[So this is how Felix dies, then: perched atop a table, breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he involuntarily squeezes his thighs around Sylvain's neck. It's uncomfortable, probably. Felix is somewhat aware of this much as his eyes slide open once again, focusing on Sylvain's face as Sylvain speaks, and damn, but if the sound of Sylvain's voice doesn't drag him even closer to the edge. He's been alone for weeks, now, and while there have been desperate nights he's worked fingers into himself and thought of this, of Sylvain taking him apart before painstakingly piecing him back together, nothing compares to the sight of Sylvain on his knees? To the feeling of Sylvain's beard scraping against oh-so sensitive skin, which contrasts so, so nicely with the plush warmth of Sylvain's tongue. It's— he's—
...Listen: Felix has always been stupidly sensitive. Get him in the bedroom—strip away his defenses, layer by stubborn layer—and it's amazing, how little will leave such a proud man a twitching, gasping mess. The key is memorizing what, exactly, draws the most minute reactions from him—and as Sylvain has spent years exploring every inch of Felix's body, it stands to reason that Sylvain knows precisely how much pressure to apply, precisely when a simple flick of his wrist will send a shiver racing up Felix's spine. It's only fair.
Except it isn't fair, not at all, but all that Felix can do is tilt his head back before the quietest of moans escapes him.]
I can't—
[—hold back, he means, because it's been so long, and Sylvain is so good, and Felix is only human, hence the noticeable twitch of his cock. A few more minutes of this and he's done—and he'll be ready to come again in far less time than he normally would, thanks to his impending heat, but it's the principle of the matter? The embarrassment that is coming down Sylvain's throat so soon after being reunited, which sends him yanking at Sylvain's hair even as an all-too familiar heat pools low within him. It feels as though he's pulled taut as a bowstring; he's set to either come with a cry or collapse in on himself, if Sylvain is cruel enough to pull away. It has been... the longest separation, do not at him.]
no subject
...Listen: Felix has always been stupidly sensitive. Get him in the bedroom—strip away his defenses, layer by stubborn layer—and it's amazing, how little will leave such a proud man a twitching, gasping mess. The key is memorizing what, exactly, draws the most minute reactions from him—and as Sylvain has spent years exploring every inch of Felix's body, it stands to reason that Sylvain knows precisely how much pressure to apply, precisely when a simple flick of his wrist will send a shiver racing up Felix's spine. It's only fair.
Except it isn't fair, not at all, but all that Felix can do is tilt his head back before the quietest of moans escapes him.]
I can't—
[—hold back, he means, because it's been so long, and Sylvain is so good, and Felix is only human, hence the noticeable twitch of his cock. A few more minutes of this and he's done—and he'll be ready to come again in far less time than he normally would, thanks to his impending heat, but it's the principle of the matter? The embarrassment that is coming down Sylvain's throat so soon after being reunited, which sends him yanking at Sylvain's hair even as an all-too familiar heat pools low within him. It feels as though he's pulled taut as a bowstring; he's set to either come with a cry or collapse in on himself, if Sylvain is cruel enough to pull away. It has been... the longest separation, do not at him.]