[ He does want to be good at this for Lyney, wants to tease more of those warm bumbling words from him. He's not afraid to want to please his partner; he craves the pleasure in Lyney every bit as much as Lyney himself does, all the things that speak desire. The urge to undo him coaxes him forward until the crown of Lyney's cock touches his throat and his lips reach the absolute bottom of Lyney's length, and he holds him there, swallows around him, purrs softly with all his praises. If Lyney wants to fuck into his mouth like this, he's only too happy to let him--if he wants to cum like this, all the better, Wriothesley thinks through the thick haze that clouds his mind.
Anything. Anything at all. As long as it feels good--as long as it keeps Lyney like this for him, hands in his hair, legs trembling at either side of him. ]
[ He can't help but wipe away the sweat on his face with the palm of his hand. Lyney's huffy, pouty but so overwhelmed with pleasure he tries to bundle up those complicated emotions. He wants him, more than he thinks he would. It's attraction at first – but there's no use claiming it to only be based on physical. Even as Wriothesley works himself downwards, swallowing him whole – there's something about this that didn't feel fueled by mere lust.
That'll be a problem, won't it? Complicated, messy... and Lyney tries to maintain order by playing cards at the right time.
Wriothesley is the one who really won at cards because Lyney forfeits his for this pleasure. His tiny waist hitches up, Lyney's Adam's apple a bob that doesn't stop. Can he breathe? Can he speak? He's already getting close. ]
Fuck. I swear I'm usually not this fast – I'm going to – finish here. On your tongue – nod if that's pleasing. If not, l-let me finish here.
[ Lyney's thumb swipes over the cut of Wriothesley's jaw, papping it softly – even feeling himself from how good the section was. Groaning and sinking further in... Wriothesley was given a gift of power. Of figuring out the boy's own ticks and his own desires. ]
[ He nods his answer lightly, switching back to his prior rhythm, mouth moving back and forth slickly. He's ready for what Lyney wants to give him, to swallow everything down in one fell swoop, to feel the boy straining and trembling beneath him. He's ready, more than anything, to see the mask slip a little.
Because it's beautiful having Lyney like this: raw, unfiltered, unscripted. Does he have any idea how enticing he is like that, how alluring it is when he has to search for his words instead of having them prepared ten steps ahead? Wriothesley doesn't think Lyney does know--so he imparts the thought upon him silently, rewards him for his honesty with the movements of his mouth and hand. ]
[ They passed a threshold they can't easily package back up. They can't forget this exists. The way the other tastes, the aching they both have... they'd be fools. Failing fools to do so. Wriothesley nods and Lyney swoons like a songbird, a groan from the back of his throat he swears was from the pit of his stomach. That's where he felt the most arousal – an anxiousness to trust the man like this.
Lyney's hands settle at the back of Wriothesley's head, letting him work but still needing that connection. He hisses under his breath, lower half like a snake how it squirms upwards to meet his mouth. He doesn't care if there's a lost rhythm of if maybe he relaxes to let Wriothesley work.
It's a haze, smoke and mirrors but somehow... it's so clear how Lyney was starved for this.
He feels different than Lynette – different than anyone who dared touch him for whatever dubious reason he needed them to. With Wriothesley's hair sprouted between balled fists, Lyney finishes with a croaked whimper. Head thrown back, arching back off the chair. Spurt after spurt coats his tongue and throat – unable to hold back from his own need.
It was proof, pure proof of how badly he wanted to explore these feelings. His lover's name was a soft whimper, sharp like a blade before he collapses back into a fit of panting, one eye pried open to look at him... checking as if he half expected Wriothesley to be done with him already.
[ It's exactly what Wriothesley hopes for, a total letting go--Lyney's hands fisting his hair and hips rocking into his mouth until the finish hits and he can taste the rush of him, warm and full and bitter against his tongue, every spurt pooling thickly onto his tongue. He swallows all of it eagerly, sitting back on his haunches when it's over, eyes half-lidded and lips glistening. He catches the look Lyney gives him, and offers one in return--something bordering inquisitive, still hazy, still in a place rooted firmly in desire.
