[ Feeling air on his cock sends a flutter through Alan's belly, alarm and arousal tripping over each other. This tent is barely private; the festivities outside are audible, and nothing is stopping other guests from walking in through the half-open curtain. And yes, it's perfectly clear that no one here is going to arrest them for sodomy, or worse, and yes, he wants it, and yes, his instincts are shouting there's not even a door!
The tips of his fingers dig into Baptiste's cheek for a moment. When Baptiste starts to lean down, though, Alan lets go of him and, in a concession to his instincts, presses his hand over his own mouth instead to muffle his moan.
For some reason, when Baptiste's mouth reaches his cock, the metaphor that floats through Alan's mind is ice cream. A treat. A relief. Sharp contrast to the heat, rich, creamy. Satiation.
He's not quite fully hard when Baptiste first touches him, but that doesn't last long. If Baptiste does look up, he'll find his lord's eyes fixed on him, dark and hungry over his hand, a curl falling over his forehead. ]
cw: mention of Edwardian-period homophobia
The tips of his fingers dig into Baptiste's cheek for a moment. When Baptiste starts to lean down, though, Alan lets go of him and, in a concession to his instincts, presses his hand over his own mouth instead to muffle his moan.
For some reason, when Baptiste's mouth reaches his cock, the metaphor that floats through Alan's mind is ice cream. A treat. A relief. Sharp contrast to the heat, rich, creamy. Satiation.
He's not quite fully hard when Baptiste first touches him, but that doesn't last long. If Baptiste does look up, he'll find his lord's eyes fixed on him, dark and hungry over his hand, a curl falling over his forehead. ]