Easy, sweetheart... [He appreciates Pinocchio's enthusiasm quite a bit, but he also can't help but worry about the man pushing themselves more than they need to. He shakily cards his fingers through wet locks, his shallow breathing and shivers from pleasure.]
Hollow your cheeks and relax. Take your time, you're doing well. [Gentle guidance. Lovely words of praise. He's not expecting Pinocchio to be some master expert at blowjobs on the get go. Hell, he isn't even expecting them to swallow him entirely in the first place. He coos softly, toes curling when he feels that sweet tongue rub against particularly sensitive spots on his cock.]
[ He scarcely pulls off before he's trying to speak, lips sticky with threads of spit and pre, soft and warm against his swollen glans: ] Can't help it, you sound so—
[ Pinocchio doesn't flounder for the word he wants to use, something positive, surely, as much as he simply stuffs his mouth with his cock. It's a noisy, shameless slurp around his heated flesh as the inside of his cheeks rub against the sides of his cock, cheeks hollowing, curls of hair sticking to the corners of his wet mouth.
He... loves this, he loves doing this for him, drinks up the praise that drips from Wriothesley's mouth. Eager to hear and feel every sizzle of pleasure that makes toes curl and breath hitch, he chases after the places that make him shiver. His lashes sweep his cheeks, but his blue eyes are all the more striking for the way he keeps gazing up at him, soft, adoring, darker for the pupils blown wide by his desire. ]
[The sound that comes out is a mix between laughter and a moan. There's something so sweet and charming about how enthusiastic Pinocchio is. He let's his head fall back, hands tangling and gripping wavy locks in his hands as Pinocchio continues to suck him off.
Eyelashes flutter and he arches his back in a beautiful arc as he feels pleasure mount in his gut.] H-Hah! Yeah, just like that. Just like that...
[The wet, hot warmth of Pinocchio's mouth was maddening and even if it's messy and inexperienced, it was plenty wonderful. Pinocchio was so earnest. So willing. He really wants to make a mess of this man.]
[ Wriothesley's hands are strong and restless, their welcome touch makes him feel like his scalp is somehow tightening with appreciation. Their weight helps shave some of the evenness from the bobbing of his head, lends it something he lacks, something more natural. Spit and pre streaks down the flushed shaft that keeps sinking into the soft heat of his mouth, beginning to froth against his lips.
He doesn't have to look to know what Wriothesley is doing, his steel fingers are fanned out over the bend of his spine, the flex of his muscle under bath-drenched skin is a miracle, a fascination. Pinocchio hums, meaning to encourage, to confess how much he likes how freely he expresses himself, but there's not much sound to be made with his mouth full of him.
Plenty to feel, however, when his contentment and approval rumbles, sinking deep into his captive flesh. ]
[Toes curl and fingers tug at damp locks tangled between as the vibrations of Pinocchio's throat courses pleasure from his cock and through his spine. Pleasure rocks through his body, the mounting ecstasy building in the pit of his stomach with each bob of Pinocchio's head.
Sometimes reaching completion isn't something intense and mind shattering. Sometimes it is the slow and steady build up of pleasure until it can do nothing but boil over. It's sloppy. It's casual. It's nice like this.]
H-Hah. I'm almost... [It's a warning for the man who's got his cock down their throat and seems intent to swallow him as much as possible.]
[ His answer is immediate, Mm-hm! hummed onto his swollen head. He wants that, he wants the hot splash of him spilling into his mouth, wants the taste and scent that's so uniquely his to overwhelm his senses. He wants to taste him between his teeth and know his pleasure lives as a part of him. Wants him to shake and shiver because of him, because he gave him something the both of them wanted.
To know, unmistakably, that he'd been good for him.
Skill can come later, with experience. He has forever but he won't have someone like Wriothesley in his life nearly so long, so he throws himself into this fully. As his head bobs over his lap, his fist grasps and tugs on what his lips can't reach, his knuckles glistening with spit. ]
[Wriothesley comes with a pleased moan. A beautiful arch of his back lifting off the cold surface as he spills into Pinocchio's wanting mouth. Hot and salty cum fills the needy man as Wriothesley rides through his orgasm.
