[ no trouble at all, to take logan from wherever he is and put him in stephen’s house. a little trouble, maybe, to have set the stage readily for an argument--and even more trouble, small quantities of it, to subvert the expectation entirely, even if they’re both on ginger tiptoes around each other all the time these days. he’d been proud of himself, really, that he had circled back to what he’d considered bringing logan here for in the first place--
although he isn’t fucking him, not really. not personally. stephen is in a comfortable armchair, circling draft ads for magical aid in a newspaper, doing idle typo corrections; he’s made himself a pleasant summer drink, nonalcoholic, a sprig of rosemary in simple syrup, perfect ice cubes clinking to take the edge off all that sweet. he’s wondering if eventually he’ll need reading glasses: his father did, later in life, but his mother had enjoyed perfect vision up till her death.
the sitting area has been cleared, as it often easily is for ritual work, but there’s no ritual today. it’s just logan, recent bane of his existence, trussed up by the bands of cyttorak. it seemed important, for some reason, to put him on his knees; to put those haymaker-ready arms behind his back. important too, to have a band loped around his neck, firm enough to keep his head back, to keep the usually terse lines of the man arched and straining. (if stephen had to express a preference, it’s for the veins in logan’s neck; how they stand out in arousal, outrage, discomfort.) there’s a dildo pistoning in and out of his ass, the slimmest fiery red band wrapped around the tip of his cock to make orgasms just shy of painful.
stephen hadn’t bothered to put a towel down. there’s something nice about all that come on the tile. ]
[ As it stands, Logan is far too used to being yanked out of whatever he's doing by some kind of teleportation, magic or otherwise, to be all that shocked by Strange's chosen method of reconciliation. He puts up a token fight for the sake of it, huffing and growling and cursing -- easier when he's confronted by the layers of scent through the house, Hakkyuu and Laura and Hope and others, twined through each other and Stephen's own scent in a way that riles him up almost to the point of being ready to throw him into another table.
But in the end his interest in getting off overrides his desire to put a bruise on that chiselled jaw, so he lets himself be roped down like a bull calf with sizzling fronds of magic and submits with just enough fight to make it interesting. There's a lot of finesse to admire in the way the other man works, but what really gets Logan going is the dissonance between Strange's actions and his demeanour, which he figures is entirely on purpose. It's infuriating and, in a complex way that Logan rarely likes to examine, far hotter than if he'd been obviously into it.
He's stretched out and straining, knees wide apart, thigh muscles tense and trembling after his second orgasm. The bands of magic press against his skin, tipping his head back, locking his arms. He's done this in rope a few dozen times but has always preferred magic or telekinesis, the lack of sensory input somehow shorting out his expectations and making him feel even less in control of what's being done to him.
His hard dick jerks with every thrust of the dildo into his ass, leaking pre-come that slaps wet against his belly and drips down onto the floor between his legs. Shit like this always makes him run like a tap. He wants to rock his hips back and ride it out, but the position he's in makes it difficult. He's there for display, not his own pleasure. The thought makes him suck in a breath that tastes like rosemary. ]
Fuck.. you, Strange. [ He grates the words out through gritted teeth, breathing heavily through flaring nostrils. He badly wants Stephen to touch him; the gulf between the man watching him and the overload of his senses is almost too much. ]
[ stephen circles another ad, then caps his pen, shaking his hand out. honestly, he considers that gesture alone a rare treat for a visitor, more than being tied up and fucked out: stephen likes his house, is perfectly at ease in the space already, even when he’s pushed the furniture aside to make room for a man seated in the middle.
he folds the newspaper and lets it rest over one thigh. he’s turned on, because he has eyes and ears, but the fact of his hard-on in his jeans doesn’t seem to be of any apparent consequence for now. he rests his chin on his hand, takes his glass in the fingertips of his other hand and finally takes him in, at length: the wet slap of logan’s cock against the clench of muscle in his lower belly, the way his thighs quiver just so in the bands. the air conditioning in the house can’t quite blot out the heavy scent of sex, the odd heat that radiates off logan as if he can’t help but smoulder. ]
I forget. [ butter wouldn’t melt with that tone. ] Was there something you wanted to discuss?
