There was something oddly satisfying about rendering Zevran to a single language, to making it difficult for him to utter in any language except for that exquisite Antivian that made the Chevalier want to draw the words right out of the assassin's lungs. It didn't really matter what the other said to him, he could lie still and listen to the elf murmur those sweet, rolling words into his ear until temptation overwhelmed him. He would keep such thoughts to himself, for now it was just another way for Zevran to weaken his knees. There was something to be said for being on this side of things and watching his companion writhe in pleasure, at least as much as he could in this position. The labored breathing, the sharp intake of his breath, how he moved against him for more and how Michel wished to give it.
Michel had no formal training so much of his efforts were rooted in what he could remember and his own genuine enthusiasm for Zevran's body, for his responses, for a single intense glance his way. Lack of training meant he knew no tricks, that his attentions weren't practiced, but raw and genuine, he was still exploring all of the things that caused Zevran to bend and twine, ache from the slow-burn of his attentions and he had a mind to learn them all in time--and that in of itself should have struck Michel, who was a man of one night stands and few encounters, as a peculiar thing to desire.
Though he might not understand the content of what Zevran was saying to him, the tone was clear enough for Michel to understand, and there was no intent to stop until Zevran either came, or needed more from him. With that in mind he took as much of Zevran into his mouth as he could manage, maintaining the tight seal of his mouth as he continued with his pulsing suction, head slowly bobbing up and down in tandem with the constrained movements of Zevran's hips. He wouldn't say that this wasn't strange, but the way the elf swelled and throbbed against his tongue triggered Michel's more primal instincts and he growled softly in the back of his throat.
After a time the Chevalier closed his eyes, becoming completely involved in what he was doing, the heat of his mouth withdrawing so that he could explore more, trace the network of veins, follow the swirling designs of his tattoos, circling the base of his cock before sweeping his tongue upward in an elegant gesture to tease and gently probe at the flushed tip. Elves certainly had their own unique flavor, though Michel could scarcely say he had anything to compare it by. He would have to taste other men first and at the moment the idea had little appeal to him, he was certain there was no compairison to this particular flavor.
It trailed off into tightly wound incoherent moaning soon enough, Michel's name, his endearment, twining around stuttered gasps and bone deep groans in the usual lilting fall of his voice. Zevran made no attempt to quiet himself, he did not care if anyone overheard. Did not care if anyone happened upon them- he had this. All he needed in this moment was Michel's hands and that mouth curling tight around him, the press of his lips, the flat trailing of his tongue teasing inked lines lighting him up from the inside like a brand. There was no aching drag of the beam behind him, no cramps in his legs from holding fast to Michel's ribs- only the chevalier's mouth.
"Please-" Please more, please now, please stop so that he could catch his breath- Zevran could not say why the word was wrung from him like blood from a stone- but it was none the less. As much as the whole of his mouth had driven sense from him it was the earnest appreciation, the eagerness despite a lack of solid skill that had him pulsing against Michel's tongue, curving around his head.
There was something satisfying in Zevran's word-salad, the incoherent mixture that meant nothing in particular and yet Michel found himself hearing certain words over and over again. His name, endearment, words he recognized as encouragement kept resonating like a mantra and for this he had no interest in stopping what he was doing. He would flip the script, occasionally, try something different just to experiment with he ort of sensations that earned him sharp cries or low rumbling moans from flicking his tongue playfully at the glands to nibbling his way along that visible ridge that started just underneath the head of his cock, following the base all the way to his balls where the nipping turned into gently mouthing at the engorged flesh. His curiosity intermingled with a genuine need for Zevran's reaction and the way that he tasted, it made his eagerness all the more genuine.
"Mmm..." Michel paused with a soft sound in the back of his throat, please was certainly a sign of something that Zevran needed, whether he knew what that was or not. Michel withdrew a bit, but not entirely, his lips brushing against his companions' groin, nuzzling into that warm junction. Of course he wanted to keep going until Zevran came, so that he could watch, but the needs of his companion were important. In the past he'd only taken partners he would never see or sleep with again, this change in his routine made Zevran's needs and wants of him more central than anonymous figures. After a moment he tipped his head against Zevan's thigh, breathing might give him a chance to voice his needs, "what can I do for you bel homme?"
