His hands seek the touch of both men as their arcing rhythm becomes more erratic. Wrench draws Kurt in with his lips and Logan with a grasp to his captured waist in a tangle of discordant flesh and rising heat. From his vantage point he can watch and feel as they both come crashing toward their own ends. Muscles freezing and twitching, the gasping shudders, and the half-formed pleas that shape both men into something feral and pure all at once. There's no space between them for lies or deceit. Not a breath reserved, even, for self-consciousness or polite reservation. He feels it as they both give in to the most primal parts of themselves. That flash of tension before they lose themselves to waves of earnest pleasure. Maybe it's the one thing Deerington can't corrupt. The single thing they own in this place that can't be taken from them or twisted and manipulated to be used for harm. It's gratitude unfolding from a singular point, and rippling out in long and languid waves.
When Kurt is depleted -- body still humming in aftershock -- Wrench sits back on his heels and wipes his lips. He regards the two men with green eyes made bright by the distant crackle of lightning. A smile parts his lips and reveals the gentle gap between his front teeth. The earnest expression seems for a moment almost shy or startled by what he's done, but the longer he goes on watching himself be watched by the two men who haven't even found the wherewithal to separate themselves, the more that grin shapes the curved corners of his mouth into something more coy.
He holds up a hand to stop the man who beckons him, and shapes his fingers into a spread Y instead. Stay, Wrench insists of the both of them, and crawls on his knees just far enough backward to be out of reach. Nipping his lower lip, he takes himself in his own hand, not so unlike the way he'd been before he was discovered. Just feet from them, he gazes unflinchingly at his rapt audience as he strokes himself more urgently, wetting his lips and letting his own breaths fall heavily as the little urgent sighs give way to deeper groans. The mounting sensation of his own pleasure makes him want to tip his head and gasp toward the ceiling, but he keeps his focus on the two men, insisting their attention as he writhes under his own doing and works himself to a moaning completion for their own observation.
cw: nsfw
When Kurt is depleted -- body still humming in aftershock -- Wrench sits back on his heels and wipes his lips. He regards the two men with green eyes made bright by the distant crackle of lightning. A smile parts his lips and reveals the gentle gap between his front teeth. The earnest expression seems for a moment almost shy or startled by what he's done, but the longer he goes on watching himself be watched by the two men who haven't even found the wherewithal to separate themselves, the more that grin shapes the curved corners of his mouth into something more coy.
He holds up a hand to stop the man who beckons him, and shapes his fingers into a spread Y instead. Stay, Wrench insists of the both of them, and crawls on his knees just far enough backward to be out of reach. Nipping his lower lip, he takes himself in his own hand, not so unlike the way he'd been before he was discovered. Just feet from them, he gazes unflinchingly at his rapt audience as he strokes himself more urgently, wetting his lips and letting his own breaths fall heavily as the little urgent sighs give way to deeper groans. The mounting sensation of his own pleasure makes him want to tip his head and gasp toward the ceiling, but he keeps his focus on the two men, insisting their attention as he writhes under his own doing and works himself to a moaning completion for their own observation.