[ It hasn't been hard to figure out the raw edges of Strange's act, not since the night in the bathroom and the edge of pain in the chemical runoff of the other man's sweat as he'd sucked over his fingers. Logan knows what it's like to hurt all the time, to hurt more when it's necessary. To push through that hurt and make it worth it, or to indulge in it, or hide it under artifice for a while. He doesn't know if Strange is aware of how much he gives away to someone with the right set of senses, but the thread of sympathy remains, enough that Logan's higher functions file away the sight of that cramped shake of the wizard's hand in the back of his mind to consider later.
For now, he huffs out his breath and tilts his head as much as he can to fix Stephen with a glare, a curl of his lip showing the points of his teeth. ]
Only that you're a.. fuckin' -- ah, ha -- fuck -- [ He lifts his hips a tiny bit, an automatic, helpless jerk, thighs spreading even wider as he tries to mindlessly fuck into the air, searching for friction to get off against. The noise of the dildo pulsing in and out of him is obscene. His balls ache like they're being squeezed. ] -- you're a real fuckin' pain in the ass.
[ he takes a sip from the little mocktail, long and languid. even with the air on in the house the chill of it is terribly pleasant. he presses the glass against his neck almost in sympathy for the raised veins in the side of logan’s throat, the sheen of sweat there under the soft yellow lights; if it weren’t for how hard he is he’d almost look bored. ]
You think you can go again like this? [ raised eyebrows. a helpful man. ] I think you can.
[ The click of ice cubes against the side of the glass is almost as maddening as being able to smell Stephen's arousal on his exhale. Logan shivers and growls, hands flexing in the crooks of his elbows. ]
I want -- [ He starts and stops, panting hoarsely. Trying to swallow with his head tipped back isn't easy. Exposing his throat like that makes the animal in him feel even more raw, even more vulnerable, which of course makes it even more thrilling to be spread out and edging up to the moment of release for a third time. ]
I wanna come. Let.. let me come. Please. [ That Stephen hasn't stopped him before doesn't mean he's not willing to beg when he feels like it. ]
[ please is a nice word. stephen’s a big fan. easy to see the way a good plea from a proud man sweeps through him, even without the benefit of enhanced senses: with the glass still pressed to his own neck stephen’s shoulders slacken, eyelashes fluttering just the once. he even skims the heel of his free hand over the outline of his dick in his jeans, as if willing himself again to patience.
then his eyes slit back open, blue on blue. ]
Go on, then. [ the smirk in the corner of his mouth deepens, and--it could be imaginary, or it really is magic, the dildo grinding in harder and crueler, like stephen wants his insides raw and ruined-- ] Sweetheart.
Edited (i don't know how to fucking spell) 2022-07-10 21:59 (UTC)
[ He's close even before he asks permission, tension pooling and gathering in the long muscles of his thighs and the pit of his belly, making his hips buck and grind back against the magical press of the dildo into him. He fixes Stephen with a look as much as he can with his head tipped back, a vague glimpse of one of those clever hands sliding across the hard-on swelling out his pants is all he needs before he squints his eyes closed and concentrates on the urgent tide of need.
Whether intentional or not on Stephen's part, Logan definitely notices the movements of the dildo becoming more insistent. His dick is already leaking onto the tile as he leans into it, panting heavily and groaning, not making much effort to conserve his dignity or be particularly quiet. His chest is flushed and pink around the 'DEVIANT' brand that arcs through his body hair. ]
Fuck, ah -- fuck, Doc, you goddamn sonofabitch -- fuck -- [ His hips jerk and he shudders as he comes, splattering the floor in front of him in thick spurts, his whole body rigid for a long moment before he subsides again. If he could hang his head, he would. As it is, he just breathes hoarsely and opens one eye to look over at the other man. ]
Sweetheart, you.. fuckin'.. [ He trails off, beyond words for the moment. ]
[ stephen huffs: a moment of amusement, of complex satisfaction. he sets the newspaper aside and stands up, a long and easy stretch out of the armchair, then steps closer and hunkers down beside logan one knee. he keeps the glass in the magically steadied fingertips of one hand. when he reaches out with his free hand it’s to touch a hand to the side of logan’s throat.
this hand he doesn’t bother to steady at all, so there’s that slight leaf-blown shiver to the fingertips that he sweeps a thumb down the column of his neck, over an outstanding vein, and then finally down to his pulse, throbbing beneath the skin. he lets it rest there in silence, a long and unnecessary touch.
