And we have a Luke lemon fanfic in progress.
As he pulls back from your sealed lips, they scream in silent agony, afire from filth. His mouth is still open, you notice, and are drawn to his teeth, the glory that they are.
You can see all the shades of green, you imagine, tooth, to tooth, overbite to underbite, from the subtle jade of his canines, to the olive of his incisors.
And then... your sense of smell returns, and you wonder, you beg, you plead, how can you smell all of him at once.
More of the feeling on your face returns, and drool never felt so thick, so hot, so alive the way it seeks to spread itself all over you, down your jaw, your chin, and the hollow of your neck.
Your eyes draw low, and somewhere in the back of your mind that you had retreated to, as you catch a peek of painfully pick nipples rising triumphically through a nest of curled, stained, and bristling hair, you notice that his tits are bigger than yours.
Has this nightmare only begun? Beyond the rest of him enveloping you, your eyes are actually thankful. Grateful that you cannot see that which is prodding, and rubbing insistently up on your legs, seeking, lubricating something alive almost, chunky in texture.
As you roll your eyes back, a scream held still behind your shut and violated mouth, you star up into his flaring nostrils, almost curious if that's Cheeto dust in there or something else, something sentient.
You pray for death. Yet, somehow you know, you are damned to live