[ He rolls the hem of his shendyt high enough to tuck it into the snug waistline, so that the material does not fall back upon Armand's face. He wants to see it, study it.
The pleasure in his taking of Set's cock is — well, it is entirely foreign to him. The enjoyment, even as tears of red build in his eyes, lingers there upon him. It is in the suckle of his mouth, the submission of his figure. Yet, how does one come to personally enjoy such an act, though? Does one have to be born for it? Is it a matter of experience, or training, or perhaps — is it a casual lie to assure the other? Is Armand truly looking back at him, aware and alert, or has his mind drifted elsewhere? ( Because Set cannot envision himself in the same position. On his knees, with someone's cock in his mouth. Not again. Not while feeling pleasure of his own. )
He studies Armand like one might look upon an insect, like he wants to peel apart his skin and find the fine filigree of his wings below the shell. Pull open his mouth and look down his throat into the dark hollow of his body.
Instead, he cradles Armand's jaw and feeds him his cock — purring faintly at the physical pleasure of the moment. It feels good for him, even as his mind races at a distance. Holding him steady as he draws his hips back, feeling the slide of his flesh within the wet of Armand's mouth. Then, straddling his face a little closer, he slips a hand into the dark coils of his hair and fucks into him again. A small gasp of pleasure huffed from his own throat, jaw softened. Again. Quicker now. Again, a little harder. ]
cw thoughts of dubcon, dissociation, whatever the heck this mentality is
The pleasure in his taking of Set's cock is — well, it is entirely foreign to him. The enjoyment, even as tears of red build in his eyes, lingers there upon him. It is in the suckle of his mouth, the submission of his figure. Yet, how does one come to personally enjoy such an act, though? Does one have to be born for it? Is it a matter of experience, or training, or perhaps — is it a casual lie to assure the other? Is Armand truly looking back at him, aware and alert, or has his mind drifted elsewhere? ( Because Set cannot envision himself in the same position. On his knees, with someone's cock in his mouth. Not again. Not while feeling pleasure of his own. )
He studies Armand like one might look upon an insect, like he wants to peel apart his skin and find the fine filigree of his wings below the shell. Pull open his mouth and look down his throat into the dark hollow of his body.
Instead, he cradles Armand's jaw and feeds him his cock — purring faintly at the physical pleasure of the moment. It feels good for him, even as his mind races at a distance. Holding him steady as he draws his hips back, feeling the slide of his flesh within the wet of Armand's mouth. Then, straddling his face a little closer, he slips a hand into the dark coils of his hair and fucks into him again. A small gasp of pleasure huffed from his own throat, jaw softened. Again. Quicker now. Again, a little harder. ]