[ murphy's mouth opens to banter back at him, and it's a little fortuitous that kavinsky chooses just then to shove his face down between his legs, lips parted so the sharp exhale of hot air that comes with the sudden movement is let out against the soft rise of his dick under the slacks k has on. this is fine, it isn't so harsh as to make murphy feel disrespected or looked down on, but isn't so soft that it would fluster all his nerves in trying something he's completely new at. something he hasn't actually told k he's completely new at.
but, he knows how blowjobs work, he knows what feels good on a dick, he can do this just fine. hands coming up, his palms press against kavinsky's upper thighs, squeezing a moment, enjoying the feel of lean muscle there, before pushing at them, urging them to part for him to settle in between. his head pulls forward, putting some tension on the strands between his scalp and k's fingers curled up in his hair, open mouth feeling out kavinsky's cock from under the fabric, hot breath seeping through and damp spots of saliva left behind. pale, bony hands roaming, murphy searches out his balls, palms at them, and sweeps up over the V of his pelvis, to grip at his hipbones, giving k's lower half a tug closer to him.
it's an interested mix of sensory input - the familiar scents of his laundry detergent, dry cleaner starch, and the cologne kavinsky wears, with a musky undertone, pheromones and bare body and other sex related things, very affirming of, yes, you do, in fact, have your face all up between someone's legs, and that sure is a dick you're trying to lap at through cotton. which, murphy's hands work at removing, tugging at his belt and the closures on his fly. ]
no subject
but, he knows how blowjobs work, he knows what feels good on a dick, he can do this just fine. hands coming up, his palms press against kavinsky's upper thighs, squeezing a moment, enjoying the feel of lean muscle there, before pushing at them, urging them to part for him to settle in between. his head pulls forward, putting some tension on the strands between his scalp and k's fingers curled up in his hair, open mouth feeling out kavinsky's cock from under the fabric, hot breath seeping through and damp spots of saliva left behind. pale, bony hands roaming, murphy searches out his balls, palms at them, and sweeps up over the V of his pelvis, to grip at his hipbones, giving k's lower half a tug closer to him.
it's an interested mix of sensory input - the familiar scents of his laundry detergent, dry cleaner starch, and the cologne kavinsky wears, with a musky undertone, pheromones and bare body and other sex related things, very affirming of, yes, you do, in fact, have your face all up between someone's legs, and that sure is a dick you're trying to lap at through cotton. which, murphy's hands work at removing, tugging at his belt and the closures on his fly. ]