The way Johnny's mouth drops open is very nearly instinct, the pink point of his tongue reaching, but not quite touching, as if he's not sure he dares. Or as if he's not sure he'll be allowed. Sweet.
Unthank takes the invitation, letting two fingers slide soft and slow into Johnny's mouth, slick with saliva over his tongue. And once there, he can't resist pressing down against it, driving Johnny's tongue into the floor of his mouth hard enough that it will feel like choking, before drawing back again, stroking an exploratory fingertip over the inside of the bottom lip, tracing the uneven townhouse row of his teeth. His fingers shine with spit when he drags them sloppily out, leaving trails down from the side of Johnny's mouth, to his jaw, his neck. Down again to his collarbone where Unthank lets his hand curl, spread across the expanse of his throat as it had earlier. The touch is curiously almost one of comfort, a supportive hand that promises, rather than threatens, I could.
He grinds his hips in a slow, luxuriant circle, taking a little pleasure himself, and against his stomach, Johnny will be able to feel that Unthank, too, is hard.
'Then,' he murmurs, sounding as if he's tasted each word before letting it through his teeth, 'I have something for you, Johnny.' Leaning down, he rumbles into Johnny's ear, 'Give me your hands.'
no subject
The way Johnny's mouth drops open is very nearly instinct, the pink point of his tongue reaching, but not quite touching, as if he's not sure he dares. Or as if he's not sure he'll be allowed. Sweet.
Unthank takes the invitation, letting two fingers slide soft and slow into Johnny's mouth, slick with saliva over his tongue. And once there, he can't resist pressing down against it, driving Johnny's tongue into the floor of his mouth hard enough that it will feel like choking, before drawing back again, stroking an exploratory fingertip over the inside of the bottom lip, tracing the uneven townhouse row of his teeth. His fingers shine with spit when he drags them sloppily out, leaving trails down from the side of Johnny's mouth, to his jaw, his neck. Down again to his collarbone where Unthank lets his hand curl, spread across the expanse of his throat as it had earlier. The touch is curiously almost one of comfort, a supportive hand that promises, rather than threatens, I could.
He grinds his hips in a slow, luxuriant circle, taking a little pleasure himself, and against his stomach, Johnny will be able to feel that Unthank, too, is hard.
'Then,' he murmurs, sounding as if he's tasted each word before letting it through his teeth, 'I have something for you, Johnny.' Leaning down, he rumbles into Johnny's ear, 'Give me your hands.'