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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"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..."
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.