"Well, it's beautiful," Gavin said, with the sort of blunt-faced honesty
that he often made such proclamations in. It was beautiful and so was
Zevran - though he did indeed avoid the bruises and the shoulder than the
elf had pointed out earlier, instead slowly shifting down Zevran's body as
he followed that tattoo lower and lower until his breath was hot on
Zevran's abdomen and his lips had found the very base of the elf's cock -
which had the unfortunate side effect of meaning that he'd pulled his body
away from those sweet fingers of his, but - well. He was presently a little
distracted. With a groan he ran his tongue down one of the thorns on
Zevran's cock.
It was meant to be- but Zevran did not say as much. No, he instead shifted his legs to make more room for Gavin and angled his hips so his journey southward would be all the more comfortable. At a distance Zevran seems scarless- but as close as Gavin is? He could likely feel the small lines and bumps, the smooth patches and raised divots that came from a lifetime of assassination. Each of them, to a one, was covered with a swirl of ink. "You have a wonderful mouth on you, bello."
Zevran groaned, head tipped forward to watch him work, cock twitching under his tongue.
"You can tell me that after you witness more of it," Gavin quipped back
easily, before letting himself really enjoy it, tracing every line, every
thorn, and every vein - before simply sliding warm lips down the entirety
of Zevran's cock, his cheeks hollowing as he moved. The scars were more
surprising in their original invisibility than they were in their actual
form - he ran his hands up Zevran's thighs and let his thumb trace the
raised skin of a particularly long one. Zevran had obviously gone to a lot
of trouble, but Gavin almost wished to be able to see them individually and
clearly, to be able to press his lips to each and taste the moments that
had made them.
(If only, perhaps, to ease them away. Because anyone with that many scars
had the memories to go with them, though he would never say that out loud.)
His own scars were very apparent, if far fewer and different in origin. He
had a long jagged one on his right shoulder blade from the only time he had
fainted in a tree. His keeper could have healed it, probably, but he kept
it. That day needed a memorial, anyway.
He chased the thoughts away with a twirl of his tongue, with a low groan as
his head began to bob in Zevran's lap.
Let it never be said Gavin wasn't thorough. It was a level of appreciation he did not often receive. More often than not it is he that is doing the work, the seducing, the appreciation- to have Gavin so intently focused, so tender was- well. It was strange but not at all unwelcome. Not at all. If anything it left him combing his fingers through Gavin's hair, teasing the tips of his ears to give back at least part of what he was given. Curled like this there wasn't much he could reach easily without straining his cut ribs, but those marks?
Those scars?
He traced with the pads of his fingers, the edges of his nails. Feeling out the hurts and shivering through each pass of Gavin's lips. Truly, he had a mouth on him. A wondrous mouth. Dripping words of low, appreciative Antivan wound down between low gasps and faint moans.
Gavin was - as he only ever was in this particular sort of situation -
incredibly focused. It was easy to be, with Zevran in his mouth, under his
hands. Every brush of of Zevran's finger tips over his skin, every scrape
of nail, went straight to his groin, and he groaned softly as he worked. He
was careful not to move too fast. After all, he was getting very addictive
to the incomprehensible but extremely erotic Antivan words slipping from
Zevran's lips - every time he heard one he tried to remember the exact
movement that had caused it. Eventually, however, he had to pull his head
up, his eyes dark with need, his lips reddened and slightly swollen from
the effort.
"Creators, you taste good," He said with a slight groan as he shifted,
pressing closer and finding Zevran's throat with his lips. Perhaps he
should have said something witty, but he was past wit - taking Zevran's
cock in his hand, still slick from his spit, and stroking it in a meagre
replacement for his mouth.
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no subject
"Well, it's beautiful," Gavin said, with the sort of blunt-faced honesty that he often made such proclamations in. It was beautiful and so was Zevran - though he did indeed avoid the bruises and the shoulder than the elf had pointed out earlier, instead slowly shifting down Zevran's body as he followed that tattoo lower and lower until his breath was hot on Zevran's abdomen and his lips had found the very base of the elf's cock - which had the unfortunate side effect of meaning that he'd pulled his body away from those sweet fingers of his, but - well. He was presently a little distracted. With a groan he ran his tongue down one of the thorns on Zevran's cock.
no subject
Zevran groaned, head tipped forward to watch him work, cock twitching under his tongue.
no subject
"You can tell me that after you witness more of it," Gavin quipped back easily, before letting himself really enjoy it, tracing every line, every thorn, and every vein - before simply sliding warm lips down the entirety of Zevran's cock, his cheeks hollowing as he moved. The scars were more surprising in their original invisibility than they were in their actual form - he ran his hands up Zevran's thighs and let his thumb trace the raised skin of a particularly long one. Zevran had obviously gone to a lot of trouble, but Gavin almost wished to be able to see them individually and clearly, to be able to press his lips to each and taste the moments that had made them.
(If only, perhaps, to ease them away. Because anyone with that many scars had the memories to go with them, though he would never say that out loud.)
His own scars were very apparent, if far fewer and different in origin. He had a long jagged one on his right shoulder blade from the only time he had fainted in a tree. His keeper could have healed it, probably, but he kept it. That day needed a memorial, anyway.
He chased the thoughts away with a twirl of his tongue, with a low groan as his head began to bob in Zevran's lap.
no subject
Those scars?
He traced with the pads of his fingers, the edges of his nails. Feeling out the hurts and shivering through each pass of Gavin's lips. Truly, he had a mouth on him. A wondrous mouth. Dripping words of low, appreciative Antivan wound down between low gasps and faint moans.
no subject
Gavin was - as he only ever was in this particular sort of situation - incredibly focused. It was easy to be, with Zevran in his mouth, under his hands. Every brush of of Zevran's finger tips over his skin, every scrape of nail, went straight to his groin, and he groaned softly as he worked. He was careful not to move too fast. After all, he was getting very addictive to the incomprehensible but extremely erotic Antivan words slipping from Zevran's lips - every time he heard one he tried to remember the exact movement that had caused it. Eventually, however, he had to pull his head up, his eyes dark with need, his lips reddened and slightly swollen from the effort.
"Creators, you taste good," He said with a slight groan as he shifted, pressing closer and finding Zevran's throat with his lips. Perhaps he should have said something witty, but he was past wit - taking Zevran's cock in his hand, still slick from his spit, and stroking it in a meagre replacement for his mouth.