"Please." He did not know what to ask for- mercy, release, a chance to reciprocate? A chance to touch and tease and be the one guiding this? To lay out boundaries unspoken and remove himself, to sit behind his eyes and enjoy, yes, but not be so intricately entwines in Michel's hands- that. Perhaps that was what he wanted and what he could not find the words to express. But this...every brush of lips brought him into his skin. Every nip and brush of breath or swipe of tongue like fire coiling in his gut, leaving him sheened with sweat and shuddering in a fine ruin. It was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be the one in control.
Yet from the moment Michel pressed that desperate, aching, hungry kiss to his lips, Zevran had been off balance. He could not quite regain his footing.
He did not wish to. For a moment, for an hour. Trembling hands settled along Michel's jaw, Zevran's throat working as he swallowed past his shuddering sighs. He could instruct. Offer thorough, filthy words as to what would help him off but he could not find them. "I need more. Please."
More than this, more than being hung between a rock and a hard place, mind slowly teased out of him by such tempting lips.
That it wasn't supposed to be like this was what made the view of Zevran on his shoulders, limited in his responses, so enticing. He had no interest in taming his companion's wild urges, but to see a man with such experiences as he no doubt had, in need of Michel? It was sweeter than he could have imagined it, he did not mind giving himself over to Zevran's control, if he was being honest, but to relieve him of the need for it? For just a while? It might even be good for the assassin from time to time, it might be good for Michel who was so limited in expressing himself, to be able to express himself with Zevran even if his expressions were physical. He could pour himself into it, if Zevran wasn't going to turn him away then he would have to.
Perhaps he had a responsibility to, after that kiss, or perhaps he wanted more than he knew he could have.
Whatever he was doing for whatever reason he was thinking, he relented at that final please, but not before one more broad swipe against the flushed apex of the assassin's cock. A soft noise in the back of his throat at the taste of him, and then arms slowly, expertly lowered his smaller body to the floor of the loft. They were up to their calves in soft, grassy hay, but Michel hadn't paid mind to it, it didn't matter at the moment. What mattered now was the free range of movement between the two of them now and how he used that to descend to his knees slowly, fingers catching at the waist of Zevran's leathers, tugging them down as they went.
"I'll give you more..." he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Zevran's pelvis, free hands now smoothing along the inside of his thighs.
Zevran's back bowed with a bone deep whine at that last swipe, that throaty noise of Michel's pleasure branded in his memory for nights to come. Elves were sweet, Zevran took steps to ensure he remained as such with many fruits and an abundance of honey in his diet, but to have such a thing noticed and appreciated? Tore through him.
A quick drop would suffice but no, Michel took his time, lowered him with skill and care, leaving Zevran slumped back against the wooden beam, hair mussed, eyes wide, shuddering in anticipation. The soft brush of hay was but one more layer of sensation underlying the heat in Michel's eyes. Whatever he had planned- Zevran hovered on the edge of saying he would do whatever Michel asked.
Bit back the urge for in this moment? He would mean it. How could he mean such a thing?
Down Michel knelt and Zevran had to brace his shoulders against the wood, lock his knees where they wished to buckle at the heat of his mouth, burning him, branding him deeper than any of the scars or needles that marked his skin. "Michel-"
Perhaps the first time he's used the Chevalier's name. Ever it had been bello, been sun, been teasing words.
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no subject
Date: 2016-02-27 08:27 am (UTC)Michel had no formal training so much of his efforts were rooted in what he could remember and his own genuine enthusiasm for Zevran's body, for his responses, for a single intense glance his way. Lack of training meant he knew no tricks, that his attentions weren't practiced, but raw and genuine, he was still exploring all of the things that caused Zevran to bend and twine, ache from the slow-burn of his attentions and he had a mind to learn them all in time--and that in of itself should have struck Michel, who was a man of one night stands and few encounters, as a peculiar thing to desire.
