That whimper just might be turning into a moan at about this point in time; and they're both still fully clothed. It's kind of ridiculous.
Villiers really should go about fixing that, but he really can't be bothered. Because ngh, Imriel did find that spot again, and coherent thought has left the building.
Another whimper which quickly turns into a moan itself, and his eyes close so that there's one less sensory input, so that maybe he can get a few words out.
"You are far too good at this," are his words of praise.
His hand drifts up Villiers' side, skimming over his ribs and up his throat to brush his lips and trace the lines of his eyelashes, and Imriel grins, letting go of Villiers' wrist with his other hand to pin his shoulder to the bed.
"I try," he murmurs before returning his attentions to Villiers' jawline.
Villiers' eyes stay closed as Imriel's hand trails upwards, just enjoying the sensual feel of it all. It's so different from what he's used to; a worship instead of a mere act.
His eyes snap back open, though, soon enough, and when his hands are freed, they trail down and back up under Imriel's shirt, because skin to skin is a good thing in general.
"You are terribly forward," Imriel repeats, returning both wickedness and grin.
And once he's got Villiers' shirt off, his own is going to join it on the crude bedside table. You'll forgive him, under the circumstances, for not folding it neatly. He has... other things on his mind.
Other things like pinning Villiers' wrists above his head and leaning down to kiss him thoroughly.
Being terribly forward gets Villiers fun stuff, though. :D
Such as this, for example. Notice how happy he is. Notice his state of bliss. Notice the fact that this sort of position, this sort of lack of control, is perhaps Villiers' favourite of all. For he can just react, and not have to think about it.
And though he wants to touch, he can't, and though he can struggle against that grip, he's not getting out of it. There's just something intoxicatingly nice about that.
Imri can see all of this as clearly as he can see the fluttering of Villiers' eyelashes and the way his short hair sticks out, ruffled by their activities.
It's damnably cute, is what it is.
So one hand holds Villiers' wrists to the bed while the other slides down his stomach, caressing bare skin, and Imriel nibbles gently on Vill's lower lip.
There's a whimper, perhaps a whine, and definitely some moving to press as close as he can, even as he's held in place.
Held in place by a twenty-year old, fourteen years his junior, yet apparently with exponentially greater experience than himself. It just seems to make the entire situation that much sharper, harsh and biting.
And he loves it all. It's pretty easy to tell, all things considered.
He ghosts his palm down further, fingertips brushing the waistband of Villiers' pants as teeth and tongue worship the tender spot at the corner of his jaw.
Villiers really should go about fixing that, but he really can't be bothered. Because ngh, Imriel did find that spot again, and coherent thought has left the building.
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Another whimper which quickly turns into a moan itself, and his eyes close so that there's one less sensory input, so that maybe he can get a few words out.
"You are far too good at this," are his words of praise.
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His hand drifts up Villiers' side, skimming over his ribs and up his throat to brush his lips and trace the lines of his eyelashes, and Imriel grins, letting go of Villiers' wrist with his other hand to pin his shoulder to the bed.
"I try," he murmurs before returning his attentions to Villiers' jawline.
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His eyes snap back open, though, soon enough, and when his hands are freed, they trail down and back up under Imriel's shirt, because skin to skin is a good thing in general.
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It would appear he's also straddling the older man's hips. When did that happen, exactly?
Oh well. No one's complaining.
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It actually has as the one grinning wickedly this time, trailing his hands back down to Imriel's bum so he can pull him forward a bit.
No, that's not suggestive at all.
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And once he's got Villiers' shirt off, his own is going to join it on the crude bedside table. You'll forgive him, under the circumstances, for not folding it neatly. He has... other things on his mind.
Other things like pinning Villiers' wrists above his head and leaning down to kiss him thoroughly.
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Such as this, for example. Notice how happy he is. Notice his state of bliss. Notice the fact that this sort of position, this sort of lack of control, is perhaps Villiers' favourite of all. For he can just react, and not have to think about it.
And though he wants to touch, he can't, and though he can struggle against that grip, he's not getting out of it. There's just something intoxicatingly nice about that.
Which shows in his whimpers and his kisses.
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It's damnably cute, is what it is.
So one hand holds Villiers' wrists to the bed while the other slides down his stomach, caressing bare skin, and Imriel nibbles gently on Vill's lower lip.
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Held in place by a twenty-year old, fourteen years his junior, yet apparently with exponentially greater experience than himself. It just seems to make the entire situation that much sharper, harsh and biting.
And he loves it all. It's pretty easy to tell, all things considered.
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This combination of power rush and vicarious pleasure is never going to get old.
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He wants more, and he can be shameless in the right situations. Such as now.
"Please, just..."
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It's amazing how he can pack all those questions into a single drawn-out syllable.
The carelessly graceful way he dips his head to nibble at Villiers' neck is also amazing, but one would think Vill might be used to it by now.
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Beauty, pure and simple.
"More, can I just..."
As he trails off, he turns his head just enough so he can kiss, nip at Imriel's shoulder, tasting skin and just please.
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Yeah, Imri's going to make the man beg.
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