[ there's an unexpected rumble of laughter that falls from his lips against the skin of tim's neck where he sucks little, light kisses and nips, simply teasing the skin until he makes it to his shoulder, his collarbone, dipping his head enough to even brush his lips over his adam's apple.
how often does he get to go slow, to savor the moment of a pretty, warm body against his? these days? never. it is alonso's bed he is meant for there, where his body is merely another feverish conquest for the regent and the like. after all, who better to navigate than one puppeted by the regent's dick itself? so to have control over so much here - the person in his lap, the way his mouth and hands move, the gentle exploration of a perfect stranger for the sake of a connection?
well.
the hand gripping tim's ass slides up just enough to find the waistband of his shorts and slowly side beneath, fingers sticking to fabric until he can squeeze fully around the muscle there, gently, kneading as though testing the weight in his palm. the hand in tim's hair abandons it, maps the same line his kisses would have taken were he on the other side, settling over one pec so that his thumb can lazily graze a dusty pink nipple. ]
I hope trouble tastes good. It looks good on your lips.
[ he tips his head back, nosing at his jaw (undoubtedly leaving the tiniest of beard burn) and biting his pretty lips again, watching dark lashes fan across his cheeks, the warm honeyed brown of his eyes. his hips have started to join in the slow, rolling grind, his bare cock excited at the friction of the shorts but also yearning for the eager slide he should be feeling in the heated water. ]
Tell me what you want, Tim. [ not quite the dominant behavior, but there's an active of service here somewhere. he likes spoiling his partners - makes every romp new and different, but mostly he wants to silently thank tim for the gift of this slow, exploratory thing. ]
cw: mentions of past sa/dub-con
how often does he get to go slow, to savor the moment of a pretty, warm body against his? these days? never. it is alonso's bed he is meant for there, where his body is merely another feverish conquest for the regent and the like. after all, who better to navigate than one puppeted by the regent's dick itself? so to have control over so much here - the person in his lap, the way his mouth and hands move, the gentle exploration of a perfect stranger for the sake of a connection?
well.
the hand gripping tim's ass slides up just enough to find the waistband of his shorts and slowly side beneath, fingers sticking to fabric until he can squeeze fully around the muscle there, gently, kneading as though testing the weight in his palm. the hand in tim's hair abandons it, maps the same line his kisses would have taken were he on the other side, settling over one pec so that his thumb can lazily graze a dusty pink nipple. ]
I hope trouble tastes good. It looks good on your lips.
[ he tips his head back, nosing at his jaw (undoubtedly leaving the tiniest of beard burn) and biting his pretty lips again, watching dark lashes fan across his cheeks, the warm honeyed brown of his eyes. his hips have started to join in the slow, rolling grind, his bare cock excited at the friction of the shorts but also yearning for the eager slide he should be feeling in the heated water. ]
Tell me what you want, Tim. [ not quite the dominant behavior, but there's an active of service here somewhere. he likes spoiling his partners - makes every romp new and different, but mostly he wants to silently thank tim for the gift of this slow, exploratory thing. ]