Though he might not understand the content of what Zevran was saying to him, the tone was clear enough for Michel to understand, and there was no intent to stop until Zevran either came, or needed more from him. With that in mind he took as much of Zevran into his mouth as he could manage, maintaining the tight seal of his mouth as he continued with his pulsing suction, head slowly bobbing up and down in tandem with the constrained movements of Zevran's hips. He wouldn't say that this wasn't strange, but the way the elf swelled and throbbed against his tongue triggered Michel's more primal instincts and he growled softly in the back of his throat.
After a time the Chevalier closed his eyes, becoming completely involved in what he was doing, the heat of his mouth withdrawing so that he could explore more, trace the network of veins, follow the swirling designs of his tattoos, circling the base of his cock before sweeping his tongue upward in an elegant gesture to tease and gently probe at the flushed tip. Elves certainly had their own unique flavor, though Michel could scarcely say he had anything to compare it by. He would have to taste other men first and at the moment the idea had little appeal to him, he was certain there was no compairison to this particular flavor.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-01 02:49 am (UTC)"Please-" Please more, please now, please stop so that he could catch his breath- Zevran could not say why the word was wrung from him like blood from a stone- but it was none the less. As much as the whole of his mouth had driven sense from him it was the earnest appreciation, the eagerness despite a lack of solid skill that had him pulsing against Michel's tongue, curving around his head.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 05:43 pm (UTC)"Mmm..." Michel paused with a soft sound in the back of his throat, please was certainly a sign of something that Zevran needed, whether he knew what that was or not. Michel withdrew a bit, but not entirely, his lips brushing against his companions' groin, nuzzling into that warm junction. Of course he wanted to keep going until Zevran came, so that he could watch, but the needs of his companion were important. In the past he'd only taken partners he would never see or sleep with again, this change in his routine made Zevran's needs and wants of him more central than anonymous figures. After a moment he tipped his head against Zevan's thigh, breathing might give him a chance to voice his needs, "what can I do for you bel homme?"
no subject
Date: 2016-03-10 10:44 pm (UTC)Yet from the moment Michel pressed that desperate, aching, hungry kiss to his lips, Zevran had been off balance. He could not quite regain his footing.
He did not wish to. For a moment, for an hour. Trembling hands settled along Michel's jaw, Zevran's throat working as he swallowed past his shuddering sighs. He could instruct. Offer thorough, filthy words as to what would help him off but he could not find them. "I need more. Please."
More than this, more than being hung between a rock and a hard place, mind slowly teased out of him by such tempting lips.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-17 05:29 pm (UTC)Perhaps he had a responsibility to, after that kiss, or perhaps he wanted more than he knew he could have.
Whatever he was doing for whatever reason he was thinking, he relented at that final please, but not before one more broad swipe against the flushed apex of the assassin's cock. A soft noise in the back of his throat at the taste of him, and then arms slowly, expertly lowered his smaller body to the floor of the loft. They were up to their calves in soft, grassy hay, but Michel hadn't paid mind to it, it didn't matter at the moment. What mattered now was the free range of movement between the two of them now and how he used that to descend to his knees slowly, fingers catching at the waist of Zevran's leathers, tugging them down as they went.
"I'll give you more..." he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Zevran's pelvis, free hands now smoothing along the inside of his thighs.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-22 01:51 am (UTC)A quick drop would suffice but no, Michel took his time, lowered him with skill and care, leaving Zevran slumped back against the wooden beam, hair mussed, eyes wide, shuddering in anticipation. The soft brush of hay was but one more layer of sensation underlying the heat in Michel's eyes. Whatever he had planned- Zevran hovered on the edge of saying he would do whatever Michel asked.
Bit back the urge for in this moment? He would mean it. How could he mean such a thing?
Down Michel knelt and Zevran had to brace his shoulders against the wood, lock his knees where they wished to buckle at the heat of his mouth, burning him, branding him deeper than any of the scars or needles that marked his skin. "Michel-"
Perhaps the first time he's used the Chevalier's name. Ever it had been bello, been sun, been teasing words.