![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[ Zevran crackles out a laugh as he's dragged- no leverage to resist the pull and no true desire to do so- the angle here is better, helps Dorian take in more, bob faster, moan sweeter. No reason to do more than crape his nails in firm lines from his nape to the mass at the top where the curls are thickest. Pull him up enough to give himself room to rock his hips up into that slick, glorious heat.
Without the corset it'd be easy enough to fuck Dorian's face. The best Zevran can do, the best he does is shallow little snaps of his hips up while pulling down, voice growing ragged. ]
Without the corset it'd be easy enough to fuck Dorian's face. The best Zevran can do, the best he does is shallow little snaps of his hips up while pulling down, voice growing ragged. ]
[ There's discomfort in this, doing it until someone finally gives in, but Dorian has sometimes find -- as he finds now -- that there's a hedonistic enjoyment to be sapped from this. He is more distinctly aware of his own aching erection, trapped between his own body and the slightly too soft give of the chaise cushions, than he is as to the stretch and ache in his jaw beginning to develop.
The most he permits himself are little movements to soak up some friction, offer a little relief. Otherwise, his presence is here, between Zevran's legs, hands grasping and moaning around his cock. Saliva gathers thick at the corners of his mouth, and he can taste the sharp, bitter suggestion for pre-ejaculate, which is swallowed between slides.
His eyes remain shut, relaxed, but his fingers knead, more feeling Zevran's upward, hindered twitches upwards than trying to stop them. ]
The most he permits himself are little movements to soak up some friction, offer a little relief. Otherwise, his presence is here, between Zevran's legs, hands grasping and moaning around his cock. Saliva gathers thick at the corners of his mouth, and he can taste the sharp, bitter suggestion for pre-ejaculate, which is swallowed between slides.
His eyes remain shut, relaxed, but his fingers knead, more feeling Zevran's upward, hindered twitches upwards than trying to stop them. ]
Edited 2016-02-26 13:01 (UTC)
There was something oddly satisfying about rendering Zevran to a single language, to making it difficult for him to utter in any language except for that exquisite Antivian that made the Chevalier want to draw the words right out of the assassin's lungs. It didn't really matter what the other said to him, he could lie still and listen to the elf murmur those sweet, rolling words into his ear until temptation overwhelmed him. He would keep such thoughts to himself, for now it was just another way for Zevran to weaken his knees. There was something to be said for being on this side of things and watching his companion writhe in pleasure, at least as much as he could in this position. The labored breathing, the sharp intake of his breath, how he moved against him for more and how Michel wished to give it.
Michel had no formal training so much of his efforts were rooted in what he could remember and his own genuine enthusiasm for Zevran's body, for his responses, for a single intense glance his way. Lack of training meant he knew no tricks, that his attentions weren't practiced, but raw and genuine, he was still exploring all of the things that caused Zevran to bend and twine, ache from the slow-burn of his attentions and he had a mind to learn them all in time--and that in of itself should have struck Michel, who was a man of one night stands and few encounters, as a peculiar thing to desire.
Though he might not understand the content of what Zevran was saying to him, the tone was clear enough for Michel to understand, and there was no intent to stop until Zevran either came, or needed more from him. With that in mind he took as much of Zevran into his mouth as he could manage, maintaining the tight seal of his mouth as he continued with his pulsing suction, head slowly bobbing up and down in tandem with the constrained movements of Zevran's hips. He wouldn't say that this wasn't strange, but the way the elf swelled and throbbed against his tongue triggered Michel's more primal instincts and he growled softly in the back of his throat.
After a time the Chevalier closed his eyes, becoming completely involved in what he was doing, the heat of his mouth withdrawing so that he could explore more, trace the network of veins, follow the swirling designs of his tattoos, circling the base of his cock before sweeping his tongue upward in an elegant gesture to tease and gently probe at the flushed tip. Elves certainly had their own unique flavor, though Michel could scarcely say he had anything to compare it by. He would have to taste other men first and at the moment the idea had little appeal to him, he was certain there was no compairison to this particular flavor.
Michel had no formal training so much of his efforts were rooted in what he could remember and his own genuine enthusiasm for Zevran's body, for his responses, for a single intense glance his way. Lack of training meant he knew no tricks, that his attentions weren't practiced, but raw and genuine, he was still exploring all of the things that caused Zevran to bend and twine, ache from the slow-burn of his attentions and he had a mind to learn them all in time--and that in of itself should have struck Michel, who was a man of one night stands and few encounters, as a peculiar thing to desire.
