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"Well, it's beautiful," Gavin said, with the sort of blunt-faced honesty that he often made such proclamations in. It was beautiful and so was Zevran - though he did indeed avoid the bruises and the shoulder than the elf had pointed out earlier, instead slowly shifting down Zevran's body as he followed that tattoo lower and lower until his breath was hot on Zevran's abdomen and his lips had found the very base of the elf's cock - which had the unfortunate side effect of meaning that he'd pulled his body away from those sweet fingers of his, but - well. He was presently a little distracted. With a groan he ran his tongue down one of the thorns on Zevran's cock.
Zevran groaned, head tipped forward to watch him work, cock twitching under his tongue.
"You can tell me that after you witness more of it," Gavin quipped back easily, before letting himself really enjoy it, tracing every line, every thorn, and every vein - before simply sliding warm lips down the entirety of Zevran's cock, his cheeks hollowing as he moved. The scars were more surprising in their original invisibility than they were in their actual form - he ran his hands up Zevran's thighs and let his thumb trace the raised skin of a particularly long one. Zevran had obviously gone to a lot of trouble, but Gavin almost wished to be able to see them individually and clearly, to be able to press his lips to each and taste the moments that had made them.
(If only, perhaps, to ease them away. Because anyone with that many scars had the memories to go with them, though he would never say that out loud.)
His own scars were very apparent, if far fewer and different in origin. He had a long jagged one on his right shoulder blade from the only time he had fainted in a tree. His keeper could have healed it, probably, but he kept it. That day needed a memorial, anyway.
He chased the thoughts away with a twirl of his tongue, with a low groan as his head began to bob in Zevran's lap.
Those scars?
He traced with the pads of his fingers, the edges of his nails. Feeling out the hurts and shivering through each pass of Gavin's lips. Truly, he had a mouth on him. A wondrous mouth. Dripping words of low, appreciative Antivan wound down between low gasps and faint moans.
It is, miraculously, an exchange of his playful flirtatiousness. Some people just inspire her that way.
Cyril's arms tighten a bit, tugging softly against the binds, as he resists the urge to grasp at Zevran to encourage him to touch his mouth to every inch of his skin.
The curve of his hip, the divot between thigh and groin- there he stops to suck in a deep, purple bruise. It takes less work than it would for most.
Gavin was - as he only ever was in this particular sort of situation - incredibly focused. It was easy to be, with Zevran in his mouth, under his hands. Every brush of of Zevran's finger tips over his skin, every scrape of nail, went straight to his groin, and he groaned softly as he worked. He was careful not to move too fast. After all, he was getting very addictive to the incomprehensible but extremely erotic Antivan words slipping from Zevran's lips - every time he heard one he tried to remember the exact movement that had caused it. Eventually, however, he had to pull his head up, his eyes dark with need, his lips reddened and slightly swollen from the effort.
"Creators, you taste good," He said with a slight groan as he shifted, pressing closer and finding Zevran's throat with his lips. Perhaps he should have said something witty, but he was past wit - taking Zevran's cock in his hand, still slick from his spit, and stroking it in a meagre replacement for his mouth.
Pel's education has had a certain focus.
They would be all too kind. For a time.
"They keep chil--"
They must be willing to cater to many different tastes in these places. A luxury indeed. A weight falls on her as she absorbs this, realizing how dreadful a childhood his must have been.
His hands are warm. He is warm. Is she taking advantage of him, expecting him to keep up this fantasy? Is she like those paying customers?
"I'm sorry." It's not sympathy for a rough childhood--everyone has those. It's an actual apology.
"For what?" He blinks, puzzled. "For asking? I think perhaps you are imagining something far worse than it was. There were other brothels in Antiva City that catered to such...tastes but my home was not among them."
"It does sound...charmed." She finally sits beside him, joining their hands. "I was communally raised, mostly. My parents were from a different clan."
Not mentioning Ellana, although Ellana hasn't exactly been discreet about being a mage. It's a habit. Ellana was their extra, the one they always had to protect.
"Anyway. Anyone who says how terrible it is for a child to go without parents never met us, did they? We turned out all right."
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