"Which I may employ," he says thoughtfully, letting Bull's wrist go for the moment, after pulling it to his lips to press a kiss to the pulse point. "Ropes. Perhaps scarves. Never chains."
He leans in to whisper the words into the sensitive spots he'd found, the breath fluttering against Bull's ear, the back of his jaw, and the edge of his horn roots.
"At least not the kind to bind you. I may consider," he runs his teeth along the shell again, "further aesthetic additions. But I find that generally."
He blows an ice cold line of air down the side of Bull's neck, a direct counter to the sunlight-warmth of his touch.
"Less is more, when it comes to restraint. You won't move... because I tell you not to move. You won't break the binding... because I want to see you in it."
His hands, which had been resting lightly along Bull's sides, begin to run up and down, slow and almost hypnotic.
"How do you see yourself worshiping me, Bull?" So soft. Smooth. Languid, like a predator relaxing, sure of his place at the apex of the food chain. "I'll tell you what I'm thinking of. But only after you share your own thoughts. After all, is it really an offering if it's requested?"
[The words make little shivers down Bull's spine. Both the threat of decorations and the other man talking so easily about him obeying. He knows he'll obey. And the fact that Clark knows makes it hot as hell too. He shifts under the hands, turning to face Clark and with a hand against his chest gently asking him to lay down.
He kisses him softly, taking his time before he pulls back to answer.]
Waking you up in bed with a nice slow blowjob, learning every trick in the book and everything you like and giving you just that. Moaning your name in prayer as you fuck me. Proudly showing the marks you leave on me. Being here, being by your side, knowing what you need and giving you that.
UGH so sorry for the wait. Can't tag this one at work.
[ He doesn't sound bothered, just intrigued. Curious. There's even an edge of delight there as he acqueses to the request. Laying down, laying out, he tips his head back a little with a smile. It shows his throat, but his throat is no more vulnerable than the rest of him. It is, instead, an unspoken command: touch him. ]
And what kind of marks would you like to bear? Something on the meat of you, decorative, distinctively mine. Or something just for you, sliced into just the right places to give you the burn of sensation, of my touch, in every movement?
"Yes, I am sure there are some that I don't know." He grins at Clark and takes what is offered, leaning in close to let his tongue run over the exposed skin of the others neck. He enjoys the taste, the way he can feel the heat under the others skin and he can't help but nip a little.
"Both maybe. Depending on the time. I'd like to show of your mark on me when we are somewhere you think people need to be reminded of who I belong to. And the others when I am the one who needs that reminder."
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no subject
He leans in to whisper the words into the sensitive spots he'd found, the breath fluttering against Bull's ear, the back of his jaw, and the edge of his horn roots.
"At least not the kind to bind you. I may consider," he runs his teeth along the shell again, "further aesthetic additions. But I find that generally."
He blows an ice cold line of air down the side of Bull's neck, a direct counter to the sunlight-warmth of his touch.
"Less is more, when it comes to restraint. You won't move... because I tell you not to move. You won't break the binding... because I want to see you in it."
His hands, which had been resting lightly along Bull's sides, begin to run up and down, slow and almost hypnotic.
"How do you see yourself worshiping me, Bull?" So soft. Smooth. Languid, like a predator relaxing, sure of his place at the apex of the food chain. "I'll tell you what I'm thinking of. But only after you share your own thoughts. After all, is it really an offering if it's requested?"
no subject
He kisses him softly, taking his time before he pulls back to answer.]
Waking you up in bed with a nice slow blowjob, learning every trick in the book and everything you like and giving you just that. Moaning your name in prayer as you fuck me. Proudly showing the marks you leave on me. Being here, being by your side, knowing what you need and giving you that.
UGH so sorry for the wait. Can't tag this one at work.
[ He doesn't sound bothered, just intrigued. Curious. There's even an edge of delight there as he acqueses to the request. Laying down, laying out, he tips his head back a little with a smile. It shows his throat, but his throat is no more vulnerable than the rest of him. It is, instead, an unspoken command: touch him. ]
And what kind of marks would you like to bear? Something on the meat of you, decorative, distinctively mine. Or something just for you, sliced into just the right places to give you the burn of sensation, of my touch, in every movement?
I have been slacking. i am so sorry
"Both maybe. Depending on the time. I'd like to show of your mark on me when we are somewhere you think people need to be reminded of who I belong to. And the others when I am the one who needs that reminder."