"Quite a difference from a Chevalier's knowledge of the body...everything is about ascertaining pain. Breathing, keeping our muscles limber, strength in a wounded limb, fighting the effects of magic and drugs, identifying pain...the pain is separated from the aches, things that are largely ignored," his eyes had all but shuttered closed at this point, his neck stretched back as he feels the heat of the elf under his jaw. He figured if ever there was a time to practice those limbering exercises, now was very appropriate and easier under those hands that were meant to be soothing and relaxing. It was a different story while training, having another's hands to relax under would have been a luxury. It was a luxury that would take him a long time to learn, but a part of Michel wanted to return it in some way, another way. He couldn't return this level of skill with anything but gentle caresses and palms, roughened from the sword, smoothing over skin.
Then there was the visual, watching his companion move over his body, dip down and press his lips against his chest, wrung soft, pleased noises from him. If he were a cat he would purr vigorously under the attention, as it stood one might be able to say the sound of purring was equivalent to the soft noises those fingers, those lips, drew from him. Slowly, a pleasant heat began to creep through his veins and burn along his skin, following in the wake of every touch and every time that mouth pressed against his own. The kisses were brief, but he found himself leaning up into them, meeting Zevran half way, lips parting automatically to taste, to tangle his tongue with his bedmate's. He enjoyed this soft, raw bit of intimacy almost as much as he enjoyed being touched. Kissing was an act that could easily inflame, could make one want to wrap themselves around another in a slow, intimate dance.
"This, like much everything else I know, is tied to murder. Where is a body it's most fragile, what vulnerabilities I might find." Offhand and idle, as though he did not have his hands resting at the base of Michel's throat, rolling away the tension. As if he did not have Michel splayed and slick and gasping, utterly at his mercy. Part of the danger was his appeal, or so he'd noticed during the last time they lay together. He was an assassin, he was dangerous, he was forbidden- it gave him the lingering excitement of many a lover. "But, on occasion, I enjoy performing a massage for the sake of pleasing a partner."
Such as now when he let himself be caught by Michel's lips, hands working between them to massage the taught knots in his pectorals, slippery thumbs flicking back and forth over his nipples mercilessly. For every new, engaging thing he found to make Michel writhe, he abused. How could he not when it made him kiss so sweetly, arch so beautifully?
Zevran slid back with one last nibbling kiss, slotting himself between Michel's thighs to work on his abdomen and hips, hands delving low along his pelvis without dragging anywhere obscene. Yet.
Michel lifted both hands to the ones settled on the base of his neck and and simply held them there for a moment before dropping them to Zevran's waist. If the Chevalier experienced fear it was very little, even in knowing what the other man was and what he could do. For Michel, Zevran was a forbidden thing in more ways than one, his status in the realm of killing only added to that list. It was a passing thought that he would always keep to himself as there currently didn't seem to be a need to talk about the history of his disgrace, which was a long, involved, and ultimately boring process. It was something he liked to tell those who were curious anyway, a means of deflecting the question.
"How fortunate...for your partners..." Michel murmured against Zevran's lips between kisses. His breathing slowly transforming from something steady and controlled to uneven and shallow, gradually, as Zevran's touch turned to something more intimate, nipples peaking easily under the manipulation of thumbs. He tasked himself with kissing the elf feverishly and holding him steadily in place before his companion finally withdrew to take up a spot between his legs.
Michel recalled the last time Zevran found himself in that particular position and it brought vague recollections to his memory of the sounds he made and the way his body moved. It put a knot in the pit of his stomach as he forced himself not to remember, it wasn't an unpleasant, but dwelling on it right now? He knew if he allowed himself he wouldn't be able to maintain his self control, his body had changed under Zevran's attentions the last time and a part of him wondered at the careful pains the assassin went through to wind him up.
"I have yet to hear any complaints." For he ever left them satisfied. With all his years of training and practice- it was difficult to not. He'd twisted the compulsion into a point of pride and while that was likely not the most healthy means of dealing with his life it gave him joy. That? Was worth more than any healthy coping mechanism the Maker might give him. Besides. This was fun, pleasing, and a fine way to learn all sorts of sultry, sordid things. One can learn much of a man by how he stood or what he read or how he spoke- but a body in bliss told just as much if one knew how to read the tells. Zevran had long since been taught this language- it was his seconds after Antivan. He'd learned how to tell what a man's eyes hid and what a shuddering sigh meant before he'd ever learned the common tongue.
What he was reading of Michel fascinated him, every hidden or repressed desire, every secretive glance. That he was forbidden socially went without saying But there was something deeper to Michel's amorous disquiet. Something he meant to coax out in time. For now he focused on working his way down one lean thigh- again with hands and oil and gloves first before he laved in wet, open mouthed kisses from the crease of Michel's groin to the back of his knee, working out tension and winding him back up with ever drag of his teeth and curl of his tongue. Down one leg to the sole of his foot- which he spared the kissing as some did not find that quite so arousing and the inherent servitude such an image rose was not at all the point in this time- and back up from ankle to knee to thigh. Hands and oil and mouth, though he remained there between Michel's thighs, sucking a warm bruise into the inside of each ever so gently.
