling the warm thrum of metal against his skin, eyes falling closed. he can feel the sensation of the third and fourth hands, hardlight against skin, and it makes him suck in a soft breath, a murmur of zenyatta's name.
at this point, the need is becoming overriding, and the hand that's guided to his sash moves to tug it off, away - to get to those parts of his master he has not had a chance to thoroughly observe, sliding his hand between fabric and metal to see what he can find, opening his eyes. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[The surprise in Zenyatta's voice makes it sound like a minor revelation, as if beneath the gentle modulations his body does not burn with unashamed need with it- with the thought that he has not only been looking, but that Genji has caught his gaze and thrown it back to him with a vengeance.
Genji moves with all the liquid grace expected of a shinobi, even encumbered by his own heat, and it is suddenly the most natural thing in the world to insinuate their bodies together.
Zenyatta falters. Centres himself, reaches into the peace within for guidance- and finds it.]
I had not realised how long I have been waiting for this...
[Breathless. How is it that, without lungs, he can sound breathless? But he does, and husky, too, as the hesitation bleeds away from his movements into adoring urgency instead. Once his student has settled into position astride him Zenyatta follows with his hands, covering one hand above with the first, and below... below, the second curves his fingers around Genji's and guides them to the waistband of his trousers, his sash, his belt.
The third and fourth hands may come as a surprise. But it feels so wonderfully right to place them on Genji's hip and chest even so, in search of every patch of warm skin and sensitive mesh their hardlight fingers can reach.]
necrotaggo
and yet he cannot deny it is different with zenyatta. he had wondered, back home - but his sparrow's heart was taken with another, and so he never explored the idea. here, there are no such restrictions. it's easy to fall back into old habits - habits that are sure to leave someone with a broken heart at some point.
he leans his head against zenyatta's forehead, feeling the warm thrum of metal against his skin, eyes falling closed. he can feel the sensation of the third and fourth hands, hardlight against skin, and it makes him suck in a soft breath, a murmur of zenyatta's name.
at this point, the need is becoming overriding, and the hand that's guided to his sash moves to tug it off, away - to get to those parts of his master he has not had a chance to thoroughly observe, sliding his hand between fabric and metal to see what he can find, opening his eyes. ]