[ The way Phainon works to take him deeper, the soft noises he makes around his cock, could drive someone mad. They are driving Mydeimos mad, who wants both to let Phainon take his time and to grip him by those ears and pull him down until he chokes. Both, he knows, are things Phainon would let him do. ]
Breathe through your nose.
[ It's a reminder, more Mydeimos than Prince, though his thumb flicks against the ear again as a sharper reminder. ]
[ Phainon wants to complain, wants to say something like he knows, he’s practiced, he’s had a tender hand in his hair guiding him into how to be better. He doesn’t move back enough to take Mydei’s cock out of his mouth, enjoying it too much, wanting more.
He does make a point of breathing through his nose, his hand gripping at Mydei’s thigh, digging his nails in.
It might be that this is just him being into the role of king, into being commanding and masterful, but it’s attractive, too. It makes him burn, sliding into the position of worship without hesitation.
Phainon wants to be - something. He doesn’t know. He can’t voice it, so instead… He groans, voice muffled, basking in being able to bring his friend all the pleasure he possibly can. ]
[ He breathes out sharply at those nails in his thigh. It's not a deterrent - in fact the pain makes his blood pump faster, makes him feel like his cock gets thicker in that mouth, whether it's true or not. He's never been big on being serviced, the Cat King's attentions notwithstanding, but he can see the appeal with Phainon hazey-eyed between his legs.
And it's not the service - it's the way Phainon seems to enjoy it, the way his muscles seem to relax as he takes him. Mydeimos groans a little. ]
Been too empty? Perhaps I should get you a gag, or a plug.
[ Phainon has been learning more and more that he likes to provide for others, that he likes to be able to do what he can to make other people feel good. His own pleasure feels so secondary, so distant in his mind when he is able to shove it aside. He doesn’t care about anything else, singled minded on pleasing others as he always has been.
Lifting his eyes, he lets his fingers keep moving, stroking gently, explorative. He hopes that he can show with the way he curls his tongue, the way he deliberately flicks it over the tip, the way he leans down more and more just how much he wants all of that.
There is so much he wants to do with Mydeimos, and he doesn’t know how to say it, so he moans softly instead, that the other man will understand. Hollowing his mouth, he takes him deep again, ears flicking up with joy and excitement. ]
[ Phainon's fingers stroke over him, around his balls, making Mydei lift his hips slightly. He moans, feeling Phainon's mouth slide back. ]
I know you would.
[ Mydeimos understands those earnest gestures, not from experience but because he knows Phainon. It's strange to think that he knows him as well as he knows himself; better than he knows even his five most dear friends. ]
[ The way the two of them know one another is a deep, intimate thing.
Millions of lifetimes of learning, of standing at one another's side, of fighting and warring and dying. Golden blood stains his fingers and his heart, but Phainon tries not to think too long about that lest he spoil the moment. Instead, he thinks of the sweeter things, the more gentle and wonderful, the way his heart burns.
This, he thinks, is worship, even if it is a game. He is worshipping his prince, and somewhere under the act and the roleplay, lines blurred, Phainon is worshipping his best and dearest friend.
The threat - promise? - of being taken after this has him reaching to stroke his fingers against Mydei's chest, trying to say yes, yes, yes, as many times as he can with a muffled tongue and his mind a haze. ]
Not a cruel or mocking laugh, but one of joy, seeing how eager Phainon is, stroking his fingers over his chest and catching against the rings. He raises his other hand to grasp one, pressing it to his breast, fingers nearly threaded together against the warmth of his skin. ]
So eager. We'll get there.
[ He rocks his hips up this time. ]
I want to fuck your mouth. Open up a little more for me?
[ The swing between sweetness and something else, an edge of passion and desire that gives the same sensation that sparring does. It’s the rush of adrenaline, the way his body warms, the way he feels so close with his friend… The intimacy has always been there, this is just something different they’re doing with it.
Their fingers brush, and Phainon softens.
There’s no way for him to resist.