He certainly would hear no complaints from Michel either, such luxury was seldom sought and it was even rarer to come across, for whatever reason the elf might have for doing this at least the Chevalier was grateful, if not in body than in other ways. It was easy to allow himself to relax, to give his muscles a break from the usual training, he had to consciously work at being limber and loose...while this? Took about as much effort as wading into a warm bath. He closed his eyes for a moment and stifled his urges and all of that Chevalier discipline to simply allow himself to enjoy the things he normally couldn't while he thought of ways he might return the favor. Not that thinking was easy with all of the heaviness in his limbs and his clouded thoughts.
It didn't help that Zevran's kneading and caressing was becoming more sensual, he knew that it would given the insistence upon his nakedness. Michel knew little about massages, but he knew enough to know that one could have one while still wearing one's trousers and that it predominately involved the use of one's hands over one's mouth. Those soft, open-mouthed kisses that he worked along the Chevalier's legs, wet, warm, and just shy of where his body ached for him, drew proper groans from the warrior's lips. His legs were accommodating, shifting apart instinctively to give Zevran more room to work with.
He watched his companion as best as he could through the dark fringe of his lashes, eyes little more than slivers of winter blue as Zevran finally settled between his thighs, marking his flesh in a way that would stand out against that fair Orlesian skin. Just the sound of the assassin's lips and mouth working his skin worked him up nicely. This, combined with his skilled touch and the scent of oil textured leather drew heat to his loins and he could feel his cock responding without any direct provocation at all, half-hard already against his stomach. The heat also began to crawl its way over his skin and he found it difficult to suppress.
One of the many fine things of knights and other warriors was how thoroughly and artfully muscled they were- honestly so. Not something done to achieve a certain stature to be appealing, not at all, but through genuine work that layered on flesh over bone in broad, sturdy lines. It left an edge of power to them, of danger- and Zevran ever fancied those that were on his side of dangerous. Equally broad and handsome nobles with no skill at blades did not attract his eyes, his hands, his mouth quite so easily. But Michel? Was all tightly trained capability wrapped in scarred white silk. Perhaps he ought to write a poem- or sketch him in sultry repose for his own memory later.
For now he worked his way higher, hands skimming over his hips, lips tracing along the line of his cock in a long sweep of soft lips and broad strokes of his tongue. A swirling suck at the head before he kissed his way from navel to sternum. All this side worked over and worked over well; there was but one thing that yet needed doing. "Roll over, Soleil, so I might work on your back.
Michel rarely kept tabs on his body only knowing that there was a significant difference between it now from when he was younger, a scrappy thing that lacked any sort of definition and grace. Arguably, when there were a set of hands and lips working over each plane and plateau, each well turned muscle, it was difficult not to be aware of one's body just a bit or rather, more aware of where he was being touched. For whatever reason there would be no fussing from him considering how much he was enjoying those fingers, stretching and twisting under Zevran luxuriously for when would something like this happen again?
His breath caught in his chest, eyes sliding open again, as the mouth that had moments before left a bruise on the inside of each thigh in turn greeted his neglected cock. Partially aroused from the indirect stimulation of fingers and a very gifted tongue until now, the direct stimulation had him tightening to full hardness against the stroke of his tongue and the heat of his mouth. A soft moan rumbled up from the depths of him as Zevran merely greeted that part of him before diverting his attentions elsewhere and then withdrawing from him altogether.
If one could be drunk on desire Michel certainly looked the part, barely registering what it was Zevran was asking him, staring for a moment or so before responding to the command. Backs were usually central to massages, he was aware of this, but this was the first time Zevran would have him on his stomach and it gave him a brief pause. Exposing his back so carelessly was certainly an act of trust on his part and after a moment he decided to turn over another low moan smothered by the sheets this time as his erection found itself caught between the mattress and his stomach.
"No one else has seen you like this, have they?" Far from teasing, the words were soft, edged with proud affection and faint wonder. No one else had had Michel so willingly at their mercy, strung out on sensation and desire. Zevran was, at his core, a quietly selfish creature and to know no one had seen this, touched Michel quite like this, led him down sultry, sordid paths into all manner of sinful indulgence and likely none he would meet in the future could do it half so well or leave him half so distracted? Pleased him in a way no hand or mouth ever could. For however long they continue their dalliance- Michel like this, stripped of mask and sense and duty, was his.
Zevran meant to make the most of every lingering moment. Fresh oil applied to his hands he slid up to straddle the distracting, perfect curve of Michel's ass, pausing to grind his hips down so he might feel the leather and, in turn, be ground against the silken sheets. Hard and straining against the laces he indulged himself a moment with that friction, shuddering from the tips of his ears to the base of his spine before he recalled the purpose of this position.
