[Sakusa flexes his foot and even though it might seem like a subtle change, to Wakatoshi and his trapped dick, it makes the difference between steadily calm and being on the verge of coming. He hisses, face pinching with repressed pleasure, then breathes out like he'd been taught in those yoga classes the team's athletic trainers had them take. He never imagined using those techniques outside of their appropriate setting, but then again, he never imagined he'd be getting an under-the-table footjob, either. Not outside of a masturbation fantasy, anyway.
The suggestion to remove the sock is meant with a reaction that could only be described as frenzied. Maybe overly enthusiastic? Wakatoshi pulls the sock right off in one swoop, and has enough sense to fold it up, nicely, and tuck it into his blazer pocket instead of tossing it aside somewhere.
He pauses and blinks at the olive oil dish, a little confused at first, until Sakusa's bared foot, drags against his shaft and there's some resistance and friction that, while not painful or bad, could feel a bit better. Everything clicks. With a nod, he dips three fingers into the oil then brings them down to his cock, letting it mix with the pre-cum that had leaked from the head; he repeats the process again and again, until his cock, and part of Sakusa's foot, is coated with enough of the oil to create a smooth and slippery base. Perfect.]
Is this any better?
[He asks, while using his free hand to pour some caviar over one of the sliced breads. The other one curves snug around Sakusa's foot, coaxing it into a rhythm up and down his twitching cock, the oil easing it along, making the movements smoother and faster. All calm and collected, despite the beads of sweat starting to dot his brow.]
no subject
The suggestion to remove the sock is meant with a reaction that could only be described as frenzied. Maybe overly enthusiastic? Wakatoshi pulls the sock right off in one swoop, and has enough sense to fold it up, nicely, and tuck it into his blazer pocket instead of tossing it aside somewhere.
He pauses and blinks at the olive oil dish, a little confused at first, until Sakusa's bared foot, drags against his shaft and there's some resistance and friction that, while not painful or bad, could feel a bit better. Everything clicks. With a nod, he dips three fingers into the oil then brings them down to his cock, letting it mix with the pre-cum that had leaked from the head; he repeats the process again and again, until his cock, and part of Sakusa's foot, is coated with enough of the oil to create a smooth and slippery base. Perfect.]
Is this any better?
[He asks, while using his free hand to pour some caviar over one of the sliced breads. The other one curves snug around Sakusa's foot, coaxing it into a rhythm up and down his twitching cock, the oil easing it along, making the movements smoother and faster. All calm and collected, despite the beads of sweat starting to dot his brow.]