at last the band around logan’s neck disappears, a de-materialization. stephen’s fingertips curl ever so slightly in the sweat-matted hair at the fringe of logan’s neck. he does not, however, apply pressure. he just looks at him, long, near-inscrutable but for the way his pupils are ink-black with hunger, and when he drags his hand away the bands are loosening accordingly, although not quite letting go, as if to let logan trail ribbons of flame behind him when he obeys this next and damning order-- ]
[ The closer the wizard gets, the more Logan wants something nonspecific that definitely involves those long cool fingers against his skin. The antagonism that's fuelled their relationship up until this point only makes him want it more, the complicated jostling for dominance only making it more fun to give up that power voluntarily, and on his own terms.
Well, more or less.
He almost whines as Stephen touches his throat, his breath pushed out through gritted teeth. There's a primal statement in offering the most vulnerable place on his body, in being touched and held there. As Strange glides his fingertips over his skin, Logan realises with a thrill that the other man knows that as well as he does. And is willing to use it against him.
With mindless dog-dumb predictability, his still hard cock bounces with that thought, yearning for more. He's almost disappointed when the bands of magic disappear, though their loss is made up by the touch to the back of his neck and the pressure of that stern gaze. Everything else outside of the contact, outside of this room, has long since disappeared; Logan meets the wizard's eyes panting heavily, the growls on the edges of each breath more instinct than an expression of anger.
Clean it up. Another thrill of delight at his tone, no room for disobedience. But it takes a moment before Logan obeys, going slowly as he drags his arms against the pull of the magic, letting Stephen enjoy his obedience as much as anything as he leans down towards the cool floor.
Without further hesitation, he leans forward to slide his tongue through the wetness splattered across it, the tangy salty taste of his own spent need and the chalky residue of magic and carpet fibres, and starts to lap it up in messy swipes, groaning softly under his breath as he does so. ]
[ there’s a certain art to a certain brand of impassivity over which stephen strange holds unique mastery. he has a hand in his pocket and his fingertips still clutching the mouth of his tall highball glass, his eyes glittering and inscrutable as he watches logan lick his own come off tile and the edge of a small patterned area rug.
when logan is close to done, when most of the pearlescent spatters are cleaned off the floor, stephen shifts his weight onto his back heel, as if it takes a full-body movement to manage the dark depths of his arousal. then he eases back in front of logan. his feet are still bare, terribly casual, even as he reaches back down to brush his fingers back against logan’s hairline. he guides him up, if he’s willing: just enough to park him back upright. ]
I should’ve moved the rug farther. [ there’s a hint of apology in his voice. stephen is a gracious host. ] Wash it down.
[ and with that he strokes a conciliatory touch over an oddly defined cheekbone, before he’s tipping logan’s head back again with a hand in his hair, lifting the glass to his mouth. rosemary and simple syrup and ice cubes that have almost certainly taken too long to melt. a nice summer treat. ]
[ He could've stayed down there if asked, head down and ass in the air, muscles tight around the dildo inside him, but being gently tugged back up is pretty good as well. The gaze he tilts up at the magician is glassy and blue-black, like a bruise, a few layers of his own artifice stripped away by animal intensity. The hand in his hair isn't fisted tight enough, but he doesn't mind once he realises what the wizard wants him to do.
He bares sharp pointed teeth over the tongue he sticks out to receive his reward, cool and sweet and fresh with the scent and taste of the herb that washes through his senses, chasing down salt and base minerals. Some of it runs out the corner of his mouth and he lets it, keeping his mouth open and eyes half-lidded. Once it's all gone he licks his chops, lifting his gaze back up to Stephen's face, his broad chest rising and falling on heavy breaths. ]
Please, I want.. [ Now his hands are free, he can lift one to boldly stroke up Stephen's thigh, wanting to map out the shape of his hard dick through his jeans. Ice-coated, his mouth is too cold and too empty. His voice is slightly hoarse. ] Let me blow you.