First his hands, then his mouth- working out every knot of tension, every coiled muscle that he had been unable to reach while Michel lay on his back. Broad shoulders and firm muscle, the almost delicate curves of his spine, the soft nape of his neck- Zevran bent to his task to nip and nuzzle, kissing with gentle adoration along Michel's shoulders, following the long path down his spine from nape to base even as his hands worked out the tension he could find. The lower he went the further he had to slide down the backs of Michel's thighs, before he nudged them apart to settle there once again, biting a bruise into the small of his back.
"No..." Michel confirmed simply, his face feeling all the warmer for the admission, like a man confessing that he was a virgin or never having swung a sword in his life. Fighting and having skill in the bedroom seemed to be a prerequisite for having pride in one's self for some reason. Michel thought it was strange and often kept his personal business to himself, then there were others who were quite loud about their conquests or their experiences and it only made him question whether it was true or just a show. He could only be honest about such things. He'd been trained never to present his back in any situation, though that was specifically in the case of battles and not in the case of massages. How often did a Chevalier get a massage? Perhaps some frequented such places of accommodation, but with his own life forfeit to the Empress he could not afford to be caught with his pants down both as a means to preserve her honor and his, but also his responsibilities dictated that he be available at a moment's notice.
Such thoughts were banished the moment Zevran began rolling his hips causing Michel's own to undulate, actively surging up to meet the delicious thrusting and moaning softly against the sheets every time his hips jerked forward. The pressure was building slowly, his sex swelling with ever pass of silk and the pressure that accompanied being crushed into the mattress. He thought he might find it uncomfortable at the very least....uncomfortable in an unpleasant way. Any discomfort he felt came from that building mantra screaming "more," forcing his body to twist restlessly until the grinding stopped with a sigh from the Chevalier.
Closing his eyes again he tried to keep his mind off the pulsing heat between his stomach and the sheets, instead focusing on the path of those hands and lips. It was so easy to melt under the attention of Zevran's fingers, his body bending to his companion's purpose, drawing the occasional sigh and delicate shudder from him as the assassin nipped and nuzzled his way lower and lower, toes curling as he felt his companion settle between his legs again, teeth and lips against his skin making his back arch under the attention. Would he be able to find any sensation that compared to this if he looked for it? How far would he have to go? Would a chevalier be welcome in Antiva...why think of such things?
"Marvelous." He murmured, that same, possessive thing coiled in his voice as it had sat behind his eyes their first night together. This- all of this was truly his. It should not coil like a pleasing wine in his gut, that thought, and yet it did. With every nipped bruise and pass of his hands the massage became less about tension and more about appraisal. More about marking what was his. It was a risky mindset to slip into with one so unaccustomed to the game and yet Michel let himself so well to it's nuances. Somehow his relative innocence (inexperience was not purity) made it all the more desirable. Less in words; for he had no right to them; and more in touch did every press and glide say the same thing.
Mine.
Something he would not dare speak but something he could entertain for the brief hours they would spend with one another. Back, arms, legs seen to Zevran let his hands slide over the curve of Michel's ass, mouth dropping to the back of his thigh where the two met, and bit gently; working a new bruise into being there. Another and another on one leg, then the other, before he leaned back. "I am going to try something else that is new to you, I think- tell me if you find it permissible and pleasurable."
The almost chaste, gallant kiss he pressed to Michel's tailbone ought to be hint enough as to where this was going- and offer time enough for him to decide yes or no.
Michel could feel the tone of the massage change after his confession, like vines creeping over his skin, tendrils twisting and winding around each limb. It was a sensation he'd felt once before, one that filled him with a rush he couldn't quite explain, it momentarily trapped the air in his lungs, forcing him to remember that he had to, in fact, breathe. Last time he encountered this sensation he'd seen it behind Zevran's eyes, it was no different now other than the form it took. The sound of his voice, the way those hands smoothed over him, the intent behind the massage all but replaced with this new thing he could barely perceive, but he knew it was there. It caused the heat to rise in him once again, but the sheets were cool against his face and only his shoulders betrayed that suffusion of warmth
He yielded to it, though he would yield to nothing else and might not even remember this as yielding as boneless as he was. His fingers bunched into those sheets, flexing, twisting, anchoring himself to the bed as Zevran continued his attentions lower, more bruises following in the wake of that generous mouth. It was fortunate that Michel did not get dressed in a room shared with others, he would have a difficult time explaining away so many bruises that were obviously not the product of being clumsy--too small and too intimate were their placements.
Another soft moan followed by a visible shudder like a chill ripped up his spine as the assassin fixed his attention on his ass. It was curious, though he wasn't exactly new to some of Zevran's attentions down in the...southern regions...he still had to wonder a little at what his companion wanted to do. So, pushing himself up onto his forearms, Michel looked over his shoulder, his eyes unfixed as he watched Zevran kiss his tailbone...gallant and lewd...he was still attempting to find a word for it. It took a moment to dawn on him that the elf wanted to, well he could speculate on it, but even he had to confess that he did not believe the elf was so daring.
