This was neither the time nor place to explore exactly why he hadn't been seeking praise. Enver Gortash came of age in a world of Devils: missing a step was a trap. If you did not assume there were rules in place, blundering over them was an excuse for punishment, not for your ignorance.
He learned a long time ago to anticipate such things.
The hand in his hair stops his forward momentum for a second. He feels himself leaning into it more to reduce pressure, but the Dark Urge's eyes on him are as they were in those meetings but tenfold: they made him feel the way he does now, in a way. Unhidden. That his want was in no way truly secret, and anything could be done with it -- whether it was simply to leave him squirming or to show him before his own god how much he could take before his resolve totally crumbled.
Now he was trapped in that feeling in a more literal sense, hand holding him out of the way while the bhaalspawn freed himself and made his own growing desire quite plain.
That does something to him, to see definitively that they were not merely discussing something one-sided, that perhaps he was not going to need to coax this man into accepting pleasure.
He was ready for it, intent upon it; he was already thinking of it, and now Enver was, too.
He doesn't have as much building up to do. His good hand works first, drawing more of the man out, fondling the shape of him from balls to shaft to establish how he intends to work the length. Then his mouth follows, his tongue strokes up the length of the underside, passing the head into his mouth when he reaches the edge again.
And gods, he doesn't expect the moment to hit him like it does. The uncertainty of his own fate is drowned in renewed desire, in knowing he's thought of this and it's no longer some secret, impossible imagining. A shiver electrifies his whole person, and he takes more.
no subject
He learned a long time ago to anticipate such things.
The hand in his hair stops his forward momentum for a second. He feels himself leaning into it more to reduce pressure, but the Dark Urge's eyes on him are as they were in those meetings but tenfold: they made him feel the way he does now, in a way. Unhidden. That his want was in no way truly secret, and anything could be done with it -- whether it was simply to leave him squirming or to show him before his own god how much he could take before his resolve totally crumbled.
Now he was trapped in that feeling in a more literal sense, hand holding him out of the way while the bhaalspawn freed himself and made his own growing desire quite plain.
That does something to him, to see definitively that they were not merely discussing something one-sided, that perhaps he was not going to need to coax this man into accepting pleasure.
He was ready for it, intent upon it; he was already thinking of it, and now Enver was, too.
He doesn't have as much building up to do. His good hand works first, drawing more of the man out, fondling the shape of him from balls to shaft to establish how he intends to work the length. Then his mouth follows, his tongue strokes up the length of the underside, passing the head into his mouth when he reaches the edge again.
And gods, he doesn't expect the moment to hit him like it does. The uncertainty of his own fate is drowned in renewed desire, in knowing he's thought of this and it's no longer some secret, impossible imagining. A shiver electrifies his whole person, and he takes more.