It's really that that spurs him onward, whether it's some strange-but-normal way he's keyed into the other or some twisted manifestation of the Echo, he knows somehow, the moment it starts to get easier for Phillip to think, and that's the moment he pushes the first finger inside of him. It's not harsh or intended to cause pain-- in fact, there's even more oil, to the point Phillip can hear the first wet slide in-- but it's inexorable, a slow, steady push until he's taken the whole of the long, slender digit, thicker than he's used to with the protective leather of the glove.
From there, there's a pace, steady, slow without being lazy, directed. There's a goal, here, and every touch doesn't let Phillip forget it.
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It's really that that spurs him onward, whether it's some strange-but-normal way he's keyed into the other or some twisted manifestation of the Echo, he knows somehow, the moment it starts to get easier for Phillip to think, and that's the moment he pushes the first finger inside of him. It's not harsh or intended to cause pain-- in fact, there's even more oil, to the point Phillip can hear the first wet slide in-- but it's inexorable, a slow, steady push until he's taken the whole of the long, slender digit, thicker than he's used to with the protective leather of the glove.
From there, there's a pace, steady, slow without being lazy, directed. There's a goal, here, and every touch doesn't let Phillip forget it.