"I..." he blinked a few times so that his eyes might adjust enabling him to look at Zevran properly, or as properly as he could manage, "...if you are certain, if it is what you want to do, bel homme..."
He was not opposed, but he wanted to be just as certain that this was what Zevran wanted to do an not for the sake of completion
"I am." Normally he need be asked to do such a thing- but Michel likely would not think to ask. It was a trick seldom returned and thus something he reserved for ether his most demanding or reciprocal lovers...but Michel? May never have experienced the liked and thus it was one more thing, one more sensation and experience he could brand into the Chevalier's skin and burrow into his memory as belonging to him and him alone. Another way to crawl deep into his skin and take root, leave him twisting for want of more. For need of another kiss, another touch, another night.
Had he any manner of forethought Zevran might nave noticed how deeply he dove and how much of Michel he kept when he resurfaced from this strange, possessive place. They were not playing that game quite so well, now. They were not playing it at all- but something in Michel called to him all the same. Responded to how his hands stroked and his lips pressed in calculated affection. He had made no rules, there were no bindings. Not so much as a watchword so this wasn't- would not- be that.
No, this was something else. But it was something he would give- did give, without batting an eye, dragging lips and tongue down from tailbone to the ring of his entrance, tongue laving in a flat stroke across much as he'd massaged him gently with oil before daring to tease a finger within. Like this he could not watch Michel's face- but he recalled the way his head tilted back, the way he bit his lips, the angle of his brows, the flush of his cheeks- he could hear well enough and that? Would have to do. Provided he worked hard enough to prompt some of that sweet Orlesian sighing. Little by little he worked that knot of muscle into something loose and easy, licking around the rim, teasing the tip of his tongue inside when he felt there was enough give- pulling back to breathe cool air over skin made slick. Every dirty trick that came to mind save for biting.
He did not think that would go over well with Michel and thus, kept his kisses and the slow thrust of his tongue tender.
Michel wasn't entirely certain how much he was going to enjoy this personally, or if the act would bring Zevran any pleasure, but his companion was resolute and Michel was nothing if not accommodating. It was new, it was with Zevran, and no experience his companion visited upon him so far had been anything short of extraordinary. A touch could melt the Chevalier, a kiss could set every nerve on fire, and when he turned the full force of his Antivan leather on the warrior, Michel succumbed to his bedmate's whims. Apart from his arousal sandwiched between his stomach ant the bed, he was completely pliant and willing under leather clad hands.
This time his hands weren't bound so he was able to fold his arms under his head and grip the sheets, anchoring himself and mentally preparing himself for this new experience. It wasn't as though having Zevran between his legs was different, but the act was, it inspired those same feelings of vulnerability that Michel pushed down and yet he could move and get out if he wanted. He simply didn't want to.
He could already feel the rippling pleasure running down his spine at the seductive descent of lips and tongue, his body jerking once from surprise before settling against the bed and acquainting himself with this new sensation. Initially it was strange, a tongue was different from a finger or the swollen head of a cock rubbing against that tight ring of muscle. Growing used to it, however too very little time...warm, wet, soft and stimulating so many sensitive nerve endings. The heat Michel had been holding onto crept its way along his shoulders up to his ears, no doubt his face was getting warm as well, but it was pressed into the fold of his arms. His breathing became a shaky, wavering thing as Zevran's tongue continued in its attention.
The brief dip inside cause the breath to catch in the back of Michel's throat, followed by a soft contented noise, a lazy moan. When cool air struck him the muscled ring contracted and the Chevalier could feel the involuntary hitch of his hips as he pushed up...it was strange, but it felt just as good as he hands smoothing over his body had--slippery and familiar. He wouldn't have minded if Zevran got his teeth involved, if it was an act that got his bedmate off.
Deriving pleasure from biting would take training on Michel's part given his pain tolerance.
Something Zevran may have to explain in the future- that there was as much pleasure for him in pleasing someone he lay with, and far more pleasure for him when finding those tiny, secret spaces in Michel that even he did not know he had and bringing them to the light. Turning them about and toying with them before they were set on the shelf to be pulled down at a later date. For he knew from now until someone came by and did it better (ha, at that), Michel would connect this pleasure, these moments and feelings? With him. And Zevran was perversely selfish enough to wish to brand every brilliant, new secret with his name. To wish Michel to carry him in his very bones.
Perhaps that was why he adjusted his grip on Michel's thighs, grinding him slowly into the silken sheets as much as he worked his tongue in slow and deep. Everything that earned a moan, everything that wrung out a soft sound he did again, harder, sharper, sweeter. He would have Michel biting his fist or calling his name before the moment had passed. His hands shifted from hips, trusting that Michel would continue the lazy grind, and moved his hands to the swell of Michel's ass so he might hold him open and vulnerable in the dim light with his thumbs. To lave the flat of his tongue over the sensitive ring, to give himself the room to truly fuck Michel with his tongue.
