[It's very unfortunate for Dante that he wears his frustrations and his arousal both on his sleeve, the flush of his skin adding an attractive glow befitting a man contracted to spirits of fire. It spreads down his navel, up his thighs and fills out his cock, twitched and stiffening against Matoba's lips as he feels and tastes out the shape of him. Still a little soft, it's easy to take him in his lips and nurse in patches of wet along skin, feel the thrum of heat as blood rushes down, stroke his tongue along a vein and follow it as it runs to the tip.]
[Every playful touch and kiss is tempered by the sharpness of Matoba's gaze that does not lift from Dante one bit in all that time. He's watching, cataloging every flinch, every bob of the man's adam's apple when he swallows, when his lips touch a sensitive spot or a shiver runs through him, watching from below as the man's ample chest begins to heave with breaths under the rushing of blood. The tattoos stand out even better now that sweat begins to gather over the flush, an attractive expanse from a man who seems very married to denying all of this.]
No? [Matoba offers casually, tinged with mock-surprise. His lips lift away, threatening to abandon his erection in its time of need the moment he's gotten the man as hard as can be, still glistening wet.] Does his lordship prefer to forfeit, and hand the reins over to me now?
That'd be a shame. [The wicked exorcist leans in again, and drags the full, wet cradle of his tongue across the swollen head of Dante's cock, warming its slit to contact- but short of taking him into his mouth in earnest, what with his denial and all.] We've yet to even begin.
no subject
[It's very unfortunate for Dante that he wears his frustrations and his arousal both on his sleeve, the flush of his skin adding an attractive glow befitting a man contracted to spirits of fire. It spreads down his navel, up his thighs and fills out his cock, twitched and stiffening against Matoba's lips as he feels and tastes out the shape of him. Still a little soft, it's easy to take him in his lips and nurse in patches of wet along skin, feel the thrum of heat as blood rushes down, stroke his tongue along a vein and follow it as it runs to the tip.]
[Every playful touch and kiss is tempered by the sharpness of Matoba's gaze that does not lift from Dante one bit in all that time. He's watching, cataloging every flinch, every bob of the man's adam's apple when he swallows, when his lips touch a sensitive spot or a shiver runs through him, watching from below as the man's ample chest begins to heave with breaths under the rushing of blood. The tattoos stand out even better now that sweat begins to gather over the flush, an attractive expanse from a man who seems very married to denying all of this.]
No? [Matoba offers casually, tinged with mock-surprise. His lips lift away, threatening to abandon his erection in its time of need the moment he's gotten the man as hard as can be, still glistening wet.] Does his lordship prefer to forfeit, and hand the reins over to me now?
That'd be a shame. [The wicked exorcist leans in again, and drags the full, wet cradle of his tongue across the swollen head of Dante's cock, warming its slit to contact- but short of taking him into his mouth in earnest, what with his denial and all.] We've yet to even begin.