justice_is_blond | Inbox for Fade Rift

Anders exhales, legs spreading reflexively at Zevran's voice and words.

"I'm flushed by the time you're done, watching you drink me in and trying to follow you hand with my hips... to no avail. That doesn't make me enjoy the pose any less, and I'm shameless in the way I lounge on display, shameless and wanting. I murmur your name before saying it again, louder. Zevran," there's yearning in his voice, "Zevran, touch me again, I ask, even when I know it won't happen, not yet, not until you've the image you want and that I want you to view and think about often."

He's definitely getting noticeably hard now; the thought of simply being looked at, watched, enjoyed like that, I'd a powerful one.

"Not yet, Gattino." He murmurs, biting back the urge to actually bite Anders. That is not the game.

"'You are not to move, not to touch yourself until I am done with this sketch.' is all that I say as I begin putting the image to paper, my eyes tracing every desperate line of you. 'Do so and you will be punished.' and oh, it would be a sweet punishment, Anders. Something to leave you aching afterward, this I promise. Nothing unkind. That is my last order before I resume sketching, now and then stepping back over to adjust the drape of your gown, the fall of your hair, or squeeze the head of your cock to get your smalls damp."

"Oh..." This game of want and teasing and denial is the sweetest like this, when he knows he's wanted and its being prolonged for the both of them, not merely one. "The punishment is tempting as I trust you... But I want the reward from behaving all the more. I want to see your joy in the result, and so I keep myself as still as I can. My body, my cock follows your demands and I watch you with hungry eyes, licking my lips and wanting your permission so badly I can taste it."

He's behaving in the scenario... But here, in reality, he lifts his hips off the bed do he can scoot his leggings down and let his cock be free. Even more, be visible. Zevran knows what he can do to Anders, but seeing that? Always better.

"Look at you, Bello." In the fantasy and in the room, bare and hard and aching with only words. If he'd at all doubted his ability to bring Anders off like this? They've been put to rest. "I return to your side one last time, slipping my hand between your legs to stroke that silk behind your balls, pressing it up tight to rub against your hole. Can you imagine how that feels, Bello? Warmed by your own body and bunching, dragging against such sensitive skin? You hold still so well for me- I murmur priase with every touch. Beautiful, so very beautiful for me."

"Yes. I can. The tug, and your fingers right there, touching... That's the beauty of it, Maker." He rocks his hips up into imaginary friction, setting and feeling the scene as described. "The heat of you is right there, close enough to touch and to kiss, but I don't, I behave, and please, please, I beg, notice how I'm listening and being patient."

He's never gotten this hot and bothered by words before... But he's also not really tried before either.

"I.. anything you ask, I'll do, only please don't stop touching me."

"So patient for me. So perfect for me. I give you one last drag of my hand up the length of your cock and the barest brush of my lips against yours before slipping back one last time to my sketch- but it's rushed. I'm distracted, no, entranced by you. I ache as you ache, want as you want-" And even here he is idly hard behind Anders, working to keep his hips still. He is not the point, here. Making good on the bet? That is.

He takes a steadying breath and continues. "I am not so careless as to toss the sketchbook aside but I am not slow to rejoin you- to tangle my hands in your hair and slide a leg between your spread thighs. I kiss you- deep and claiming and wanting, grinding my leg against you- but I have not yet given you leave to move. I honestly have forgotten to do so."

He can feel Zevran growing to hardness behind him, and Anders leans his head back a little, almost letting it fall back against the elf. Anders licks his lips as if he can taste the kiss, hips stilling as he tries to behave as he's supposed to.

"You taste like brandy and salt, such a combination, and your leg is nearly perfection itself. I groan and curl my hands into fists, holding myself still until I can take it no longer and I beg you, plead with you for permission to tangle my hands in your hair and grind up against you, anything. I need this. I need you. Please..." He's so hard, but he doesn't know if he can come from it and he wants to. The scene begging and real begging begin to blur together just a little. "I don't... Zevran..."

"Breathe, Bello." He wants to taste. Wants to bite, wants to take- but does not. He breathes through a soft sigh to settle himself, hands remaining firm where they are around Anders' waist. They do not wander. "I tell you that you might move, that I will let you touch me as you like though my hands slip from your skin to move the silks aside. To pull something from under the chaise- a small wooden chest filled with slender rods, each thicker than the last. 'Have you seen these before?' I ask, one hand dipping to hold your cock still, my thumb flicking back and forth across the dripping slit at your head. I take some of that slickness and roll it across my bottom lip while I wait for your answer."

He makes a quiet noise of protest, giving in and letting his head fall back the rest of the way. A good, strong touch and he'd be there, but that's not what's happening. Anders' hands tighten where they rest on Zevran's thighs for just a moment before he gets his body a little more under control.

"Maker. I touch you, exploring your chest with my hands while I've got opportunity, watching hungrily and shaking my head. I've not seen them before, and I can't say I'm entirely focused on that when I have your fingers on my cock and my seed on your lip. My eyes are on your mouth, hoping that you'll lick that spot. 'What are they?' I ask, knowing they have to be something important else you'd not have pulled them out. 'And do they involve you kissing me? Lips or cock, I don't mind,' I say." Slender rods? If Zevran had said thick he'd guess them for his ass, but otherwise, Anders isn't sure.

"Shh." He rubs his nose against the fine hair just behind Anders' ear. Swallowing the desire to do this in truth, to run his hands over Anders' body, to pull out those rods and show him? Is nigh overwhelming. But no.

He will be strong and earn his reputation.