[ stephen actually looks like he has to think about it. a great pretender, a showman to the end, he meets logan’s eyes, ignores the swell of almost tender warmth he feels at the remoteness in them--
and checks his watch first, as if he hadn’t cleared his afternoon specifically to argue with logan and then maybe fuck him into a keening puddle. he hums, that hand in his hair seizing immovably tight real quick so he can dictate the exact distance of logan’s face from his thigh, from the thick outline of his cock in his jeans. the grip hurts. he kind of likes that it hurts. makes that tenderness more real somehow, a cloying play at them being in this together. ]
I suppose ...
[ the kind of comment one might make with pursed lips, making a game time decision at the store. he glances back down at logan, his expression impassive again. he gives logan a pat on the cheek--good boy. ]
Go on, then. [ there’s a huskiness to the usual clinical tone of his voice that he can’t entirely help. he’s dripping under the dark denim, regretting with amusement his usual choice to forego underwear. ] Make it worth my while.
[ The tightening of Stephen's hand in his hair draws another stuttering whine from Logan's throat, totally unplanned. He leans forward a tiny bit, both testing it and wanting to feel the pull, his own grip tightening a little on the wizard's thigh. ]
Fuck -- [ He hisses the word out between his teeth, then growls with pleasure when he's finally given leave to do what he's been aching to do for the last half hour.
Practice lets him unbutton Stephen's fly one-handed, tugging his jeans down with almost clumsy haste. He huffs his interest at the sight of the other man's hard dick, unable to stop himself from reaching up to stroke it, getting a good appreciative look at what he's got to work with.
Then he leans in, pointed teeth and wet tongue, and takes him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around him to get him down all the way in one go until he's full and his nose is pressed up against the dark hair at the base of Stephen's cock. He gives him maybe a second or two there to enjoy that before he leans back and starts to suck and lick at him with utterly shameless enthusiasm. ]
[ he almost wants to bare his teeth in a grin that might make logan proud in a more sober moment. luckily his impeccable stoicism wins out, even though the way logan’s fanged mouth sinks down on his cock is hot and sinful enough to warrant any darker range of reactions. he keeps his hand tight in logan’s hair, for all that it’s never fully comfortable for him to do so--how is he supposed to care about pain with pleasure so close, so goddamn obvious-- ]
Yeah. [ his voice low and thick and poisonous, and mostly in reaction to the tip of logan’s nose against his naval, what he imagines all those feral animal senses must feel like in overdrive, put up hard against the painful reality of stephen’s aching cock. ] Good boy. [ his fingers twist harder in logan’s hair; he fucks into his mouth, hears the wet click of logan’s throat. ]
I’m going to come. And I want you to taste it.
[ not take it; of course he can take it. he wants to burn himself into those hypersensitive senses. he will. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ slip-sliding into arcane speech at random times, as always, but-- ]
I’ve seen you harder.
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[ He gets a picture anyway, a more real time update of Logan's hand shoved down the front of his jeans. What a tease. ]
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[ Something something not boyfriend something. ]
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[ no trouble at all, to take logan from wherever he is and put him in stephen’s house. a little trouble, maybe, to have set the stage readily for an argument--and even more trouble, small quantities of it, to subvert the expectation entirely, even if they’re both on ginger tiptoes around each other all the time these days. he’d been proud of himself, really, that he had circled back to what he’d considered bringing logan here for in the first place--
although he isn’t fucking him, not really. not personally. stephen is in a comfortable armchair, circling draft ads for magical aid in a newspaper, doing idle typo corrections; he’s made himself a pleasant summer drink, nonalcoholic, a sprig of rosemary in simple syrup, perfect ice cubes clinking to take the edge off all that sweet. he’s wondering if eventually he’ll need reading glasses: his father did, later in life, but his mother had enjoyed perfect vision up till her death.
the sitting area has been cleared, as it often easily is for ritual work, but there’s no ritual today. it’s just logan, recent bane of his existence, trussed up by the bands of cyttorak. it seemed important, for some reason, to put him on his knees; to put those haymaker-ready arms behind his back. important too, to have a band loped around his neck, firm enough to keep his head back, to keep the usually terse lines of the man arched and straining. (if stephen had to express a preference, it’s for the veins in logan’s neck; how they stand out in arousal, outrage, discomfort.) there’s a dildo pistoning in and out of his ass, the slimmest fiery red band wrapped around the tip of his cock to make orgasms just shy of painful.
stephen hadn’t bothered to put a towel down. there’s something nice about all that come on the tile. ]
Hanging in there, champ?