Any questions he might have had as to whether or not he enjoyed it? Were answered by the sounds spilling from the Chevalier's throat.
Michel really couldn't complain, not about Zevran's attentiveness, not about his thorough exploration of the Chevalier's body. Mapping out every pleasure center, exploiting the places that Michel never would have known , never would have imagined made him weak. His limbs felt like they were made of molten liquid and he could feel himself yielding, bending to Zevran's desires, hips rubbing smoothly against silken sheets. Part of Michel knew before this was all over, these sheets would be a perfect mess, but felt good, the friction of those sheets between his thighs, the pressure of the mattress against his cock. Once Zevran got him started he couldn't stop, his entire body rolled into every thrust, from his shoulders down to his hips as he fucked the mattress as eagerly as his body desired to be fucked by Zevran's tongue.
It was a peculiar desire, a desire he shouldn't entertain so completely, he felt open and even more exposed than when Zevran had him on his back. Still, he was unable to stifle a groan each time Zevran dipped into him, exploiting him, taking him with that soft, sultry organ. It didn't have that same fullness as the assassin's cock had, but there was a sensual life to being rimmed by the elf that he couldn't deny. Perhaps he should have been embarrassed by an act that was clearly intimate and left him vulnerable with his back and ass exposed. He certainly felt like he should be, but the feelings were more gripping, knotted, and tense--like something he had no relief for and so he did indeed take it out on his fist. When he felt particularly good he bit down on his knuckles and arched his body, moans soft and endless. In a more relaxed state he continued to roll lazily against the mattress, sucking on the pads of his fingers to help sate his own oral needs.
When Michel's voice became muffled- obscured by something other than his fist or the press of his crossed arms, Zevran had to prop himself on his elbows to look up and see what it was the man bit to quiet himself. Of everything in mind- the pillows, his bicep once more, the back of his hand- Zevran had not expected Michel to be sucking on his own fingers. A sharp crack of heat lanced through him, stealing the breath from his lungs, scattering his many sordid plans on what he ought to do next. Though he had little more than the mattress to grind against himself, bound tight in his leathers, Zevran's voice curled in a throaty moan.
"The things you do to me, Soleil." Horrible, wicked, delightful things. Zevran tugged on Michel's hips to urge him to roll over, already propping himself on his knees to pull at the lacing of his trousers. Disrobing was swift- he was beyond all teasing, all torment as he slipped up to straddle Michel's hips once more. He'd offered to ride him, nights ago. Now he meant to make good. Zevran rose up enough to coat his fingers with oil, eyes dark, body flushed with desire, and made quite certain he had Michel's eyes on him before he reached back to breach his own body with a finger. His eyes slipped half closed as he rolled back against it- inked cock hard and beading with precum at the tip. "I want to feel you."
Inspired he snaked a hand up to tug those same fingers Michel had been sucking on and bring the hand back, the oil from his own hand easing the way as he worked one of those long, fair, calloused fingers inside of him. "Here, please-"
The curl of his tongue around his own fingers had been and idle, mindless exercise in tempering his desires, he was entirely unaware that the act inflamed Zevran's lust and would have been more conscious about it if he had known. Perhaps it was better that he did not, perhaps these things he did unconsciously were better left to be naturally observed. Feeling good and making an outlet for himself was entirely part of his process and sometimes being unaware of such things made it all the more wondrous when Zevran moaned, or looked at him that way. When his companion surged with need for him and he couldn't put a finger on why it was, Michel felt the humming of his own lust vibrate through his body, blood singing in his veins.
"Ah...?" It didn't take much convincing to roll the Chevalier over onto his back, though it did distract him from his fingers, the only evidence now that he'd been sucking on them was the moist remnant of the activity on his lips. He gazed at Zevran, eyes slowly coming into focus as he watched him undressing hurriedly and then that beautiful body was straddling him. His cock gave an interested jump in response to the scene that was playing out before him, the way his bedmate was flushed and laden with desire and then he began fingering himself. A gasp found its way past Michel's lips before he could help himself and he extended one hand to briefly, delicately run his fingers along the length of Zevran's cock. His fingers followed the lines of his tattoos from base to tip where he swiped at the precum welling up there.
There was a powerful urge to pull Zevran down against him and kiss him breathless, an urge that battled with a need to watch him just like this. The longer he battled with this urge, the easier it was to be taken off guard when Zevran caught the fingers he'd been sucking on not long ago, still moist. It was surreal to watch Zevran guide his hand, watch his finger sink into that soft, oiled up warmth...tight, inviting...and he didn't resist. The fingers that had been lightly stroking Zevran's cock moments before drifted upwards to the assassin's face where he traced the elf's soft lips, smearing the dewy fluid there, "yes...yes..."
Anything. He followed Zevran's prompting, finger searching, twisting, pressing deep and seeking out the same bundle of nerves that brought Michel so much pleasure, "...so beautiful..."
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.
