[He drinks in all of his reactions. Doubtless, Wriothesley's moans will be seared into his thoughts, the way his knuckles turn white as his hands curl into fists. He begins a steady, experimental rhythm that is likely aggravatingly slow, movements unhurried as he runs his tongue along every detail, every vein, tracing along the head of his cock and along the slit, deeply curious about how he tastes, salty and slightly bitter.
He groans appreciatively, still exploring, seemingly completely unhurried. He runs his hands flatly up Wriothesley's abdomen and sides from his hips, letting his fingers explore more of his body as he bobs his head slightly faster, pace steadily increasing.]
no subject
He groans appreciatively, still exploring, seemingly completely unhurried. He runs his hands flatly up Wriothesley's abdomen and sides from his hips, letting his fingers explore more of his body as he bobs his head slightly faster, pace steadily increasing.]