One would think that a soldier would be completely immune to the affects of an authoritative, commanding tone - or at least associate it with battle. Embarrassingly for Zechs, he was not. Though Sephiroth paused for a moment, speaking him that way caused him to shudder a little all the same, just as if he'd struck somewhere particularly sensitive.
Fortunately, it didn't seem necessary for Zechs to reply. And, more fortunate, Sephiroth proceeded him to drive him out of his mind, past embarrassment and any self-doubt. Lost to sensation, over-sensitivity, becoming just an object for Sephiroth to sate his desires on.
In this kind of state, past pride or self-consciousness, Zechs would beg for more. He'd whimper, tremble, sob with pleasure. He'd cling onto the unstoppable force in the best impression of an immovable object he could be. When Sephiroth wrung one last, final orgasm from him - it was dry and intense. Zechs blacked out for a moment, losing time between that knife stab of pleasure and the rough voice asking after his well being.
Like this - just like this. Zechs was detached from his thoughts, his concerns, the situation they were trapped within. A vessel for someone else's pleasure. Useful. Valuable for something that had nothing to do with his poor choices. All he needed to was exist and enjoy the sensations.
As he came to, Sephiroth's voice was just sound for a second, before his brain resolved it into language. Zechs hummed, weakly nodded. Something inside his brain poked. Right. Concern. He's - going to worry him. "Yes. 'M good."
He's six feet of boneless weight right now, though, and a complete mess. Despite what Sephiroth said earlier, Zechs did expect him to set him down in a dry corner and leave.
no subject
Fortunately, it didn't seem necessary for Zechs to reply. And, more fortunate, Sephiroth proceeded him to drive him out of his mind, past embarrassment and any self-doubt. Lost to sensation, over-sensitivity, becoming just an object for Sephiroth to sate his desires on.
In this kind of state, past pride or self-consciousness, Zechs would beg for more. He'd whimper, tremble, sob with pleasure. He'd cling onto the unstoppable force in the best impression of an immovable object he could be. When Sephiroth wrung one last, final orgasm from him - it was dry and intense. Zechs blacked out for a moment, losing time between that knife stab of pleasure and the rough voice asking after his well being.
Like this - just like this. Zechs was detached from his thoughts, his concerns, the situation they were trapped within. A vessel for someone else's pleasure. Useful. Valuable for something that had nothing to do with his poor choices. All he needed to was exist and enjoy the sensations.
As he came to, Sephiroth's voice was just sound for a second, before his brain resolved it into language. Zechs hummed, weakly nodded. Something inside his brain poked. Right. Concern. He's - going to worry him. "Yes. 'M good."
He's six feet of boneless weight right now, though, and a complete mess. Despite what Sephiroth said earlier, Zechs did expect him to set him down in a dry corner and leave.