As Mydeimos commands, his mouth goes a little lax, his eyes lidded once more, trying to relax as much as possible. He wants to give Mydeimos all he wants, to allow for his desire to be sated, to be a good and worthy servant to his prince. ]
[ It's a push and pull of dominance; Mydeimos knows he has the upper hand here, that Phainon is letting him have it. He has the memory of Phainon finding out about his piercings to show he can just as easily lose it to his friend, too.
And it is Phainon. If he can't be vulnerable with Phainon, there would be no hope for managing it with anyone else. His wish is for Phainon even, after a fashion.
He slips his hand down to curl around the side of Phainon's head. His other hand holds tightly onto Phainon's as he starts to thrust, shallow at first; then forcing Phainon to take the entirety of his cock as he starts to get bolder. ]
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no subject
Breathe through your nose.
[ It's a reminder, more Mydeimos than Prince, though his thumb flicks against the ear again as a sharper reminder. ]
You don't need to take it all in one go.
no subject
He does make a point of breathing through his nose, his hand gripping at Mydei’s thigh, digging his nails in.
It might be that this is just him being into the role of king, into being commanding and masterful, but it’s attractive, too. It makes him burn, sliding into the position of worship without hesitation.
Phainon wants to be - something. He doesn’t know. He can’t voice it, so instead… He groans, voice muffled, basking in being able to bring his friend all the pleasure he possibly can. ]
no subject
And it's not the service - it's the way Phainon seems to enjoy it, the way his muscles seem to relax as he takes him. Mydeimos groans a little. ]
Been too empty? Perhaps I should get you a gag, or a plug.
no subject
Lifting his eyes, he lets his fingers keep moving, stroking gently, explorative. He hopes that he can show with the way he curls his tongue, the way he deliberately flicks it over the tip, the way he leans down more and more just how much he wants all of that.
There is so much he wants to do with Mydeimos, and he doesn’t know how to say it, so he moans softly instead, that the other man will understand. Hollowing his mouth, he takes him deep again, ears flicking up with joy and excitement. ]
no subject
I know you would.
[ Mydeimos understands those earnest gestures, not from experience but because he knows Phainon. It's strange to think that he knows him as well as he knows himself; better than he knows even his five most dear friends. ]
Perhaps I should fuck you after this...
no subject
Millions of lifetimes of learning, of standing at one another's side, of fighting and warring and dying. Golden blood stains his fingers and his heart, but Phainon tries not to think too long about that lest he spoil the moment. Instead, he thinks of the sweeter things, the more gentle and wonderful, the way his heart burns.
This, he thinks, is worship, even if it is a game. He is worshipping his prince, and somewhere under the act and the roleplay, lines blurred, Phainon is worshipping his best and dearest friend.
The threat - promise? - of being taken after this has him reaching to stroke his fingers against Mydei's chest, trying to say yes, yes, yes, as many times as he can with a muffled tongue and his mind a haze. ]
no subject
Not a cruel or mocking laugh, but one of joy, seeing how eager Phainon is, stroking his fingers over his chest and catching against the rings. He raises his other hand to grasp one, pressing it to his breast, fingers nearly threaded together against the warmth of his skin. ]
So eager. We'll get there.
[ He rocks his hips up this time. ]
I want to fuck your mouth. Open up a little more for me?
no subject
Their fingers brush, and Phainon softens.
There’s no way for him to resist.
As Mydeimos commands, his mouth goes a little lax, his eyes lidded once more, trying to relax as much as possible. He wants to give Mydeimos all he wants, to allow for his desire to be sated, to be a good and worthy servant to his prince. ]
no subject
And it is Phainon. If he can't be vulnerable with Phainon, there would be no hope for managing it with anyone else. His wish is for Phainon even, after a fashion.
He slips his hand down to curl around the side of Phainon's head. His other hand holds tightly onto Phainon's as he starts to thrust, shallow at first; then forcing Phainon to take the entirety of his cock as he starts to get bolder. ]
Look at you.