[ It's fucking hypnotizing. Alan keeps expecting him to have had enough, and stays ready to pull back if needed. It's not needed. He barely dare breathe.
Alan can count the number of men who've sucked him off, rather than vice versa, on one hand. (Granted, he barely needs two hands to count the number of men he's slept with at all.) One is Jack, who belongs to his own category. The other was in a poorly lit room, and the visuals didn't enter into it much. Now, watching Baptiste's throat work, he thinks dizzily I've been leaving a lot out, haven't I?
God, what a scene this would make in a story. He could go back to his authorial roots. A Roman slave -- a blond Northman, obviously, claimed after a losing battle -- fed wine by his praetorian master, until the master's impatience takes over and he pulls the Northman forward to service his prick--
Alan's own prick throbs, like it wants to remind him of the possibilities. His knees fall outwards a bit under Baptiste's touch. That shiver in Baptiste, the flick of tongue, heated blue eyes.
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Alan can count the number of men who've sucked him off, rather than vice versa, on one hand. (Granted, he barely needs two hands to count the number of men he's slept with at all.) One is Jack, who belongs to his own category. The other was in a poorly lit room, and the visuals didn't enter into it much. Now, watching Baptiste's throat work, he thinks dizzily I've been leaving a lot out, haven't I?
God, what a scene this would make in a story. He could go back to his authorial roots. A Roman slave -- a blond Northman, obviously, claimed after a losing battle -- fed wine by his praetorian master, until the master's impatience takes over and he pulls the Northman forward to service his prick--
Alan's own prick throbs, like it wants to remind him of the possibilities. His knees fall outwards a bit under Baptiste's touch. That shiver in Baptiste, the flick of tongue, heated blue eyes.
Alan swallows. He's parched. ]
Fuck.
[ He sounds hoarse. ]
Did that help?