[ The use of that nickname, while most times going uncommented on -- secretly liked, even, feeling the affection within it -- gets an eyeroll now, only just visible. His hand doesn't stop, feeling around for those sensitive points that Bull founds so easily on him, pressing through thick fabric, squeezing by way of answer. Yes, looking for something.
He lifts his head back, head tipped and considering while his hand doesn't stop. ]
I think I want my name, [ he asserts, primly. ] You do remember it, I hope.
[ What does he want, though? It's the kind of question the bears weight, that makes his heart twinge mysteriously, in a context that doesn't apply. 'Fuck me' is an easy enough thing to say, but it wants for specificity. The sort he's rarely had opportunity to indulge in before.
It's a struggle, to keep uncertainty out of his expression. It's not a quality meant to coincide with licking your own come off someone's fingers.
He settles a little further down Bull's lap, only somewhat incidentally pushing back into that grip on his ass, his own hands occupied now with tugging open Bull's belt. The coarse friction of a belt and the jangle of metal. His own trousers and underwear ride lower, caught around his kneeling legs. ]
A week, [ he says, after a moment. ] That's how long I had to conceal parts of my neck all the way West. They may have lasted longer, but I cheated, a little, magically -- reluctant though I was to do so. The heat just became intolerable the further we travelled. Now, those little ones you left on my hip I allowed to stay as long as they liked, but alas, they too faded away.
[ Opening Bull's trousers, he bends his wrist to slide his hand within, fingers curling around solid flesh, drawing it out into the cooler air of the room. ]
no subject
He lifts his head back, head tipped and considering while his hand doesn't stop. ]
I think I want my name, [ he asserts, primly. ] You do remember it, I hope.
[ What does he want, though? It's the kind of question the bears weight, that makes his heart twinge mysteriously, in a context that doesn't apply. 'Fuck me' is an easy enough thing to say, but it wants for specificity. The sort he's rarely had opportunity to indulge in before.
It's a struggle, to keep uncertainty out of his expression. It's not a quality meant to coincide with licking your own come off someone's fingers.
He settles a little further down Bull's lap, only somewhat incidentally pushing back into that grip on his ass, his own hands occupied now with tugging open Bull's belt. The coarse friction of a belt and the jangle of metal. His own trousers and underwear ride lower, caught around his kneeling legs. ]
A week, [ he says, after a moment. ] That's how long I had to conceal parts of my neck all the way West. They may have lasted longer, but I cheated, a little, magically -- reluctant though I was to do so. The heat just became intolerable the further we travelled. Now, those little ones you left on my hip I allowed to stay as long as they liked, but alas, they too faded away.
[ Opening Bull's trousers, he bends his wrist to slide his hand within, fingers curling around solid flesh, drawing it out into the cooler air of the room. ]
I want them all back.