[The whine... is good. The whine is great, really, and as Felix watches Sylvain's head bob forward, he's suddenly determined to draw forth more of that. How many noises can he coax out of this man? How many sentences can he push him to start, just so he can watch them stutter to a stop, hear them give way to a moan?
Well! You know. It's the smallest possible things, surprisingly enough.]
Better.
[But not great, that implies—and he drives this unspoken point home by abruptly slipping his fingers even farther back, pressing them down against the smooth surface of Sylvain's tongue as he watches Sylvain's reflexes kick in? As he feels Sylvain's reflexes kick in, the back of Sylvain's throat clenching up as Felix applies just a bit more pressure. Sylvain's gag reflex is a thing he's all but tamed, through what Felix believes to be years and years and years of practice; it's a thing that normally annoys and arouses Felix in equal measure, and now he's pushing it to its very limit, enjoying the way those bright brown eyes turn watery. Lovely.
They are not, however, lovely enough for Felix to consider causing Sylvain anything more than mild discomfort? It's why Felix pulls his fingers free just as abruptly as he'd pushed them back, relishing the wet pop he hears almost as much as seeing Sylvain trying to hold himself together. Dangerous stuff! Doubly so, when that hand scratching at one of those bunny ears grabs it, sharply tugs Sylvain's head back so that he's looking right up at Felix's flushed, smirking face.]
You look good like this. [A tease, of sorts, all while Felix rudely draws those spit-slick fingers across a cheek.] Maybe I'll keep you here? On your knees.
[He could. It wouldn't be bad—but as Felix continues studying Sylvain's upturned face in an almost wolfish fashion, he waits and wonders if this is all it will take to make Sylvain beg for more. A decent enough start...]
Better, he says, which Later Sylvain will likely recognize as the last remaining point he held any fragment of control over the situation; Now Sylvain, however, lets that potential for praise get the best of him, too distracted in the split second it takes for Felix to take matters into his own hands to recognize the implication involved. So it's... unexpected, of course!! Both the decision to act, as well as the action itself, and it's only those years of practice that keep him from trying to jerk away, or choking against the sudden intrusion outright.
Years of practice, and the unwavering trust that Felix won't, like, actually do anything genuinely harmful... Even as his pulse leaps into a frantic, startled pace and he has to blink his vision clear of the involuntary tears springing to the corners of his eyes (and also despite the troublesome flash of heat that accompanies the far-off realization that, if Felix really wanted to, he probably could still choke him like this, and you know, isn't that a thought...) Sylvain doesn't even think to question whether that pressure will ease up in time.
It's all just a little... ah, dizzying, if he's honest. Exciting in ways that are as familiar as they are unfamiliar, recognizable in some dimly lit corner of his imagination and yet new and exciting and unexplored all at once--and with the current moon cycle in full effect, absolutely everything is amplified by ten?? It's all he can do to try and collect himself in the seconds before he's pulled from his momentary daze, that tug earning a quick gasp of something probably about as breathless as it is blasphemous.
"Goddess," Sylvain mutters, and unlike Felix, he can't resist letting one hand drift to the front of his own pants to offer himself just, like, the tiniest bit of relief... He can't touch Felix, and it's not nearly as satisfying a feeling as it could be, but it feels like he's already been waiting so, so, so long. And sure, it's still enough that he has to bite back a quiet moan, eyes screwing themselves shut for a beat before he blinks back into some sort of focus, but that's at least 60% from the way his mind decides to run with Felix's suggestion anyway...
He has to swallow before he trusts himself to speak again, but once he does, what he winds up asking is, "When did you become such a tease...?"
...Which sounds more like it SHOULD be phrased as, 'stop teasing me, Felix, please, I'm dying', but here on the floor of this kitchen, we ask the real questions.
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Well! You know. It's the smallest possible things, surprisingly enough.]
Better.
[But not great, that implies—and he drives this unspoken point home by abruptly slipping his fingers even farther back, pressing them down against the smooth surface of Sylvain's tongue as he watches Sylvain's reflexes kick in? As he feels Sylvain's reflexes kick in, the back of Sylvain's throat clenching up as Felix applies just a bit more pressure. Sylvain's gag reflex is a thing he's all but tamed, through what Felix believes to be years and years and years of practice; it's a thing that normally annoys and arouses Felix in equal measure, and now he's pushing it to its very limit, enjoying the way those bright brown eyes turn watery. Lovely.
They are not, however, lovely enough for Felix to consider causing Sylvain anything more than mild discomfort? It's why Felix pulls his fingers free just as abruptly as he'd pushed them back, relishing the wet pop he hears almost as much as seeing Sylvain trying to hold himself together. Dangerous stuff! Doubly so, when that hand scratching at one of those bunny ears grabs it, sharply tugs Sylvain's head back so that he's looking right up at Felix's flushed, smirking face.]
You look good like this. [A tease, of sorts, all while Felix rudely draws those spit-slick fingers across a cheek.] Maybe I'll keep you here? On your knees.
[He could. It wouldn't be bad—but as Felix continues studying Sylvain's upturned face in an almost wolfish fashion, he waits and wonders if this is all it will take to make Sylvain beg for more. A decent enough start...]
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Years of practice, and the unwavering trust that Felix won't, like, actually do anything genuinely harmful... Even as his pulse leaps into a frantic, startled pace and he has to blink his vision clear of the involuntary tears springing to the corners of his eyes (and also despite the troublesome flash of heat that accompanies the far-off realization that, if Felix really wanted to, he probably could still choke him like this, and you know, isn't that a thought...) Sylvain doesn't even think to question whether that pressure will ease up in time.
It's all just a little... ah, dizzying, if he's honest. Exciting in ways that are as familiar as they are unfamiliar, recognizable in some dimly lit corner of his imagination and yet new and exciting and unexplored all at once--and with the current moon cycle in full effect, absolutely everything is amplified by ten?? It's all he can do to try and collect himself in the seconds before he's pulled from his momentary daze, that tug earning a quick gasp of something probably about as breathless as it is blasphemous.
"Goddess," Sylvain mutters, and unlike Felix, he can't resist letting one hand drift to the front of his own pants to offer himself just, like, the tiniest bit of relief... He can't touch Felix, and it's not nearly as satisfying a feeling as it could be, but it feels like he's already been waiting so, so, so long. And sure, it's still enough that he has to bite back a quiet moan, eyes screwing themselves shut for a beat before he blinks back into some sort of focus, but that's at least 60% from the way his mind decides to run with Felix's suggestion anyway...
He has to swallow before he trusts himself to speak again, but once he does, what he winds up asking is, "When did you become such a tease...?"
...Which sounds more like it SHOULD be phrased as, 'stop teasing me, Felix, please, I'm dying', but here on the floor of this kitchen, we ask the real questions.