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But in the end his interest in getting off overrides his desire to put a bruise on that chiselled jaw, so he lets himself be roped down like a bull calf with sizzling fronds of magic and submits with just enough fight to make it interesting. There's a lot of finesse to admire in the way the other man works, but what really gets Logan going is the dissonance between Strange's actions and his demeanour, which he figures is entirely on purpose. It's infuriating and, in a complex way that Logan rarely likes to examine, far hotter than if he'd been obviously into it.
He's stretched out and straining, knees wide apart, thigh muscles tense and trembling after his second orgasm. The bands of magic press against his skin, tipping his head back, locking his arms. He's done this in rope a few dozen times but has always preferred magic or telekinesis, the lack of sensory input somehow shorting out his expectations and making him feel even less in control of what's being done to him.
His hard dick jerks with every thrust of the dildo into his ass, leaking pre-come that slaps wet against his belly and drips down onto the floor between his legs. Shit like this always makes him run like a tap. He wants to rock his hips back and ride it out, but the position he's in makes it difficult. He's there for display, not his own pleasure. The thought makes him suck in a breath that tastes like rosemary. ]
Fuck.. you, Strange. [ He grates the words out through gritted teeth, breathing heavily through flaring nostrils. He badly wants Stephen to touch him; the gulf between the man watching him and the overload of his senses is almost too much. ]
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[ stephen circles another ad, then caps his pen, shaking his hand out. honestly, he considers that gesture alone a rare treat for a visitor, more than being tied up and fucked out: stephen likes his house, is perfectly at ease in the space already, even when he’s pushed the furniture aside to make room for a man seated in the middle.
he folds the newspaper and lets it rest over one thigh. he’s turned on, because he has eyes and ears, but the fact of his hard-on in his jeans doesn’t seem to be of any apparent consequence for now. he rests his chin on his hand, takes his glass in the fingertips of his other hand and finally takes him in, at length: the wet slap of logan’s cock against the clench of muscle in his lower belly, the way his thighs quiver just so in the bands. the air conditioning in the house can’t quite blot out the heavy scent of sex, the odd heat that radiates off logan as if he can’t help but smoulder. ]
I forget. [ butter wouldn’t melt with that tone. ] Was there something you wanted to discuss?
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For now, he huffs out his breath and tilts his head as much as he can to fix Stephen with a glare, a curl of his lip showing the points of his teeth. ]
Only that you're a.. fuckin' -- ah, ha -- fuck -- [ He lifts his hips a tiny bit, an automatic, helpless jerk, thighs spreading even wider as he tries to mindlessly fuck into the air, searching for friction to get off against. The noise of the dildo pulsing in and out of him is obscene. His balls ache like they're being squeezed. ] -- you're a real fuckin' pain in the ass.
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[ he takes a sip from the little mocktail, long and languid. even with the air on in the house the chill of it is terribly pleasant. he presses the glass against his neck almost in sympathy for the raised veins in the side of logan’s throat, the sheen of sweat there under the soft yellow lights; if it weren’t for how hard he is he’d almost look bored. ]
You think you can go again like this? [ raised eyebrows. a helpful man. ] I think you can.
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I want -- [ He starts and stops, panting hoarsely. Trying to swallow with his head tipped back isn't easy. Exposing his throat like that makes the animal in him feel even more raw, even more vulnerable, which of course makes it even more thrilling to be spread out and edging up to the moment of release for a third time. ]
I wanna come. Let.. let me come. Please. [ That Stephen hasn't stopped him before doesn't mean he's not willing to beg when he feels like it. ]
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then his eyes slit back open, blue on blue. ]
Go on, then. [ the smirk in the corner of his mouth deepens, and--it could be imaginary, or it really is magic, the dildo grinding in harder and crueler, like stephen wants his insides raw and ruined-- ] Sweetheart.
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Whether intentional or not on Stephen's part, Logan definitely notices the movements of the dildo becoming more insistent. His dick is already leaking onto the tile as he leans into it, panting heavily and groaning, not making much effort to conserve his dignity or be particularly quiet. His chest is flushed and pink around the 'DEVIANT' brand that arcs through his body hair. ]
Fuck, ah -- fuck, