it carefully slips its fingers under the hem of till's shirt. its instinct are at its forefront; it thinks he looks way too much like a willing prey this way. he should fight back— in what way, doesn't matter. but to simply lay back like that, so open, so welcoming, inviting even. like he wants it. needs it.
there's a slight tingle to vanya's fingertips; a thousands of little legs squirming just beneath the thin layer of skin. it's way too eager to just let go, to embrace till fully. but that'd be wrong, wouldn't it? it doesn't know the extends of its greed. it worries it is endless.
when till reaches for it, it follows. leans down to kiss him, free hand curling around the back of his neck to tilt his head in a more comfortable angle. the hand roaming his abdomen snakes around his waist to pull him flush against its hips; it moves to force till's legs more open.
there's a hungry quality to the kiss. it takes and it takes and it takes— nips and bites at lips, swallows down the soft little noises till lets out. it feels itself come apart just slightly— but it's steady. flesh falling apart until there's something not meant for the human eye nor mind to witness crawling down till's throat. that, too, is a kiss. the hand that's gripping far too roughly at his hip— sure to leave behind a bruise —breaks itself into many small tendrils that aim to reach everywhere. centipedes crawl up till's spine, coil around his neck, hiss something softly into his ear.
TILL HAS NEVER FELT SO UNDONE as when vanya embraces him like this. the first time, the feeling of crawling in his throat had him reeling back on instinct — a reaction purely driven by the body, not the mind — and they had taken it slower and more cautiously from there. this time, when they kiss, till parts his lips to allow in the many-legged tongue and decidedly doesn't pull away when it pushes in deeper. he does gag, more than once; but, well. he has been training that, too. training himself to unwind. to self-soothe the panic that threatens to take over when vanya's intrusion blocks his airflow, angle his head just enough to allow him to breathe through his nose.
he's not entirely aware of the needy sounds he's making throughout — soft sounds, softer than he would allow himself consciously. vanya takes, and takes, and takes, and till lets it in, swallows it and moans and allows it to manhandle his legs apart, just as hungry as it is for him. that part is evident enough by the strain in his already-tight jeans.
if someone had told him months ago that he would be hard and eager for an eldritch centipede monster wearing the face of his childhood friend, he would have laughed in their face. not anymore. right now, if vanya isn't inside him within a few minutes, till thinks he might die. his hands burst into action, exploring all the parts of it that he's found to be sensitive, pressing and brushing and sliding and clawing. pale and greedy fingertips brush between its legs. he feels his eyes spill over when its tongue presses deeper into his throat; whines, soft and constricted and pleading.
