He cranes his neck, makes room for her lips at his throat, and his flush creeps upward. The sound of those straps shifting has him shivering, just a bolt of excitement up his spine. He still feels warm and liquid after their earlier intimacy--from the alcohol burning low in his veins. He sighs merrily and takes up the oil she'd conjured for the purpose.
The cursory glance at that cock, black and unyielding, is more for assessment than titillation. He will require a moment, will make a show of it, then.
The oil is thick and smooth when he pours it from the vial. It clings, viscous and luscious, and he lets out a short huff of laughter. Leave it to Yennefer to have the most expensive, finest of lubricants he's ever seen. He had thought he'd learned the whole array of them--how wonderful to be proven wrong. He spreads the gradually rolling droplets of oil across his fingers, coats them, and sets the vial aside.
His cock gives a marked twitch as he looks back at her, where she looms just so, all lovely and raven and flawless skin. Her eyes are on him--he hadn't been wrong about amethyst, even if the prose had been a bit purple (hah). He watches her, holds her gaze as his legs fall apart and he reaches to smooth his slicked fingers over the skin between them. He takes his time, brushing them past his balls, across his perineum, and sighs when they finally smooth over his own entrance.
He keeps her gaze as he circles his fingers, as he relaxes and props himself up so that he can move, can crook his wrist to tend to his own pleasure. When he presses into himself, however, his eyes flutter a bit. The first finger is easily taken, he isn't a blushing virgin, but the second has a bit of sting--it has been some time, hasn't it?
To his shock, when his eyes re-open, he finds his own cock already rising again. His brows lift as he looks himself over and the sight, vain thing that he is, makes the appendage twitch again.
"I...don't suppose you also have a ring, I might use? Or a spell to match?"
He would love to move in her, to fuck her, but he won't be able to spill across the bedsheets while she fucks him, not if she wants to ride him after. Ah, what sweet sacrifice.
no subject
The cursory glance at that cock, black and unyielding, is more for assessment than titillation. He will require a moment, will make a show of it, then.
The oil is thick and smooth when he pours it from the vial. It clings, viscous and luscious, and he lets out a short huff of laughter. Leave it to Yennefer to have the most expensive, finest of lubricants he's ever seen. He had thought he'd learned the whole array of them--how wonderful to be proven wrong. He spreads the gradually rolling droplets of oil across his fingers, coats them, and sets the vial aside.
His cock gives a marked twitch as he looks back at her, where she looms just so, all lovely and raven and flawless skin. Her eyes are on him--he hadn't been wrong about amethyst, even if the prose had been a bit purple (hah). He watches her, holds her gaze as his legs fall apart and he reaches to smooth his slicked fingers over the skin between them. He takes his time, brushing them past his balls, across his perineum, and sighs when they finally smooth over his own entrance.
He keeps her gaze as he circles his fingers, as he relaxes and props himself up so that he can move, can crook his wrist to tend to his own pleasure. When he presses into himself, however, his eyes flutter a bit. The first finger is easily taken, he isn't a blushing virgin, but the second has a bit of sting--it has been some time, hasn't it?
To his shock, when his eyes re-open, he finds his own cock already rising again. His brows lift as he looks himself over and the sight, vain thing that he is, makes the appendage twitch again.
"I...don't suppose you also have a ring, I might use? Or a spell to match?"
He would love to move in her, to fuck her, but he won't be able to spill across the bedsheets while she fucks him, not if she wants to ride him after. Ah, what sweet sacrifice.