Because it is not as forced as last time, it is less pain or discomfort overall, but it does take a little longer without him pulling out any moves that might result in retaliation. No abandoning his wet shaft to cool air while his lips and tongue favored him elsewhere, letting his hands take care of that. But it might have been a long time, before the Dark Urge, that he had been in the presence of another man, but he knew what he was doing, and he knew how to do this to get them begging, not just for release but for anything else he might visit on them.
The trouble is that this isn't like that, for a number of reasons, one of them chiefly being that he had to do this as an act of supplication and not dominance. And he had to feel his way toward doing that, expecting pain, and knowing that he cannot simply think of what he would expect of others, because it would not be him, but rather an act. And just as surely as he would know and feel inauthentic, the man whose cock he is working would know it too.
Servicing. Preparing. And also intimately acquainting himself with what he is giving himself to and about to give still more. Give so it won't be taken. So it feels like a choice he is making. That he already made.
Even in those meetings he couldn't have imagined this, and now faced with it, he struggles to remember now what it is he thought of then. What he could have thought it would mean if there were no commands keeping him still and untouched.
He hears movement nearby and it snaps him out of his reverie for a moment, but a hand keeps him from moving away. A rush of something like humiliation racks him, but the silent command is heard and he does not stop or lose pace in his efforts. He doesn't dare.
Very good.
He doesn't know where that is directed until made clear, so for a moment it is just a moment of panic, trying not to slow, trying to work out in his head where the movement is coming from in the room, and knowing he is seen this way. That they are being watched. But then Not you and the shudder that takes hold of him. The helpless sound, not quite a moan or a whimper, that it wrests from him.
Bane had forbidden much in this way but if there were no plans to send him to this fate, his orders would have been especially stringent, no? Because Enver can see no other reality but that in a bed this man always would have conquered him.
The command is heard clear to him, but he cannot fully take in its meaning until the Dark Urge pulls him back. Not to simply continue what he was doing, with more appreciation, no. He wanted the words and Enver cannot let himself take his eyes off him. Cannot let himself see who else is there even if their presence is known and unmistakable.
At first he had indeed heard him wrong. Not just that he wants it but where? It's more than he's used to expressing. Lurid. Uncouth. And so far beyond him but he had certainly coaxed as much from others before. Kept his phrasing smooth and refined while watching them fall apart under the pressure of their own base desires.
And there is a core of something in him that responds, that he doesn't fully understand but is there. That makes it not an act. All the while the pain, the struggle is clear on his face, uncertain of the words to use but certain what feel incorrect on his tongue.
"Inside me." He manages that without a stammer and would be proud of himself anywhere else, gasping like he's coming up for air. Mercy, his eyes seem to plead. I don't know how to do this.
no subject
The trouble is that this isn't like that, for a number of reasons, one of them chiefly being that he had to do this as an act of supplication and not dominance. And he had to feel his way toward doing that, expecting pain, and knowing that he cannot simply think of what he would expect of others, because it would not be him, but rather an act. And just as surely as he would know and feel inauthentic, the man whose cock he is working would know it too.
Servicing. Preparing. And also intimately acquainting himself with what he is giving himself to and about to give still more. Give so it won't be taken. So it feels like a choice he is making. That he already made.
Even in those meetings he couldn't have imagined this, and now faced with it, he struggles to remember now what it is he thought of then. What he could have thought it would mean if there were no commands keeping him still and untouched.
He hears movement nearby and it snaps him out of his reverie for a moment, but a hand keeps him from moving away. A rush of something like humiliation racks him, but the silent command is heard and he does not stop or lose pace in his efforts. He doesn't dare.
Very good.
He doesn't know where that is directed until made clear, so for a moment it is just a moment of panic, trying not to slow, trying to work out in his head where the movement is coming from in the room, and knowing he is seen this way. That they are being watched. But then Not you and the shudder that takes hold of him. The helpless sound, not quite a moan or a whimper, that it wrests from him.
Bane had forbidden much in this way but if there were no plans to send him to this fate, his orders would have been especially stringent, no? Because Enver can see no other reality but that in a bed this man always would have conquered him.
The command is heard clear to him, but he cannot fully take in its meaning until the Dark Urge pulls him back. Not to simply continue what he was doing, with more appreciation, no. He wanted the words and Enver cannot let himself take his eyes off him. Cannot let himself see who else is there even if their presence is known and unmistakable.
At first he had indeed heard him wrong. Not just that he wants it but where? It's more than he's used to expressing. Lurid. Uncouth. And so far beyond him but he had certainly coaxed as much from others before. Kept his phrasing smooth and refined while watching them fall apart under the pressure of their own base desires.
And there is a core of something in him that responds, that he doesn't fully understand but is there. That makes it not an act. All the while the pain, the struggle is clear on his face, uncertain of the words to use but certain what feel incorrect on his tongue.
"Inside me." He manages that without a stammer and would be proud of himself anywhere else, gasping like he's coming up for air. Mercy, his eyes seem to plead. I don't know how to do this.