[The young man beneath him squirms under his teeth, and Baptiste would be lying if he said there wasn't something tempting buried in that sensation. His tongue laps against skin before he takes to bruising it in a second love bite. A hum of affirmation denotes his understanding of Fuuta's answer.
One of his hands reaches up to grasp a handful of hair and yank backward. Exposing more of Fuuta's throat and giving him more solid purchase as his mouth begins to work the next patch of flesh. Each new mark a work of teeth and tongue on pale canvas - as if Baptiste knew exactly how he would denote his 'ownership' here: a plethora of blooming bruises that could easily be seen by bystanders.
A thorough display of a possessive 'beast' in the ring - and a convenient way to continue their conversation under pretense. His words are more muffled against Fuuta's flesh when he speaks next.]
We'll do your mouth. If the crowd needs more, I'll fuck your thighs while jacking you off, all right? [This is punctuated with a little kiss this time.] No chest. If something else needs to change, scratch me down the chest.
[His breath is heavy against damp flesh - the warmth between them nearly intoxicating. Lips press a triumphant kiss into the third cluster of bruising he's created as his own weight shifts to his knees. His fingers loosen in Fuuta's hair before readjusting their grip. His thumb swipes a soothing stroke into scalp as he speaks.]
They've brought me one with such an impressive mouth! [Baptiste's free hand reaches to trace a line from temple to jaw - pads of his fingers brushing over the edge of an eyepatch in the process. His fingers draw from Fuuta's jaw to swipe over the lower lip.]
Such a sharp tongue, how could I not indulge?
[An impish smile plays on his features before he slides his fingers into the other's mouth to press at his tongue. The delight of the crowd echoes this sentiment, Fuuta's previous yapping at them no forgotten in the least. Long fingers roughly trace at the inside of cheek before beginning to take a careful, purposeful slide down the other's throat. He towers over the other as his fingers explore the other's mouth, his own tongue working over his bottom lip as if he relished each and every twitch.]
no subject
One of his hands reaches up to grasp a handful of hair and yank backward. Exposing more of Fuuta's throat and giving him more solid purchase as his mouth begins to work the next patch of flesh. Each new mark a work of teeth and tongue on pale canvas - as if Baptiste knew exactly how he would denote his 'ownership' here: a plethora of blooming bruises that could easily be seen by bystanders.
A thorough display of a possessive 'beast' in the ring - and a convenient way to continue their conversation under pretense. His words are more muffled against Fuuta's flesh when he speaks next.]
We'll do your mouth. If the crowd needs more, I'll fuck your thighs while jacking you off, all right? [This is punctuated with a little kiss this time.] No chest. If something else needs to change, scratch me down the chest.
[His breath is heavy against damp flesh - the warmth between them nearly intoxicating. Lips press a triumphant kiss into the third cluster of bruising he's created as his own weight shifts to his knees. His fingers loosen in Fuuta's hair before readjusting their grip. His thumb swipes a soothing stroke into scalp as he speaks.]
They've brought me one with such an impressive mouth! [Baptiste's free hand reaches to trace a line from temple to jaw - pads of his fingers brushing over the edge of an eyepatch in the process. His fingers draw from Fuuta's jaw to swipe over the lower lip.]
Such a sharp tongue, how could I not indulge?
[An impish smile plays on his features before he slides his fingers into the other's mouth to press at his tongue. The delight of the crowd echoes this sentiment, Fuuta's previous yapping at them no forgotten in the least. Long fingers roughly trace at the inside of cheek before beginning to take a careful, purposeful slide down the other's throat. He towers over the other as his fingers explore the other's mouth, his own tongue working over his bottom lip as if he relished each and every twitch.]