[ Godfrey's chest flutters in exquisite anticipation the moment his breath blushes against his chest.
Warmth shivers in the hollows of his shoulders like rainfall as he feels his lips against his skin. Godfrey's fingers are strong in his hair, tangling in its soft coils, twitching tighter as he makes his way up the length of his chest. Hot breath catches in his throat. The gentle indulgence throbs in his cock, tight in the bottom of his hips.
It's a rare state Godfrey finds himself in. Were he not so addled by his drinking, he would feel compelled to reciprocate - to not allow himself to luxuriate in the sensations Gale subjects himself to. He would shake himself of the profound ache for touch, and the paralysis which accompanies it. There's some slow remnant of this instinct in the way Godfrey's head turns toward him as he reaches his strong neck, the hard sigh in his hair as he feels his cheek below his thumb. ]
Hnh--
[ Godfrey's fingers wind again through his hair as he feels the blunt edge of his teeth, his hot breath flush against his tender throat, and he's pulled back under the hot tide, surrounded by no thought but the physical sensation and how to avail himself further to it.
Godfrey shifts his hips to accommodate Gale's hands before he registers his own initiative. Cool, slick fingers press against his tender entrance and he shivers, angling his hips, as eager to press against the welcome intrusion as he is to slip his hard cock through spectral fingers. ]
[He murmurs his praise against flushed skin, the faint salt of sweat on his lips, and he delights in the feeling of Godfrey shivering beneath him; that he was so often fortunate to have this man at his mercy still struck him as some sort of miracle.
He does not tease, instead working a practiced finger past Godfrey's entrance, his efforts eased considerably by slick, and he presses precisely where he's almost certain to be able to coax another sound of appreciation from his partner, his efforts steady and methodical. He has lost count, now, of how many times they've done this; long gone are the days of tentative fumbling, but he's not going to rush, either, regardless of how eager he is to sheathe himself inside.
The mage hand twists about Godfrey's erection at an angle no hand attached to a wrist could still manage; its cool fingers are a sharp contrast to Gale's own touch, which now roams across his lover's abdomen. He nips playfully at the larger man's earlobe, each grasp and tug of his own hair sending another shiver of excitement through him.]
[ The cool blue finger makes contact and Godfrey's booze-warmed skin seizes its trail, his body shivering before his slow thoughts connect the sensation to himself.
Magic isn't necessarily unwelcome in their bedroom, but it does appear relatively seldom. Godfrey hasn't banished the art entirely, and neither has Gale, but he has never made a secret of his stance. It was Gale he married, not the things he could do. Gale was enough as he was. He needed summon no additional hand or create any magical effect to stay Godfrey's attention where it needed to be.
Having said all of that - a rare moment of drunken salience hits him, and Godfrey realizes that it's difficult to stand on ceremony and principal when you can barely stand at all. Those fingers glow blue around his dick and he runs it through that strange and ghostly touch, that eggshell-thin sensation of touch in the air. He angles his hips and fucks himself impatiently on his husband's fingers, breath hitching as its tip and knuckle just barely graze-- ]
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Warmth shivers in the hollows of his shoulders like rainfall as he feels his lips against his skin. Godfrey's fingers are strong in his hair, tangling in its soft coils, twitching tighter as he makes his way up the length of his chest. Hot breath catches in his throat. The gentle indulgence throbs in his cock, tight in the bottom of his hips.
It's a rare state Godfrey finds himself in. Were he not so addled by his drinking, he would feel compelled to reciprocate - to not allow himself to luxuriate in the sensations Gale subjects himself to. He would shake himself of the profound ache for touch, and the paralysis which accompanies it. There's some slow remnant of this instinct in the way Godfrey's head turns toward him as he reaches his strong neck, the hard sigh in his hair as he feels his cheek below his thumb. ]
Hnh--
[ Godfrey's fingers wind again through his hair as he feels the blunt edge of his teeth, his hot breath flush against his tender throat, and he's pulled back under the hot tide, surrounded by no thought but the physical sensation and how to avail himself further to it.
Godfrey shifts his hips to accommodate Gale's hands before he registers his own initiative. Cool, slick fingers press against his tender entrance and he shivers, angling his hips, as eager to press against the welcome intrusion as he is to slip his hard cock through spectral fingers. ]
no subject
[He murmurs his praise against flushed skin, the faint salt of sweat on his lips, and he delights in the feeling of Godfrey shivering beneath him; that he was so often fortunate to have this man at his mercy still struck him as some sort of miracle.
He does not tease, instead working a practiced finger past Godfrey's entrance, his efforts eased considerably by slick, and he presses precisely where he's almost certain to be able to coax another sound of appreciation from his partner, his efforts steady and methodical. He has lost count, now, of how many times they've done this; long gone are the days of tentative fumbling, but he's not going to rush, either, regardless of how eager he is to sheathe himself inside.
The mage hand twists about Godfrey's erection at an angle no hand attached to a wrist could still manage; its cool fingers are a sharp contrast to Gale's own touch, which now roams across his lover's abdomen. He nips playfully at the larger man's earlobe, each grasp and tug of his own hair sending another shiver of excitement through him.]
Is this what you want?
no subject
Magic isn't necessarily unwelcome in their bedroom, but it does appear relatively seldom. Godfrey hasn't banished the art entirely, and neither has Gale, but he has never made a secret of his stance. It was Gale he married, not the things he could do. Gale was enough as he was. He needed summon no additional hand or create any magical effect to stay Godfrey's attention where it needed to be.
Having said all of that - a rare moment of drunken salience hits him, and Godfrey realizes that it's difficult to stand on ceremony and principal when you can barely stand at all. Those fingers glow blue around his dick and he runs it through that strange and ghostly touch, that eggshell-thin sensation of touch in the air. He angles his hips and fucks himself impatiently on his husband's fingers, breath hitching as its tip and knuckle just barely graze-- ]
Yes.
[ His voice is a dry rasp. ]