"A new toy, I say, as I lick my lips clean. Again my thumb flicks, again I spread it across my bottom lip- but this time I kiss you. I let you taste yourself on my mouth as my hand slows to hold you by the root. It pains me to pull away, but I do so, and begin oiling the thinnest. 'They go here-" I explain, rolling my thumb across your slit. These rods are long, Bello, curved slightly to go in deep. To press that crackling nub from the other side. 'They are to fuck your cock, pretty thing, and you will beg for the next one before I am through."

He inhales, toes curling at the mental image. Now he thinks he knows what they are, though he's never heard of them used for this before. Clearing out infections, generally, the sort that come from sleeping with someone in every port and not taking care. And now he wants to try them.

"I taste so good on your lips, but it's the rods and your explanation that have my focus. I've never..." Anders has to swallow, to clear his throat, because it's been some time since he's been introduced to a new idea in bed. "I've never had anything there before. I can't pull my eyes away from the sight of you slicking the rod, and I can't keep my hips from jerking upward at the touch of your thumb. The things you do to me, the things I want you to do to me, and now you're creating new ones. I ask you to not be cruel, but you know I like it when you make me beg, when I'm so close to the edge and begging for just a little more. You push me, and I enjoy every moment of it."

There it is. The moment of realization, when mind and body start to settle and sync. When the fantasy settles in the skin and he can feel the phantom hands on his skin. "It warms under my touch, Bello. Shines in the sun's light as I press the rounded tip to the head of your cock. Unlike my thumb it is hard. Unyielding. There is no give, no softness, only the solid press as I let it start to slip inside. The first is thin, easily enough for your body to accept and oh, Anders. Does it accept the rod beautifully."

He takes a slow, steadying breath, voice still low and warm and curling. "I let it sink until it meets the hand holding you at the root, until I can rub my thumb against the skin that's slightly strained from having something inside. Without a word I stroke you from root to tip twice, twisting the rod slightly with each pass, then I say 'Ask me for the rest' for there are a few inches left, Bello. It is not quite deep enough to touch you where you should crave it most."

His eyes flutter close and he leans forward a little despite himself, giving in to the picture Zevran is illustrating for him. Something firm sliding inside him, stiff and unrelenting, sounds promising in the extreme, and even better with Zevran's voice delivering every word.

"Filled like that, I can't help but moan. Nothing has ever touched me like that before. I enjoy being stretched, but this... I can't speak at first, because I'm fighting my body's every urge to push upward." Anders' cock is leaking a little more, and now it's a challenge for himself as well. He's certain Zevran can bring him to completion like this, at this point, but he wants to see how long he can last against the fantasy.

"Finally, finally I manage a hoarse 'please' and I know that's not enough. I look at you with desperation in my eyes and try again. 'Zevran, please, a little more. You said you'd hit the gland, please.'"

"You enjoy being filled, Anders, and I mean to fill you in every way possible. I let you strain for a moment or two, I wait for you to find your breath, to find your words, twisting the rod between my fingers as you adjust. It is a thing of beauty, watching you struggle. You are trying so hard not to fuck yourself on this rod- were I not so focused on your pleasure I might tend to my own." But no, this is about Anders. For Anders.

"You ask, and eventually? I give. I let the rod drop those last few inches and slow the curve to drag deep inside, letting it hit the glad you need. It's different like this- sharper, sweeter than it would be had I my cock in your ass. Depending on how well you take these that may be in the cards, yes? But for now it is this. I let you have it, all of it for a moment more before withdrawing it a few inches, just enough to pull it from the depths of you, and let go. I hold your cock upright and watch as your body takes it in as deep as you can manage."

"Fuck." It's breathed out as he works to keep himself under some sort of control despite everything. If he thought it would do any good, he'd start begging in earnest for Zevran to really fill him, cock and rod both, to have him one more time.

"I'm straining now, against myself, seeking more and getting it when I start to wonder if it will happen, and I'm not prepared. I do jerk, then, trying to follow it up as you pull it out, and only stilling as you hold me and let go of it. The sight of it, of it..." He's so hard his thighs are starting to ache from the way his heels are pressed down into the bed. His fingers are tight on Zevran's thighs in return as Anders tries to breathe himself down and catch his breath. After a few moments he's finally leaning back against Zevran again, swallowing hard at the feeling of the assassin's cock trapped between them.

"It can't sink down fast enough, and it can't sink down slowly enough." His voice is hoarse, and he has a feeling Zevran might be feeling rather proud of himself right now. It's fair. Zevran's earned it. "I ask you for the next, no, I beg you, my voice cracking over the words because I can't imagine how full I'd feel and you've made me want this so very much."

"When you ask so sweetly, Bello, how can I refuse?" He can't, honestly. Not when Anders is so tense, not when he can smell the twist of his arousal- it takes everything in him not to slide his hand down just to drag his fingers through the slick drip of precome on his stomach. It wouldn't take much. A few inches- he wouldn't have to touch Anders' cock at all-

But no.

Words. Words for them both. "I press it in deep one last time before I remove it and slick oil along the next one. I do not take the time to warm it so the press of metal is cold against the tip of your cock. Like a shard of ice as it drags down- and now it is a drag, this one is not so thin that it slips in so easily. I have to work it in and out, twisting it slowly for your body to adjust, To take it in deeper inch by inch. 'oh how tight you are-' I say, eyes enraptured by the flexing of your thighs, the hitches of your hips. 'how large it must feel with how hard your cock is. Can you bear it, bello? or is it too much?' I ask for there are at least three more I would wish to try, each larger than the last."

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