[He's ready for Tseng's orgasm when it comes, anticipating with every moment the flood of it into his mouth, which arguably has more to do with the pride of refusing to choke than anything to do with skill at the craft. Tseng's moan catches in his ears and he grasps his fingers firm around his leg, like he's holding on for stability's sake as his own vision narrows and all of his attention goes to the rush of heat spilling onto his tongue.
He catches it, and holds it, and leaves his eyes half-lidded as he sucks gently on Tseng's cock as if to coax out every last drop he can afford him, and then puts the figurative cherry atop his little performance by sliding off and opening his mouth just enough to let Tseng see the cum on his tongue before closing his lips and swallowing deliberately.
(It's hardly a delicacy. That's not going to stop him from acting like it, just this once; it is Tseng's belated birthday, after all.)
It's only once the hazy hypnosis of his little encore breaks that he really starts to notice anything outside the taste in his mouth and the heat in his cheeks — like the fact that his knees ache a little, or that hair has fallen across his nose and is sticking to his tacky lips and there's just a little sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Fuck, he's a mess. It's worth it, he decides, and makes no move to correct any of it.]
Mmh. You should tell me about your wildest dreams more often.
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He catches it, and holds it, and leaves his eyes half-lidded as he sucks gently on Tseng's cock as if to coax out every last drop he can afford him, and then puts the figurative cherry atop his little performance by sliding off and opening his mouth just enough to let Tseng see the cum on his tongue before closing his lips and swallowing deliberately.
(It's hardly a delicacy. That's not going to stop him from acting like it, just this once; it is Tseng's belated birthday, after all.)
It's only once the hazy hypnosis of his little encore breaks that he really starts to notice anything outside the taste in his mouth and the heat in his cheeks — like the fact that his knees ache a little, or that hair has fallen across his nose and is sticking to his tacky lips and there's just a little sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Fuck, he's a mess. It's worth it, he decides, and makes no move to correct any of it.]
Mmh. You should tell me about your wildest dreams more often.