He can't quite bite back the small whimper of protest when Jesper pulls off his cock, body stretching towards him as if to chase the loss of that wet heat. But that tongue still teases him and his breath hitches as the words wash over him a moment later.
Sylvain is no stranger to taking control in the bedroom, had been doing it since... well, longer than his memory holds, actually. But in recent years, he'd been relinquishing that more and more. It's easier, with those he trusts. He's much more comfortable not defaulting to a leadership role, following along instead. Partially because his assertive nature had taken a brutal blow for a century or so, but also because it felt so much better to finally release that tightly-gripped control and let his brain just fall quiet for a little while.
So he was more than happy to acquiesce to what Jesper told him to do, rolling over onto his hands and knees when the man moves back to give him room to rearrange their positions. His eyes are already dark with hunger as he latches onto the sight of Claude sprawled on the bed behind him, shirtless, evidence of his own arousal beneath his clothes. Of which he's still wearing way too many.
Fingers fumble with the fastenings, tugging the fabric down and out of his way. "Off," he complains playfully, impatient, but once they're gone, tossed aside without a care, he's quick to crawl back up between Claude's legs once more. Kissing his way up the inside of his thighs. Hands sliding over warm skin he's mapped a thousand times - with fingertips, with lips, with tongue.
And when he gets to his cock, he slides his tongue over the sensitive skin, taking his time. Worshipping in his own way, because there's something reverent in it. That quiet sense of marveling that this is still his to do once more. The urge to pinch himself to remind himself it's really real. He moans softly against the length of him, wanton, swirling his tongue about the tip, even as he spreads his legs a little wider, giving Jesper what he wanted, too. Definitely a blatant invitation.
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Sylvain is no stranger to taking control in the bedroom, had been doing it since... well, longer than his memory holds, actually. But in recent years, he'd been relinquishing that more and more. It's easier, with those he trusts. He's much more comfortable not defaulting to a leadership role, following along instead. Partially because his assertive nature had taken a brutal blow for a century or so, but also because it felt so much better to finally release that tightly-gripped control and let his brain just fall quiet for a little while.
So he was more than happy to acquiesce to what Jesper told him to do, rolling over onto his hands and knees when the man moves back to give him room to rearrange their positions. His eyes are already dark with hunger as he latches onto the sight of Claude sprawled on the bed behind him, shirtless, evidence of his own arousal beneath his clothes. Of which he's still wearing way too many.
Fingers fumble with the fastenings, tugging the fabric down and out of his way. "Off," he complains playfully, impatient, but once they're gone, tossed aside without a care, he's quick to crawl back up between Claude's legs once more. Kissing his way up the inside of his thighs. Hands sliding over warm skin he's mapped a thousand times - with fingertips, with lips, with tongue.
And when he gets to his cock, he slides his tongue over the sensitive skin, taking his time. Worshipping in his own way, because there's something reverent in it. That quiet sense of marveling that this is still his to do once more. The urge to pinch himself to remind himself it's really real. He moans softly against the length of him, wanton, swirling his tongue about the tip, even as he spreads his legs a little wider, giving Jesper what he wanted, too. Definitely a blatant invitation.