That Vrenille accepts his initiation of their pitched foreplay when he pushes himself against the man’s stomach, their cocks mere millimeters apart, Mustang feels utter elation, secondary only to his horniness. So he does have some say -- even if disallowed to outright order a Dominant to do what he wants. That’s alright; Roy can work with that, as it gives him plenty of wiggle room to maneuver as he pleases, ensure his needs are met in a manner appropriate to his station.
Mustang cups a handful of butt-cheek in each of his, grinding their hips together hard, their erections sliding tight friction against the other.
Damn, that feels good.
Even if he could, Mustang wouldn’t wipe the smirk from his face, loving the roughness in the way Vrenille spins and urges him against the mirrored glass because it’s everything he wants. He splays his fingers flat against the mirror’s calm surface, and he smiles. When the man’s hand runs down the curve of his ass, a half-stifled murmur purrs from Roy’s throat, and bending forward, he pushes his ass back, watching him through the reflection from behind half-lidded eyes, focused on those dark ones of Vrenille’s. The smile that spreads Mustang’s lips so wide is rich with want and mischief. When the other man suggests that the clerks working the shop want Roy himself, he doubts it.
Who wouldn’t want to get fucked by this devious, deviant man?
Still, it wouldn’t do to let it go to his head. Eh. The man must know how good he is at this. “That’s probably true.” Roy gives him a wink and a smirk. “I’m a popular guy. But maybe not quite as popular as you.”
And Mustang's need to fuck kicks into high gear when the other man, the bastard, it feels so good, rocks the toy into and out of him, overstimulating his prostate, and Roy, desperate now, just begs. "Please, stop that."
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Mustang cups a handful of butt-cheek in each of his, grinding their hips together hard, their erections sliding tight friction against the other.
Damn, that feels good.
Even if he could, Mustang wouldn’t wipe the smirk from his face, loving the roughness in the way Vrenille spins and urges him against the mirrored glass because it’s everything he wants. He splays his fingers flat against the mirror’s calm surface, and he smiles. When the man’s hand runs down the curve of his ass, a half-stifled murmur purrs from Roy’s throat, and bending forward, he pushes his ass back, watching him through the reflection from behind half-lidded eyes, focused on those dark ones of Vrenille’s. The smile that spreads Mustang’s lips so wide is rich with want and mischief. When the other man suggests that the clerks working the shop want Roy himself, he doubts it.
Who wouldn’t want to get fucked by this devious, deviant man?
Still, it wouldn’t do to let it go to his head. Eh. The man must know how good he is at this. “That’s probably true.” Roy gives him a wink and a smirk. “I’m a popular guy. But maybe not quite as popular as you.”
And Mustang's need to fuck kicks into high gear when the other man, the bastard, it feels so good, rocks the toy into and out of him, overstimulating his prostate, and Roy, desperate now, just begs. "Please, stop that."