Though he might not understand the content of what Zevran was saying to him, the tone was clear enough for Michel to understand, and there was no intent to stop until Zevran either came, or needed more from him. With that in mind he took as much of Zevran into his mouth as he could manage, maintaining the tight seal of his mouth as he continued with his pulsing suction, head slowly bobbing up and down in tandem with the constrained movements of Zevran's hips. He wouldn't say that this wasn't strange, but the way the elf swelled and throbbed against his tongue triggered Michel's more primal instincts and he growled softly in the back of his throat.
After a time the Chevalier closed his eyes, becoming completely involved in what he was doing, the heat of his mouth withdrawing so that he could explore more, trace the network of veins, follow the swirling designs of his tattoos, circling the base of his cock before sweeping his tongue upward in an elegant gesture to tease and gently probe at the flushed tip. Elves certainly had their own unique flavor, though Michel could scarcely say he had anything to compare it by. He would have to taste other men first and at the moment the idea had little appeal to him, he was certain there was no compairison to this particular flavor.
Zevran had long since learned to make a show of this- knew how to twist to offer the best view from any angle. Subtle things in the cant of his hips and the twist of his wrist to offer the entirety of his sweat-slick skin for his partner's enjoyment. Habit. Training. Instinct by now and he couldn't keep from doing so even if he wished to. But there was an honesty in the sharp catch of his breath at Michel's fingers slipping along his cock. Heat lanced through him in a vicious strike like lightening, crackling under his skin, tipping his head back as his spine bowed against the force of it. Teasing. Teasing touches and Michel did not even know what it was to be a tease.
No small part of Zevran prayed that it wouldn't change.
His hips snapped sharply against Michel's grip, chasing after them in a helpless, instinctual gesture for more. More friction more contact, more calloused fingers that were growing familiar every night they did this. Callouses he felt even curling within- Michel's fingers longer, thicker than his own and better for it. Zevran abandoned preparing himself entirely, slick hand slipping out to hold Michel's wrist still as he rocked back against him. Eyes closed to mere slits he was surprised into gasping at the brush of Michel's hand against his mouth, lips parting, tongue curling around his fingers to tease, to suck, to graze with his teeth-
To moan around when his body went tight around his fingertips at that brush against his prostate.
No small part of Zevran prayed that it wouldn't change.
His hips snapped sharply against Michel's grip, chasing after them in a helpless, instinctual gesture for more. More friction more contact, more calloused fingers that were growing familiar every night they did this. Callouses he felt even curling within- Michel's fingers longer, thicker than his own and better for it. Zevran abandoned preparing himself entirely, slick hand slipping out to hold Michel's wrist still as he rocked back against him. Eyes closed to mere slits he was surprised into gasping at the brush of Michel's hand against his mouth, lips parting, tongue curling around his fingers to tease, to suck, to graze with his teeth-
To moan around when his body went tight around his fingertips at that brush against his prostate.
The qunari looks at the elf with a soft smile, nodding a little. "Oh, yes. I want you right on my face, thighs around my head as I eat you out." He lazily wiggles a few fingers. "...and I'm pretty sure I can do a little of both, whatever makes you feel good."
Oh, how he likes watching those leathers slide off that well-toned body, baring more tattoos and tan skin for him to enjoy. He takes his time to just slide his hands over the lovely thighs as soon as they are bare, clasping the elf's ass in far too big hands.
Taas feels so, so good right now, and he definitely wants to share that feeling.
Oh, how he likes watching those leathers slide off that well-toned body, baring more tattoos and tan skin for him to enjoy. He takes his time to just slide his hands over the lovely thighs as soon as they are bare, clasping the elf's ass in far too big hands.
Taas feels so, so good right now, and he definitely wants to share that feeling.
Where, for a walk? [ An easier jest than considering what it is he may or may not be getting into. ] I do not think it will be much of an issue. I have not seen him in some time and when we last spoke he was somewhat distressed.
Sure. A walk.
[ He won't actually do anything unless he's asked. Or unless Michel follows in the footsteps of the many chevaliers who have taken their Distress out on the peasantry. Etc. But it makes him feel better to grumble. ]
[ He won't actually do anything unless he's asked. Or unless Michel follows in the footsteps of the many chevaliers who have taken their Distress out on the peasantry. Etc. But it makes him feel better to grumble. ]
Page 24 of 65