Should he say something? He wonders about that--he was never good at this part, never sure of what to do with himself in the aftermath. ]
...Everything alright?
[ It slants a little more lame than romantic, but he means it. Not just in the emotional sense; he hasn't forgotten the beating Lyney took today, the bandages over his ribs. All that moving around could've agitated something. ]
[ They didn't know if it was going to end right here. A slice of a blade, before and after this shared moment – where would they reside? Lyney's hands remain at the back of his head for as long as he can but if Wriothesley pulls back fully, Lyney drags his fingers back softly. ]
I'm alright... h-hah... just stole the air out of my lungs. [ And he smirks just a small, little teasing way. ] And stole something else from me.
[ Lyney sits up with a soft grunt, lowering his legs off of him fully but still. he finds the end of Wriothesley's tie and tugs it towards him. ]
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no subject
Anything. Anything at all. As long as it feels good--as long as it keeps Lyney like this for him, hands in his hair, legs trembling at either side of him. ]
no subject
That'll be a problem, won't it? Complicated, messy... and Lyney tries to maintain order by playing cards at the right time.
Wriothesley is the one who really won at cards because Lyney forfeits his for this pleasure. His tiny waist hitches up, Lyney's Adam's apple a bob that doesn't stop. Can he breathe? Can he speak? He's already getting close. ]
Fuck. I swear I'm usually not this fast – I'm going to – finish here. On your tongue – nod if that's pleasing. If not, l-let me finish here.
[ Lyney's thumb swipes over the cut of Wriothesley's jaw, papping it softly – even feeling himself from how good the section was. Groaning and sinking further in... Wriothesley was given a gift of power. Of figuring out the boy's own ticks and his own desires. ]
no subject
Because it's beautiful having Lyney like this: raw, unfiltered, unscripted. Does he have any idea how enticing he is like that, how alluring it is when he has to search for his words instead of having them prepared ten steps ahead? Wriothesley doesn't think Lyney does know--so he imparts the thought upon him silently, rewards him for his honesty with the movements of his mouth and hand. ]
no subject
Lyney's hands settle at the back of Wriothesley's head, letting him work but still needing that connection. He hisses under his breath, lower half like a snake how it squirms upwards to meet his mouth. He doesn't care if there's a lost rhythm of if maybe he relaxes to let Wriothesley work.
It's a haze, smoke and mirrors but somehow... it's so clear how Lyney was starved for this.
He feels different than Lynette – different than anyone who dared touch him for whatever dubious reason he needed them to. With Wriothesley's hair sprouted between balled fists, Lyney finishes with a croaked whimper. Head thrown back, arching back off the chair. Spurt after spurt coats his tongue and throat – unable to hold back from his own need.
It was proof, pure proof of how badly he wanted to explore these feelings. His lover's name was a soft whimper, sharp like a blade before he collapses back into a fit of panting, one eye pried open to look at him... checking as if he half expected Wriothesley to be done with him already.
Some old habits are hard to kill. ]
no subject
Should he say something? He wonders about that--he was never good at this part, never sure of what to do with himself in the aftermath. ]
...Everything alright?
[ It slants a little more lame than romantic, but he means it. Not just in the emotional sense; he hasn't forgotten the beating Lyney took today, the bandages over his ribs. All that moving around could've agitated something. ]
no subject
I'm alright... h-hah... just stole the air out of my lungs. [ And he smirks just a small, little teasing way. ] And stole something else from me.
[ Lyney sits up with a soft grunt, lowering his legs off of him fully but still. he finds the end of Wriothesley's tie and tugs it towards him. ]
Any complaints about... what just happened?
[ He's at least honest enough to ask. Progress! ]