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Then there was the visual, watching his companion move over his body, dip down and press his lips against his chest, wrung soft, pleased noises from him. If he were a cat he would purr vigorously under the attention, as it stood one might be able to say the sound of purring was equivalent to the soft noises those fingers, those lips, drew from him. Slowly, a pleasant heat began to creep through his veins and burn along his skin, following in the wake of every touch and every time that mouth pressed against his own. The kisses were brief, but he found himself leaning up into them, meeting Zevran half way, lips parting automatically to taste, to tangle his tongue with his bedmate's. He enjoyed this soft, raw bit of intimacy almost as much as he enjoyed being touched. Kissing was an act that could easily inflame, could make one want to wrap themselves around another in a slow, intimate dance.
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Such as now when he let himself be caught by Michel's lips, hands working between them to massage the taught knots in his pectorals, slippery thumbs flicking back and forth over his nipples mercilessly. For every new, engaging thing he found to make Michel writhe, he abused. How could he not when it made him kiss so sweetly, arch so beautifully?
Zevran slid back with one last nibbling kiss, slotting himself between Michel's thighs to work on his abdomen and hips, hands delving low along his pelvis without dragging anywhere obscene. Yet.
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"How fortunate...for your partners..." Michel murmured against Zevran's lips between kisses. His breathing slowly transforming from something steady and controlled to uneven and shallow, gradually, as Zevran's touch turned to something more intimate, nipples peaking easily under the manipulation of thumbs. He tasked himself with kissing the elf feverishly and holding him steadily in place before his companion finally withdrew to take up a spot between his legs.
Michel recalled the last time Zevran found himself in that particular position and it brought vague recollections to his memory of the sounds he made and the way his body moved. It put a knot in the pit of his stomach as he forced himself not to remember, it wasn't an unpleasant, but dwelling on it right now? He knew if he allowed himself he wouldn't be able to maintain his self control, his body had changed under Zevran's attentions the last time and a part of him wondered at the careful pains the assassin went through to wind him up.
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What he was reading of Michel fascinated him, every hidden or repressed desire, every secretive glance. That he was forbidden socially went without saying But there was something deeper to Michel's amorous disquiet. Something he meant to coax out in time. For now he focused on working his way down one lean thigh- again with hands and oil and gloves first before he laved in wet, open mouthed kisses from the crease of Michel's groin to the back of his knee, working out tension and winding him back up with ever drag of his teeth and curl of his tongue. Down one leg to the sole of his foot- which he spared the kissing as some did not find that quite so arousing and the inherent servitude such an image rose was not at all the point in this time- and back up from ankle to knee to thigh. Hands and oil and mouth, though he remained there between Michel's thighs, sucking a warm bruise into the inside of each ever so gently.
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It didn't help that Zevran's kneading and caressing was becoming more sensual, he knew that it would given the insistence upon his nakedness. Michel knew little about massages, but he knew enough to know that one could have one while still wearing one's trousers and that it predominately involved the use of one's hands over one's mouth. Those soft, open-mouthed kisses that he worked along the Chevalier's legs, wet, warm, and just shy of where his body ached for him, drew proper groans from the warrior's lips. His legs were accommodating, shifting apart instinctively to give Zevran more room to work with.
He watched his companion as best as he could through the dark fringe of his lashes, eyes little more than slivers of winter blue as Zevran finally settled between his thighs, marking his flesh in a way that would stand out against that fair Orlesian skin. Just the sound of the assassin's lips and mouth working his skin worked him up nicely. This, combined with his skilled touch and the scent of oil textured leather drew heat to his loins and he could feel his cock responding without any direct provocation at all, half-hard already against his stomach. The heat also began to crawl its way over his skin and he found it difficult to suppress.
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For now he worked his way higher, hands skimming over his hips, lips tracing along the line of his cock in a long sweep of soft lips and broad strokes of his tongue. A swirling suck at the head before he kissed his way from navel to sternum. All this side worked over and worked over well; there was but one thing that yet needed doing. "Roll over, Soleil, so I might work on your back.
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His breath caught in his chest, eyes sliding open again, as the mouth that had moments before left a bruise on the inside of each thigh in turn greeted his neglected cock. Partially aroused from the indirect stimulation of fingers and a very gifted tongue until now, the direct stimulation had him tightening to full hardness against the stroke of his tongue and the heat of his mouth. A soft moan rumbled up from the depths of him as Zevran merely greeted that part of him before diverting his attentions elsewhere and then withdrawing from him altogether.
If one could be drunk on desire Michel certainly looked the part, barely registering what it was Zevran was asking him, staring for a moment or so before responding to the command. Backs were usually central to massages, he was aware of this, but this was the first time Zevran would have him on his stomach and it gave him a brief pause. Exposing his back so carelessly was certainly an act of trust on his part and after a moment he decided to turn over another low moan smothered by the sheets this time as his erection found itself caught between the mattress and his stomach.
