Eventually he drives himself towards his climax like waves dashed against a shoreline, bodily and without a single intervening moment to stop him. Had anybody deigned to join them in this particular moment, there would be nothing for it. A complete lack of ability to stop the flood of his seed into a masked Enver Gortash.
His breath is halting against the man's ear, mask slipping upwards only fractionally as he grunts into his dark tresses. Whatever tension he's kept residing in his body starts to loosen, though his large frame also leans forward until he's almost draped over the smaller man's back.
For a few moments he has nothing at all to say, the satisfaction of this newly discovered method of fucking - sans the maiming and murdering - sating him completely. A quiet moment of purity amidst the unholy noise of his blood.
But eventually sound starts to filter back into his awareness, the titter of those soft, wretched patriar and their infantile jibbering to suck at the teat of something alcoholic. The thought that he'll be glad to bring his blade to their innards comes unbidden, but it's far more fleeting than usual.
Without a sound he releases Enver's cock from his grasp, pulling his own from the confines of his flooded guts. Seemingly in the same move he's plucking at the sides of the man's trousers, pulling them up until he's decent no matter the mess likely gathering on the inside of that fabric. Only once that's done does he drag up his own, his still semi-hard but wilting cock an impressive outline in his own trousers despite his release.
Finally he turns the man, both hands taking a position at his shoulders and revolving until he's got his attention, icy eyes seeking out umber irises even in the low light of this pocket of semi-privacy.
"Hospitable as ever. Though I believe it's time I take my leave" he says, quiet but not quiet enough that the hoarseness isn't apparent. A signal to the other man that while this had been a risk showing up at all, he's not foolish enough to remain now that he's got what he wanted.
no subject
His breath is halting against the man's ear, mask slipping upwards only fractionally as he grunts into his dark tresses. Whatever tension he's kept residing in his body starts to loosen, though his large frame also leans forward until he's almost draped over the smaller man's back.
For a few moments he has nothing at all to say, the satisfaction of this newly discovered method of fucking - sans the maiming and murdering - sating him completely. A quiet moment of purity amidst the unholy noise of his blood.
But eventually sound starts to filter back into his awareness, the titter of those soft, wretched patriar and their infantile jibbering to suck at the teat of something alcoholic. The thought that he'll be glad to bring his blade to their innards comes unbidden, but it's far more fleeting than usual.
Without a sound he releases Enver's cock from his grasp, pulling his own from the confines of his flooded guts. Seemingly in the same move he's plucking at the sides of the man's trousers, pulling them up until he's decent no matter the mess likely gathering on the inside of that fabric. Only once that's done does he drag up his own, his still semi-hard but wilting cock an impressive outline in his own trousers despite his release.
Finally he turns the man, both hands taking a position at his shoulders and revolving until he's got his attention, icy eyes seeking out umber irises even in the low light of this pocket of semi-privacy.
"Hospitable as ever. Though I believe it's time I take my leave" he says, quiet but not quiet enough that the hoarseness isn't apparent. A signal to the other man that while this had been a risk showing up at all, he's not foolish enough to remain now that he's got what he wanted.