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OP
OP
MoldaviteGreen
The world’s upside down here…
- Joined
- Dec 7, 2018
So close, was his Ghost. So very, beautifully close. Eishrin should not have been as ensorcelled as he was. Shouldn't have been so very keen to subdue the tight of his throat, to train away the gag of it, as he took his Ghost deep beyond his mouth. But he was, and he did, because Ghost was angelic in his half-slumbered pleasure as pale toes curled and pink lips parted. The threads of pale hair were like spun silver over the sheets, and Eishrin's large hand moved to tangle deep. The crescents of his nails raked gentle over scalp; tender.
The flutter of his tongue quickened with the hitch of Ghost's breath. Eishrin watched with dark, smouldering eyes as the Keeper tensed, trembled, and eased. He learned what Ghost preferred—the flick of a tongue over the eyelet and the gentle webbing, the circle of the flat of his tongue over the plush head before it was plunged deep and plentiful. It was these things that Eishrin continued, wishing to work his Ghost into a stage of warm, molten ecstasy.
This was the gentlest he'd been, Ghost. This was the closest thing to human and tender that he'd seemed. Sleep was like that, Eishrin supposed. It left people vulnerable, left them open, left them kinder than their true wakeful selves. Eishrin didn't linger on how long this would last, nor how long Ghost would seem gentle. He simply sucked, swallowed, pressed his nose into Ghost's hip until his body learned better than to gag. The scruff of his beard at his chin was wet with the slick weeping from Ghost's cock and the shimmer of Eishrin's own spit.
Encouragement came to him across the bond, and Eishrin was careful with it. He knew better than to try something different as bliss approached. Instead, he kept the thrust of his mouth consistent, the swirl that same pattern. What had edged Ghost so very close was what would tip him over the edge.
And when the warm of his spill struck the back of Eishrin's throat, a name came between them. Eishrin had little time to react, Ghost spilling over his tongue in his climax, as Eishrin's hand tightened within the silvery threads of hair and upon the back of a thigh. He swallowed, but it was done so not with the same warm tenderness as how this had begun. It was done with a bitter cold, as Eishrin tore himself free of their tangle.
Ghost had wanted his heat. He'd wanted more. Eishrin had granted the Keeper both, and some. Why was it that another's name cried out in Ghost's climax left him feeling so cold, so acidic, so venomous? Ghost's words, hanging between them, only added to that sour.
"You wanted this," Eishrin hissed through grit teeth. He stood over the bed, bare, the slopes of his shoulders tense as they rose and fell with heavy, ragged breaths. Rage was filling him, and he had no place to put it safely. "You wanted more. You wanted me close. You wanted me to stay. You begged me for more." A flash of fangs, white against the ebony of him. "You said another's name."
Footsteps heavy, Eishrin tore himself away. He could not stand over the bed, the tangled sheets, the lingering warmth and the image of Ghost in his subdued gentleness. So beautiful, he'd been, and it was gone in an instant to be replaced with something so very foul. "I gave you what you asked for, and you have the audacity to cast me as a rapist. The fucking irony."
Eishrin wrenched open doors he assumed to be a wardrobe, and did not care if it was rude to help himself to what lay within. He'd take whatever cruel punishment Ghost would throw at him. How much worse could it possibly be than what he'd already suffered through?
"Who is he?" Eishrin pulled a black robe from a hanger. Shrugged it on despite the bulky size of him and how it strained at the seams. He crossed it over his chest, knotted the belt, and turned to look at Ghost. The dark of his eyes were stern, furious, but not cruel. "Is he the man that I saw in your memory?"
The flutter of his tongue quickened with the hitch of Ghost's breath. Eishrin watched with dark, smouldering eyes as the Keeper tensed, trembled, and eased. He learned what Ghost preferred—the flick of a tongue over the eyelet and the gentle webbing, the circle of the flat of his tongue over the plush head before it was plunged deep and plentiful. It was these things that Eishrin continued, wishing to work his Ghost into a stage of warm, molten ecstasy.
This was the gentlest he'd been, Ghost. This was the closest thing to human and tender that he'd seemed. Sleep was like that, Eishrin supposed. It left people vulnerable, left them open, left them kinder than their true wakeful selves. Eishrin didn't linger on how long this would last, nor how long Ghost would seem gentle. He simply sucked, swallowed, pressed his nose into Ghost's hip until his body learned better than to gag. The scruff of his beard at his chin was wet with the slick weeping from Ghost's cock and the shimmer of Eishrin's own spit.
Encouragement came to him across the bond, and Eishrin was careful with it. He knew better than to try something different as bliss approached. Instead, he kept the thrust of his mouth consistent, the swirl that same pattern. What had edged Ghost so very close was what would tip him over the edge.
And when the warm of his spill struck the back of Eishrin's throat, a name came between them. Eishrin had little time to react, Ghost spilling over his tongue in his climax, as Eishrin's hand tightened within the silvery threads of hair and upon the back of a thigh. He swallowed, but it was done so not with the same warm tenderness as how this had begun. It was done with a bitter cold, as Eishrin tore himself free of their tangle.
Ghost had wanted his heat. He'd wanted more. Eishrin had granted the Keeper both, and some. Why was it that another's name cried out in Ghost's climax left him feeling so cold, so acidic, so venomous? Ghost's words, hanging between them, only added to that sour.
"You wanted this," Eishrin hissed through grit teeth. He stood over the bed, bare, the slopes of his shoulders tense as they rose and fell with heavy, ragged breaths. Rage was filling him, and he had no place to put it safely. "You wanted more. You wanted me close. You wanted me to stay. You begged me for more." A flash of fangs, white against the ebony of him. "You said another's name."
Footsteps heavy, Eishrin tore himself away. He could not stand over the bed, the tangled sheets, the lingering warmth and the image of Ghost in his subdued gentleness. So beautiful, he'd been, and it was gone in an instant to be replaced with something so very foul. "I gave you what you asked for, and you have the audacity to cast me as a rapist. The fucking irony."
Eishrin wrenched open doors he assumed to be a wardrobe, and did not care if it was rude to help himself to what lay within. He'd take whatever cruel punishment Ghost would throw at him. How much worse could it possibly be than what he'd already suffered through?
"Who is he?" Eishrin pulled a black robe from a hanger. Shrugged it on despite the bulky size of him and how it strained at the seams. He crossed it over his chest, knotted the belt, and turned to look at Ghost. The dark of his eyes were stern, furious, but not cruel. "Is he the man that I saw in your memory?"