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Zevran meant to make the most of every lingering moment. Fresh oil applied to his hands he slid up to straddle the distracting, perfect curve of Michel's ass, pausing to grind his hips down so he might feel the leather and, in turn, be ground against the silken sheets. Hard and straining against the laces he indulged himself a moment with that friction, shuddering from the tips of his ears to the base of his spine before he recalled the purpose of this position.
First his hands, then his mouth- working out every knot of tension, every coiled muscle that he had been unable to reach while Michel lay on his back. Broad shoulders and firm muscle, the almost delicate curves of his spine, the soft nape of his neck- Zevran bent to his task to nip and nuzzle, kissing with gentle adoration along Michel's shoulders, following the long path down his spine from nape to base even as his hands worked out the tension he could find. The lower he went the further he had to slide down the backs of Michel's thighs, before he nudged them apart to settle there once again, biting a bruise into the small of his back.
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Such thoughts were banished the moment Zevran began rolling his hips causing Michel's own to undulate, actively surging up to meet the delicious thrusting and moaning softly against the sheets every time his hips jerked forward. The pressure was building slowly, his sex swelling with ever pass of silk and the pressure that accompanied being crushed into the mattress. He thought he might find it uncomfortable at the very least....uncomfortable in an unpleasant way. Any discomfort he felt came from that building mantra screaming "more," forcing his body to twist restlessly until the grinding stopped with a sigh from the Chevalier.
Closing his eyes again he tried to keep his mind off the pulsing heat between his stomach and the sheets, instead focusing on the path of those hands and lips. It was so easy to melt under the attention of Zevran's fingers, his body bending to his companion's purpose, drawing the occasional sigh and delicate shudder from him as the assassin nipped and nuzzled his way lower and lower, toes curling as he felt his companion settle between his legs again, teeth and lips against his skin making his back arch under the attention. Would he be able to find any sensation that compared to this if he looked for it? How far would he have to go? Would a chevalier be welcome in Antiva...why think of such things?
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Mine.
Something he would not dare speak but something he could entertain for the brief hours they would spend with one another. Back, arms, legs seen to Zevran let his hands slide over the curve of Michel's ass, mouth dropping to the back of his thigh where the two met, and bit gently; working a new bruise into being there. Another and another on one leg, then the other, before he leaned back. "I am going to try something else that is new to you, I think- tell me if you find it permissible and pleasurable."
The almost chaste, gallant kiss he pressed to Michel's tailbone ought to be hint enough as to where this was going- and offer time enough for him to decide yes or no.
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He yielded to it, though he would yield to nothing else and might not even remember this as yielding as boneless as he was. His fingers bunched into those sheets, flexing, twisting, anchoring himself to the bed as Zevran continued his attentions lower, more bruises following in the wake of that generous mouth. It was fortunate that Michel did not get dressed in a room shared with others, he would have a difficult time explaining away so many bruises that were obviously not the product of being clumsy--too small and too intimate were their placements.
Another soft moan followed by a visible shudder like a chill ripped up his spine as the assassin fixed his attention on his ass. It was curious, though he wasn't exactly new to some of Zevran's attentions down in the...southern regions...he still had to wonder a little at what his companion wanted to do. So, pushing himself up onto his forearms, Michel looked over his shoulder, his eyes unfixed as he watched Zevran kiss his tailbone...gallant and lewd...he was still attempting to find a word for it. It took a moment to dawn on him that the elf wanted to, well he could speculate on it, but even he had to confess that he did not believe the elf was so daring.
"I..." he blinked a few times so that his eyes might adjust enabling him to look at Zevran properly, or as properly as he could manage, "...if you are certain, if it is what you want to do, bel homme..."
He was not opposed, but he wanted to be just as certain that this was what Zevran wanted to do an not for the sake of completion
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Had he any manner of forethought Zevran might nave noticed how deeply he dove and how much of Michel he kept when he resurfaced from this strange, possessive place. They were not playing that game quite so well, now. They were not playing it at all- but something in Michel called to him all the same. Responded to how his hands stroked and his lips pressed in calculated affection. He had made no rules, there were no bindings. Not so much as a watchword so this wasn't- would not- be that.
No, this was something else. But it was something he would give- did give, without batting an eye, dragging lips and tongue down from tailbone to the ring of his entrance, tongue laving in a flat stroke across much as he'd massaged him gently with oil before daring to tease a finger within. Like this he could not watch Michel's face- but he recalled the way his head tilted back, the way he bit his lips, the angle of his brows, the flush of his cheeks- he could hear well enough and that? Would have to do. Provided he worked hard enough to prompt some of that sweet Orlesian sighing. Little by little he worked that knot of muscle into something loose and easy, licking around the rim, teasing the tip of his tongue inside when he felt there was enough give- pulling back to breathe cool air over skin made slick. Every dirty trick that came to mind save for biting.
He did not think that would go over well with Michel and thus, kept his kisses and the slow thrust of his tongue tender.
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This time his hands weren't bound so he was able to fold his arms under his head and grip the sheets, anchoring himself and mentally preparing himself for this new experience. It wasn't as though having Zevran between his legs was different, but the act was, it inspired those same feelings of vulnerability that Michel pushed down and yet he could move and get out if he wanted. He simply didn't want to.
He could already feel the rippling pleasure running down his spine at the seductive descent of lips and tongue, his body jerking once from surprise before settling against the bed and acquainting himself with this new sensation. Initially it was strange, a tongue was different from a finger or the swollen head of a cock rubbing against that tight ring of muscle. Growing used to it, however too very little time...warm, wet, soft and stimulating so many sensitive nerve endings. The heat Michel had been holding onto crept its way along his shoulders up to his ears, no doubt his face was getting warm as well, but it was pressed into the fold of his arms. His breathing became a shaky, wavering thing as Zevran's tongue continued in its attention.
The brief dip inside cause the breath to catch in the back of Michel's throat, followed by a soft contented noise, a lazy moan. When cool air struck him the muscled ring contracted and the Chevalier could feel the involuntary hitch of his hips as he pushed up...it was strange, but it felt just as good as he hands smoothing over his body had--slippery and familiar. He wouldn't have minded if Zevran got his teeth involved, if it was an act that got his bedmate off.
Deriving pleasure from biting would take training on Michel's part given his pain tolerance.
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Perhaps that was why he adjusted his grip on Michel's thighs, grinding him slowly into the silken sheets as much as he worked his tongue in slow and deep. Everything that earned a moan, everything that wrung out a soft sound he did again, harder, sharper, sweeter. He would have Michel biting his fist or calling his name before the moment had passed. His hands shifted from hips, trusting that Michel would continue the lazy grind, and moved his hands to the swell of Michel's ass so he might hold him open and vulnerable in the dim light with his thumbs. To lave the flat of his tongue over the sensitive ring, to give himself the room to truly fuck Michel with his tongue.
Any questions he might have had as to whether or not he enjoyed it? Were answered by the sounds spilling from the Chevalier's throat.
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It was a peculiar desire, a desire he shouldn't entertain so completely, he felt open and even more exposed than when Zevran had him on his back. Still, he was unable to stifle a groan each time Zevran dipped into him, exploiting him, taking him with that soft, sultry organ. It didn't have that same fullness as the assassin's cock had, but there was a sensual life to being rimmed by the elf that he couldn't deny. Perhaps he should have been embarrassed by an act that was clearly intimate and left him vulnerable with his back and ass exposed. He certainly felt like he should be, but the feelings were more gripping, knotted, and tense--like something he had no relief for and so he did indeed take it out on his fist. When he felt particularly good he bit down on his knuckles and arched his body, moans soft and endless. In a more relaxed state he continued to roll lazily against the mattress, sucking on the pads of his fingers to help sate his own oral needs.
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"The things you do to me, Soleil." Horrible, wicked, delightful things. Zevran tugged on Michel's hips to urge him to roll over, already propping himself on his knees to pull at the lacing of his trousers. Disrobing was swift- he was beyond all teasing, all torment as he slipped up to straddle Michel's hips once more. He'd offered to ride him, nights ago. Now he meant to make good. Zevran rose up enough to coat his fingers with oil, eyes dark, body flushed with desire, and made quite certain he had Michel's eyes on him before he reached back to breach his own body with a finger. His eyes slipped half closed as he rolled back against it- inked cock hard and beading with precum at the tip. "I want to feel you."
Inspired he snaked a hand up to tug those same fingers Michel had been sucking on and bring the hand back, the oil from his own hand easing the way as he worked one of those long, fair, calloused fingers inside of him. "Here, please-"
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"Ah...?" It didn't take much convincing to roll the Chevalier over onto his back, though it did distract him from his fingers, the only evidence now that he'd been sucking on them was the moist remnant of the activity on his lips. He gazed at Zevran, eyes slowly coming into focus as he watched him undressing hurriedly and then that beautiful body was straddling him. His cock gave an interested jump in response to the scene that was playing out before him, the way his bedmate was flushed and laden with desire and then he began fingering himself. A gasp found its way past Michel's lips before he could help himself and he extended one hand to briefly, delicately run his fingers along the length of Zevran's cock. His fingers followed the lines of his tattoos from base to tip where he swiped at the precum welling up there.
There was a powerful urge to pull Zevran down against him and kiss him breathless, an urge that battled with a need to watch him just like this. The longer he battled with this urge, the easier it was to be taken off guard when Zevran caught the fingers he'd been sucking on not long ago, still moist. It was surreal to watch Zevran guide his hand, watch his finger sink into that soft, oiled up warmth...tight, inviting...and he didn't resist. The fingers that had been lightly stroking Zevran's cock moments before drifted upwards to the assassin's face where he traced the elf's soft lips, smearing the dewy fluid there, "yes...yes..."
Anything. He followed Zevran's prompting, finger searching, twisting, pressing deep and seeking out the same bundle of nerves that brought Michel so much pleasure, "...so beautiful..."
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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.