[His hand grips the mirror— tilting it to show the full splay of Fenris' spread thighs across soft sheets, hard prick surrendered to the air and yet gleaming with mouth-watering slick; cuffed wrist drawn behind that vulgarity like a serpent, cuff chain taut and heavy— his white-knuckled hold on its frame barely visible at the distance they're maintaining, but if Fenris' eager eyes are sharp, he might notice the little lordling's grip betrays the passiveness behind silver eyes and a steadied expression. The same poker face he uses when he isn't hammered to the hells and back during rounds of Wicked Grace: swearing that his feathers aren't ruffled— that he isn't affected in the slightest by the goading they enact in all their tussling back and forth.
He's good at that. Deception, misdirection.
....but his cock isn't.
Stiff with a need that started hours ago. Drooling with the memory of every last one of those texts, compounded with the sight before him now— the obscenity crawling up a prickling spine to slink down deep into his ears. All caught quick between thumb and forefinger (squeezed) to tamp it down as his slacks fall away and he shifts again back on his heels, turning to the side, offering a fuller glance of just how long he is. Just how broad he is, shameless in his bluntness from the soft curvature of limber hips, to the supple plushness just below, to the wicked, swollen prick beneath his fingers, jolting like a worked up animal when his thumbprint catches just the right spot.
And he exhales.
Long and slow, like the loose smoke expelled from a cigarette.]
About you liking the idea of me flustered in my seat, panting like a pup and palming at myself, unable to keep from imagining you there....? [His smirk is smooth yet wrenchingly sincere; he knows that's not really what Fenris had been asking, but in prowling closer the bottom line might be obvious: it's fun to tease each other.]
I kept it together. [He says once he's close enough to lay his phone across the bedside table— the softest little transactional thunk, emulating the punch of a taken ticket.] Just barely.
And I don't forgive you, to answer your earlier question.
[For taking his phone. For scolding him. For working him up and bringing him here and having him looming naked over his own bed at noon—
He grins wider when he dips forward, sinking his teeth into the low slope of Fenris' throat— tasting the sweet tang of salt and softer cologne, and the floral spread of his own scent up close in ways he rarely gets to find; feels the shudder of electric thrill caught hot between his teeth before his tongue gives chase; the snare of magic-branded thighs just against his cock as he moves to straddle his bodyguard head-on, slipping over him in a matter of slow seconds.
A burst of air exhaled when he withdraws.]
Yet.
[Not yet, he grins, spitshine on his lips.]
....but I will if you do a good enough job distracting me again.
no subject
He's good at that. Deception, misdirection.
....but his cock isn't.
Stiff with a need that started hours ago. Drooling with the memory of every last one of those texts, compounded with the sight before him now— the obscenity crawling up a prickling spine to slink down deep into his ears. All caught quick between thumb and forefinger (squeezed) to tamp it down as his slacks fall away and he shifts again back on his heels, turning to the side, offering a fuller glance of just how long he is. Just how broad he is, shameless in his bluntness from the soft curvature of limber hips, to the supple plushness just below, to the wicked, swollen prick beneath his fingers, jolting like a worked up animal when his thumbprint catches just the right spot.
And he exhales.
Long and slow, like the loose smoke expelled from a cigarette.]
About you liking the idea of me flustered in my seat, panting like a pup and palming at myself, unable to keep from imagining you there....? [His smirk is smooth yet wrenchingly sincere; he knows that's not really what Fenris had been asking, but in prowling closer the bottom line might be obvious: it's fun to tease each other.]
I kept it together. [He says once he's close enough to lay his phone across the bedside table— the softest little transactional thunk, emulating the punch of a taken ticket.] Just barely.
And I don't forgive you, to answer your earlier question.
[For taking his phone. For scolding him. For working him up and bringing him here and having him looming naked over his own bed at noon—
He grins wider when he dips forward, sinking his teeth into the low slope of Fenris' throat— tasting the sweet tang of salt and softer cologne, and the floral spread of his own scent up close in ways he rarely gets to find; feels the shudder of electric thrill caught hot between his teeth before his tongue gives chase; the snare of magic-branded thighs just against his cock as he moves to straddle his bodyguard head-on, slipping over him in a matter of slow seconds.
A burst of air exhaled when he withdraws.]
Yet.
[Not yet, he grins, spitshine on his lips.]
....but I will if you do a good enough job distracting me again.