With certain people, yes, Vrenille is very popular indeed, and he knows as much--knows how to use it to his benefit. He's not really one to toot his own horn or spend too much time preening his own proverbial feathers. His answer comes low and husky against Mustang's ear, "I'd say they're 'bout to get a very good show then. Something they'll all remember for a nice long time."
The slow thrusting of the toy continues, Vrenille drawing it out until its widest part spreads Mustang's entrance...and then sliding it rhythmically back in. "Stop it, eh? You want me to take this outta you now? Put my cock in you instead?"
Honestly, he's not really waiting for an answer because it's not on the basis of anything Mustang says that he will or won't act. That's not how this goes. The words are there to be filthy, to play across the space of need and demand and control, so even before Mustang has asked for his cock, he's going to find that he's getting it.
Letting the toy rest in Mustang's body for a moment, Vrenille pulls himself out from the mesh of his underwear, settling the band of the elastic snuggly beneath his balls and squirting a dollop of lube into his hand to spread over himself. And then, in one smooth gesture, he slides the massager out of Mustang's body, tosses it and the lube bottle aside, and guides the head of his cock to the man's hole.
It's true he hasn't stretched him with more than the relatively narrow girth of the massager, but it's been in him for some time now, and that, he knows, should be ample enough for easing the ring of muscles, acclimating them to some intrusion. Besides, he wants the man nice and tight--wants him to feel the intensity of the stretch as he enters, wants to watch his expression in the mirror, the way his eyes widen and his mouth moves.
There's a bit of lube left on his fingers that slicks the skin of his entrance, but he doesn't waste any time now, canting his hips, one hand on Mustang's thigh to steady him as he presses in, groans with the delicious heat as his head squeezes through the first rings of muscle and his path opens before him so he can sink slowly deeper.
no subject
The slow thrusting of the toy continues, Vrenille drawing it out until its widest part spreads Mustang's entrance...and then sliding it rhythmically back in. "Stop it, eh? You want me to take this outta you now? Put my cock in you instead?"
Honestly, he's not really waiting for an answer because it's not on the basis of anything Mustang says that he will or won't act. That's not how this goes. The words are there to be filthy, to play across the space of need and demand and control, so even before Mustang has asked for his cock, he's going to find that he's getting it.
Letting the toy rest in Mustang's body for a moment, Vrenille pulls himself out from the mesh of his underwear, settling the band of the elastic snuggly beneath his balls and squirting a dollop of lube into his hand to spread over himself. And then, in one smooth gesture, he slides the massager out of Mustang's body, tosses it and the lube bottle aside, and guides the head of his cock to the man's hole.
It's true he hasn't stretched him with more than the relatively narrow girth of the massager, but it's been in him for some time now, and that, he knows, should be ample enough for easing the ring of muscles, acclimating them to some intrusion. Besides, he wants the man nice and tight--wants him to feel the intensity of the stretch as he enters, wants to watch his expression in the mirror, the way his eyes widen and his mouth moves.
There's a bit of lube left on his fingers that slicks the skin of his entrance, but he doesn't waste any time now, canting his hips, one hand on Mustang's thigh to steady him as he presses in, groans with the delicious heat as his head squeezes through the first rings of muscle and his path opens before him so he can sink slowly deeper.