There is always that second before he swallows that he hesitates. That second in which he pauses, the tip of his tongue pressing a bit too hard against his palate like he trusts himself and like he doesn’t trust himself. Like he’s telling himself that he can do this. Like he’s regretting it in advance. That second in which you panic. You can feel that he’s going to do it, even when you told him not to. You can feel him preparing, and you can feel yourself sliding in that direction against your will, and even if you call out to him, you know he’s going to do it. He always does it.
And the second seems to stretch for an entirety and yet last not long enough, as you find yourself slipping backwards with a yelp, reaching out for anything to slow your descent, until you’re pushed into his tight, slimy throat, and dragged down, down, down…
Then he lets out a relieved sigh when you arrive in his stomach, as though he didn’t trust himself, and also as though he did. Perhaps it’s you he didn’t trust, didn’t trust you enough to let you be pulled into the parts of him that no one else has seen before, and didn’t trust you enough to not hurt him in such a vulnerable state. But you know he trusts you. And he knows you trust him. Otherwise you wouldn’t willingly climb into his mouth day after day, even when you know he’s going to swallow, and you’ll see your life flash before your eyes in that second. You’ll regret it in that second. You’ll be swallowed in that second. And it’s why he lets you inside, down into the deepest parts of him, and why he places his hand on top of his stomach when you’re in it, comforting you in a way that he can’t when you’re in his mouth, and lets you listen to his heartbeat.
It’s why this works, you and him, him and you. You in his stomach, and him, trying not to giggle as you wriggle around in there, protesting this unfortunate turn of events.
(You think he likes it. That’s why he keeps swallowing you, even when you tell him not to.)
But he knows you’ll settle down eventually, that you’ll curl up in the warmth of his stomach and forget that you ever detested being swallowed. And you know that he’ll let you out in the morning, give you a lot of attention so you’ll stop acting mad at him, and tell you that it was an accident. Then he’ll smile, he’ll act shy, and he’ll tell you that he liked it with you inside, and that alone is enough to make it worth it. And you both know that you’ll end up in his mouth once more, between his lips, curled up on top of his tongue, until that second comes before he swallows you.
He says he does it because he knows you like it, even though you know you don’t, yet you find yourself getting comfortable in this place that has become too familiar, dozing off in the heat to the sound of his heartbeat, trapped within him and not exactly wanting to leave.
There’s always that second before he swallows that he hesitates.
That second in which he’s telling you that it’s okay.
And it’s in that second that you let yourself go.
dededos
2087
snowghoul
kaledo-art
