"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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no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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-"
no subject
"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..."
no subject
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.