[kavinsky encounters a problem about fifty seconds into this process. which is that his own dick starts to rear up to attention with almost painful verve. why? maybe it's the control. that's a nice notion. very ego-syntonic. he can play rupert like a fucking fiddle from down here, laughing so that the obscene vibration at the back of his throat goes into the head of rupert's cock, and sliding his tongue right down to the curly strings.
he pulls his mouth off the sex in question with a funny wet pop. smiles like a fox at the henhouse.] Sure, [he says.] Why don't you tell me all about it, sweetheart?
[he places a nonchalant hand over his own raging, ostentatious hard-on. slides his knees a little further apart, for traction, and shifts himself up. slides the fingers of his free hand over the clammy mess he's made of rupert's shaft now, and then tucks his nose under the base of it, nuzzling a nonchalant kiss in the soft, fuzzy cleft between rupert's balls as the chill air of the hotel chills the spit on the now-neglected head of rupert's cock, just a little. making fun.]
no subject
he pulls his mouth off the sex in question with a funny wet pop. smiles like a fox at the henhouse.] Sure, [he says.] Why don't you tell me all about it, sweetheart?
[he places a nonchalant hand over his own raging, ostentatious hard-on. slides his knees a little further apart, for traction, and shifts himself up. slides the fingers of his free hand over the clammy mess he's made of rupert's shaft now, and then tucks his nose under the base of it, nuzzling a nonchalant kiss in the soft, fuzzy cleft between rupert's balls as the chill air of the hotel chills the spit on the now-neglected head of rupert's cock, just a little. making fun.]