[ Was this normal, this torturous attraction, this lust and restraint. The overpowering desire for satiation and yet the need to hold back, to extend each touch and make this night last forever. If he could just extend time, make each second an hour, each sensation an eternity. He longed for the release Dorian teased him with whilst at the same time rejected it - the anticipation by itself was a heady pleasure that made his heart throb under Dorian's palm.
Dorian moved like a serpent over him, each gesture fluid and elegant. There was a cruel expertise to each careful touch, calculating and wicked. Alucard's years of solitude and an adolescent bereft of affection were not just showing, they was blinding. All attempts at composure and decorum seemed like distant ideals, rules forged on a tablet that Dorian could shatter with a single caress.
When he bent over him, his hands had made their way down to Dorian's hips and one settled comfortably there but the other reached up to feel the warmth of his cheek against his palm. He felt the muscles in his cheeks and jaw move and then--oh God. His lips around his sensitive and pert nippples, two sweet blushes of pink on the white contours of his chest. And that hot, hard pressure against his belly. It was all too much, too much lust, too much longing. The cradling fingertips dropped to the bed with a soft thud before tightening into his own hair.
The sound he made was pure pleasure; exquisite. It sounded like crystalline love and adoration, a longing, a lock that had only one key to fit it. His loins ached, beyond arousal it crossed over the border into pain. The hand on his hip squeezed him, firmly but not to hurt. Almost as if scolding him in a gesture. ]
Y--[ He stammered, his words almost entirely air with just the hint of a hot whisper. ]--You mean to break me, to drive me mad.
D..does it always feel like this?
[ What an awful question, one Alucard didn't realise was so terrible.
Either answer would likely affect him - if sex always felt like this then this moment was not special at all.
But what could be worse, was if this was different. What then? What gravitas did this union have if this was indeed special and particular. ]
no subject
Dorian moved like a serpent over him, each gesture fluid and elegant. There was a cruel expertise to each careful touch, calculating and wicked. Alucard's years of solitude and an adolescent bereft of affection were not just showing, they was blinding. All attempts at composure and decorum seemed like distant ideals, rules forged on a tablet that Dorian could shatter with a single caress.
When he bent over him, his hands had made their way down to Dorian's hips and one settled comfortably there but the other reached up to feel the warmth of his cheek against his palm. He felt the muscles in his cheeks and jaw move and then--oh God. His lips around his sensitive and pert nippples, two sweet blushes of pink on the white contours of his chest. And that hot, hard pressure against his belly. It was all too much, too much lust, too much longing. The cradling fingertips dropped to the bed with a soft thud before tightening into his own hair.
The sound he made was pure pleasure; exquisite. It sounded like crystalline love and adoration, a longing, a lock that had only one key to fit it. His loins ached, beyond arousal it crossed over the border into pain. The hand on his hip squeezed him, firmly but not to hurt. Almost as if scolding him in a gesture. ]
Y--[ He stammered, his words almost entirely air with just the hint of a hot whisper. ]--You mean to break me, to drive me mad.
D..does it always feel like this?
[ What an awful question, one Alucard didn't realise was so terrible.
Either answer would likely affect him - if sex always felt like this then this moment was not special at all.
But what could be worse, was if this was different. What then? What gravitas did this union have if this was indeed special and particular. ]