Fingers pulled at Loren's hair as if the summoner's need was now some external force, pawing and pleading to be taken, to be consumed, to be had. As he sucked and pulled at the finger in his mouth, the finger seemed to pulsate his efforts right back as if it wasn't a finger at all, but some cock composed of fre(y)netic energy.
Hands held the Launceleyn's above his head still, as fingertips scraped down his ribs. There was no up or down in this metaphysical tear in the world and so even as Loren might have felt like he was on his back, he also very much wasn't: a hand pressed against the flat of the summoner's back, pushing him down while another raised his hips into the air, pushing his thighs apart. An entanglement of tongues traced out a symphony on the flesh between his ass and his balls, as the pressure inside of him deepened and pulsed. Hands that needed no leverage still gripped the summoner's hips causing phantom and satisfying slaps of skin on skin to reverberate through the milky sea.
Loren wanted harder? Oh he'd get harder, double meaning intended.
The hands on his hips grew desperate, fingertips pulling at the pale flesh as the tongues out and in pounding out a rhythm impossible for any mortal muscle. Lips whispered filthy promises and taunts against the shell of Loren's ear, punctuated by groans of his name in various pitches. It would be the one time in Loren's life that being told to go fuck yourself would be a welcome challenge.
Hands held the Launceleyn's above his head still, as fingertips scraped down his ribs. There was no up or down in this metaphysical tear in the world and so even as Loren might have felt like he was on his back, he also very much wasn't: a hand pressed against the flat of the summoner's back, pushing him down while another raised his hips into the air, pushing his thighs apart. An entanglement of tongues traced out a symphony on the flesh between his ass and his balls, as the pressure inside of him deepened and pulsed. Hands that needed no leverage still gripped the summoner's hips causing phantom and satisfying slaps of skin on skin to reverberate through the milky sea.
Loren wanted harder? Oh he'd get harder, double meaning intended.
The hands on his hips grew desperate, fingertips pulling at the pale flesh as the tongues out and in pounding out a rhythm impossible for any mortal muscle. Lips whispered filthy promises and taunts against the shell of Loren's ear, punctuated by groans of his name in various pitches. It would be the one time in Loren's life that being told to go fuck yourself would be a welcome challenge.
