[There's a thrill through him and he has to resist the urge to take a hand to himself too. Maker, he wanted to, but he could hold off if he treated this like they were actually together, focusing on Hawke's pleasure and needs. Especially now that he knew he was painting the picture, his love deserved a finished scene.]
Good.
The you can imagine how you buck your hips and how it drives you back into my throat and down it. How you'd reach down and grab my hair and fuck my mouth and I'd love every second of it, the taste of you, the feeling of the head catching my breath.
I'd suck at you and bend so beautifully for you until it became too much and you came into my mouth and down my throat so I could swallow
every
last
drop
and lick you clean with every ounce of reverence you deserved.
Think of that when you come for me, Hawke. Think of how wrecked I would look for you, my lips puffy and mouth a mess. What a fine meal you would make for me, my love.
no subject
Good.
The you can imagine how you buck your hips and how it drives you back into my throat and down it. How you'd reach down and grab my hair and fuck my mouth and I'd love every second of it, the taste of you, the feeling of the head catching my breath.
I'd suck at you and bend so beautifully for you until it became too much and you came into my mouth and down my throat so I could swallow
every
last
drop
and lick you clean with every ounce of reverence you deserved.
Think of that when you come for me, Hawke. Think of how wrecked I would look for you, my lips puffy and mouth a mess. What a fine meal you would make for me, my love.