He pulls at hair, body twitching and lost in the high of his climax.
Eventually his body relaxes, falling back to rest against the cold surface, a pleasant contrast to his heated skin and steamy water.] H-Hah, fuck...
[ Knowing what to expect isn't the same as being ready for it. His cum splashes into his mouth and he sputters, as though possessed of some reflex a puppet shouldn't have; it means some of it drools from the broken seam of his mouth, still wrapped around him, means his shoulders buck and his mouth convulses around him, smothering a cough.
He likes it, though his eyes water and sting. Likes the way each successive pump of his fist pushes lessening beads of cum from his gently twitching cock onto his tongue. He cranes his streaming eyes up to look at him, his knuckles slowly chasing his messy mouth up, up, slowly towards his sensitive tip, until a pearly bead squelches from the corner of his mouth and dribbles over his knuckles, lips closed tight around the hot flavor coating his tongue. ]
[There's a deep exhale as he slowly comes down from his high. Wriothesley reaches out, palm gently brushing against Pinocchio's cheek before he carefully runs fingers through the smaller man's hair.
Being a people pleaser himself, Wriothesley doesn't think too much about Pinocchio's need to please or he might have been more cautious about what's to come. At the moment though, contentment burns in his veins and he gives the other an affectionate smile.]
[ His eyes close, his cheek nudging into his touch, a sigh gusting out of his nostrils as the man's fingers card through his hair, as those words fall from his lips. There's a flash of light along his throat as it convulses, swallowing, relishing the thick heat that slides down his throat, sticky, cloying. He's never—
The Ergo whispers. Sunshine slants through a window, flaxen hair burnished gold. A thumb traces his cheekbone. Someone whispers over the word sunshine: Carlo. There's a tight feeling in his chest, sweet and grateful. He can only turn his face to press a kiss into the cup of Wriothesley's palm as the whispers ebb away. ]
[Endearingly cute. Pinocchio is quite precious, he thinks. He doesn't doubt that they're more complex than a sweet, polite man with little experience to physical pleasures, but that is what is presented on the tin at the moment.
And he was here to give them more experiences.]
Mm, can you move? How about we dry up and move to the bed. I think that our little foray in the bath wasn't what you only wanted me here for, no?
[ His nose nudges at his palm when Pinocchio nods. First pushing his damp hair back with his fingers, he scoops water over his face. Dragging his palm down over the bridge of his nose, over his mouth and down his chin, water rolls off his body as he stands in the sloshing bath.
It drops next to the arc of his cock, still full and beginning to soften, not out of modesty, his fingers give himself an indulgent squeeze, blue eyes admiring the way Wriothesley wears the heat and moisture of the bath. Something moves inside his cheek. He's chasing the taste of him in his mouth while he looks. There are a few towels rolled up by the edge of the bath, and Pinocchio hands him the most dry of the two before he climbs out.
He walks without a shred of self-consciousness about his nakedness, a little at odds with his inexperience. In order not to stain the pristine towel with rust (or to have its rough edges pull at the material), Pinocchio opts to use it to towel off everywhere except for his prosthesis, draping it over his shoulder once he's done, like a white capelet. ]
Baths are nicer with company. [ He turns his head, looking back at him over his towel-covered shoulder, his visible eye crinkling with an unseen smile. ] But I didn't expect to get a meal out of one.
[Wriothesley is happy to just admire and watch the man move, not at all hiding the way he lets his eyes rove over Pinocchio's body. He does note the way that the other seems to not dry his prosthesis the same way he does with the rest of himself. Just something for him to tuck away into his memories. To remember.
He moves to get out, following after the other. He's quick to just dry himself enough before placing the towel around Pinocchio's neck and tugging them forward until their chests are pressed together.]
I rarely took baths before, but I think I can get used to them if they end up like this on a frequent basis. [He grins a little as he walks backwards, tugging the other with him.] But I'm going to be the one eating well in a moment.
Just the once, [ he recalls from earlier, a breathy laugh tumbling out of him when Wriothesley pulls him along by the towel he's slung around the puppet's neck, offering resistance for a moment, not enough to do more than perhaps make them stumble a little.
He's pointed out before that Pinocchio could be handsy. That observation appears to be more than a little astute; the puppet spreads his palms over the body turned so considerately toward him, appreciating the knotted muscle, the swell of his chest, how his skin still hangs onto the warmth of their recent bath. It's with curiosity, not trepidation, a smile crinkling his blue eyes as he crowds after Wriothesley and asks: ]
And how will you have me?
[ It's possibly a little unfair that his voice is still so clear after he attempts to batter his throat with Wriothesley's cock, earlier.
Pinocchio's still keeping one metal palm — mercifully not yet cool again — over the plane of his belly, feeling him shift and flex as he moves. The other peels the towel hanging from his shoulder and consigns it to the floor in his wake. Beads of water that had been caught in the crevices of his prosthesis crawl down in slow rivulets over his toweled-off skin, cooling in the air.
His lessons haven't wrapped yet, and the anticipation is a joy, a warbeat thudding in his chest. Each time they come together like this, Pinocchio learns something, and refines these newly-discovered delights a little more. Eager to prove himself, and even more eager to satisfy Wriothesley's generous heart, his interest is avid, keen. ]
[He laughs a little, the slight push and pull they have until they get to the bed. It's a little easier said than done, Pinocchio's hands on him quite distracting he finds. Once there, he merely pushes the other gently to fall back onto the bed.]
Lay here and look pretty for a bit, won't you?
[Wriothesley only now goes through the drawers to grab what they'll actually need. A bottle of lube is tossed onto the bed, but there's one more thing he needed. There's a different array of material for bondage it seems, though Wriothesley ultimately decides against bars or rope. He picks up a bundle of long silken material in a deep red. Durable, but it felt fitting to go with something that didn't exactly have as much durability as others.
Something he felt would be good for something less intense. For his inexperienced partner. He then goes back to Pinocchio, holding out the silken restraints for the smaller man to touch and get a feel for.] Hopefully I'll have you a shaking mess by the end of this.
[ The bed was built to handle the weight of multiple occupants and some vigor besides and, fortunately, doesn't creak in an ominous way when the puppet's three-hundred-pound weight topples onto it. Pushing himself up, he backs away from the foot of the bed, tracking Wriothesley with his eyes.
There's an effortless contrapposto to the way he reclines across the bed, cocked onto one hip, propped up by his steel prosthesis, the elbow dipping into the mattress, a twist of his lithe torso, his hand resting on a smooth thigh crossing the other to rest his knee against the bed. Look pretty, Wriothesley had said, and he didn't take it literally, he just (irritatingly) winds up like this.
His attention deviates twice — once, to watch the arc of the bottle as he tosses it to the bed, and again when he draws close with the long, supple restraints. Reaching for it, he rubs it between thumb and palm before he pushes the silk restraint against his cheek, his lips. ] Using something soft like this? [ The question is more sincerely inquisitive than skeptical. This is still a lesson, and Pinocchio an avid student. ]
[Wriothesley smiles warmly as he takes in the sight of the smaller man on the bed. He might not be purposely trying to be painted like a beautiful French woman, but Wriothesley is enjoying the sight of the other plenty right now.]
You can use plenty of things for restraints. Rope, cuffs- [He takes the silken material from Pinocchio, letting it slowly slide out of Pinocchio's grasp.] -cloth such as this. I thought this might be easier on the mind than rope or something that feels more restraining. It also looks good against your skin, sweetness.
[He makes the material snap in his hands.] Hold your wrists out together for me won't you? Be good for me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
armwriostle) wrote2024-07-22 12:13 am
no subject
Hollow your cheeks and relax. Take your time, you're doing well. [Gentle guidance. Lovely words of praise. He's not expecting Pinocchio to be some master expert at blowjobs on the get go. Hell, he isn't even expecting them to swallow him entirely in the first place. He coos softly, toes curling when he feels that sweet tongue rub against particularly sensitive spots on his cock.]
You feel so good.
no subject
[ Pinocchio doesn't flounder for the word he wants to use, something positive, surely, as much as he simply stuffs his mouth with his cock. It's a noisy, shameless slurp around his heated flesh as the inside of his cheeks rub against the sides of his cock, cheeks hollowing, curls of hair sticking to the corners of his wet mouth.
He... loves this, he loves doing this for him, drinks up the praise that drips from Wriothesley's mouth. Eager to hear and feel every sizzle of pleasure that makes toes curl and breath hitch, he chases after the places that make him shiver. His lashes sweep his cheeks, but his blue eyes are all the more striking for the way he keeps gazing up at him, soft, adoring, darker for the pupils blown wide by his desire. ]
no subject
Eyelashes flutter and he arches his back in a beautiful arc as he feels pleasure mount in his gut.] H-Hah! Yeah, just like that. Just like that...
[The wet, hot warmth of Pinocchio's mouth was maddening and even if it's messy and inexperienced, it was plenty wonderful. Pinocchio was so earnest. So willing. He really wants to make a mess of this man.]
no subject
He doesn't have to look to know what Wriothesley is doing, his steel fingers are fanned out over the bend of his spine, the flex of his muscle under bath-drenched skin is a miracle, a fascination. Pinocchio hums, meaning to encourage, to confess how much he likes how freely he expresses himself, but there's not much sound to be made with his mouth full of him.
Plenty to feel, however, when his contentment and approval rumbles, sinking deep into his captive flesh. ]
no subject
Sometimes reaching completion isn't something intense and mind shattering. Sometimes it is the slow and steady build up of pleasure until it can do nothing but boil over. It's sloppy. It's casual. It's nice like this.]
H-Hah. I'm almost... [It's a warning for the man who's got his cock down their throat and seems intent to swallow him as much as possible.]
no subject
To know, unmistakably, that he'd been good for him.
Skill can come later, with experience. He has forever but he won't have someone like Wriothesley in his life nearly so long, so he throws himself into this fully. As his head bobs over his lap, his fist grasps and tugs on what his lips can't reach, his knuckles glistening with spit. ]
no subject
He pulls at hair, body twitching and lost in the high of his climax.
Eventually his body relaxes, falling back to rest against the cold surface, a pleasant contrast to his heated skin and steamy water.] H-Hah, fuck...
no subject
He likes it, though his eyes water and sting. Likes the way each successive pump of his fist pushes lessening beads of cum from his gently twitching cock onto his tongue. He cranes his streaming eyes up to look at him, his knuckles slowly chasing his messy mouth up, up, slowly towards his sensitive tip, until a pearly bead squelches from the corner of his mouth and dribbles over his knuckles, lips closed tight around the hot flavor coating his tongue. ]
no subject
Being a people pleaser himself, Wriothesley doesn't think too much about Pinocchio's need to please or he might have been more cautious about what's to come. At the moment though, contentment burns in his veins and he gives the other an affectionate smile.]
You did good, sunshine.
no subject
The Ergo whispers. Sunshine slants through a window, flaxen hair burnished gold. A thumb traces his cheekbone. Someone whispers over the word sunshine: Carlo. There's a tight feeling in his chest, sweet and grateful. He can only turn his face to press a kiss into the cup of Wriothesley's palm as the whispers ebb away. ]
no subject
[Endearingly cute. Pinocchio is quite precious, he thinks. He doesn't doubt that they're more complex than a sweet, polite man with little experience to physical pleasures, but that is what is presented on the tin at the moment.
And he was here to give them more experiences.]
Mm, can you move? How about we dry up and move to the bed. I think that our little foray in the bath wasn't what you only wanted me here for, no?
no subject
It drops next to the arc of his cock, still full and beginning to soften, not out of modesty, his fingers give himself an indulgent squeeze, blue eyes admiring the way Wriothesley wears the heat and moisture of the bath. Something moves inside his cheek. He's chasing the taste of him in his mouth while he looks. There are a few towels rolled up by the edge of the bath, and Pinocchio hands him the most dry of the two before he climbs out.
He walks without a shred of self-consciousness about his nakedness, a little at odds with his inexperience. In order not to stain the pristine towel with rust (or to have its rough edges pull at the material), Pinocchio opts to use it to towel off everywhere except for his prosthesis, draping it over his shoulder once he's done, like a white capelet. ]
Baths are nicer with company. [ He turns his head, looking back at him over his towel-covered shoulder, his visible eye crinkling with an unseen smile. ] But I didn't expect to get a meal out of one.
no subject
He moves to get out, following after the other. He's quick to just dry himself enough before placing the towel around Pinocchio's neck and tugging them forward until their chests are pressed together.]
I rarely took baths before, but I think I can get used to them if they end up like this on a frequent basis. [He grins a little as he walks backwards, tugging the other with him.] But I'm going to be the one eating well in a moment.
no subject
He's pointed out before that Pinocchio could be handsy. That observation appears to be more than a little astute; the puppet spreads his palms over the body turned so considerately toward him, appreciating the knotted muscle, the swell of his chest, how his skin still hangs onto the warmth of their recent bath. It's with curiosity, not trepidation, a smile crinkling his blue eyes as he crowds after Wriothesley and asks: ]
And how will you have me?
[ It's possibly a little unfair that his voice is still so clear after he attempts to batter his throat with Wriothesley's cock, earlier.
Pinocchio's still keeping one metal palm — mercifully not yet cool again — over the plane of his belly, feeling him shift and flex as he moves. The other peels the towel hanging from his shoulder and consigns it to the floor in his wake. Beads of water that had been caught in the crevices of his prosthesis crawl down in slow rivulets over his toweled-off skin, cooling in the air.
His lessons haven't wrapped yet, and the anticipation is a joy, a warbeat thudding in his chest. Each time they come together like this, Pinocchio learns something, and refines these newly-discovered delights a little more. Eager to prove himself, and even more eager to satisfy Wriothesley's generous heart, his interest is avid, keen. ]
Since I'm on your menu.
no subject
Lay here and look pretty for a bit, won't you?
[Wriothesley only now goes through the drawers to grab what they'll actually need. A bottle of lube is tossed onto the bed, but there's one more thing he needed. There's a different array of material for bondage it seems, though Wriothesley ultimately decides against bars or rope. He picks up a bundle of long silken material in a deep red. Durable, but it felt fitting to go with something that didn't exactly have as much durability as others.
Something he felt would be good for something less intense. For his inexperienced partner. He then goes back to Pinocchio, holding out the silken restraints for the smaller man to touch and get a feel for.] Hopefully I'll have you a shaking mess by the end of this.
no subject
There's an effortless contrapposto to the way he reclines across the bed, cocked onto one hip, propped up by his steel prosthesis, the elbow dipping into the mattress, a twist of his lithe torso, his hand resting on a smooth thigh crossing the other to rest his knee against the bed. Look pretty, Wriothesley had said, and he didn't take it literally, he just (irritatingly) winds up like this.
His attention deviates twice — once, to watch the arc of the bottle as he tosses it to the bed, and again when he draws close with the long, supple restraints. Reaching for it, he rubs it between thumb and palm before he pushes the silk restraint against his cheek, his lips. ] Using something soft like this? [ The question is more sincerely inquisitive than skeptical. This is still a lesson, and Pinocchio an avid student. ]
no subject
You can use plenty of things for restraints. Rope, cuffs- [He takes the silken material from Pinocchio, letting it slowly slide out of Pinocchio's grasp.] -cloth such as this. I thought this might be easier on the mind than rope or something that feels more restraining. It also looks good against your skin, sweetness.
[He makes the material snap in his hands.] Hold your wrists out together for me won't you? Be good for me.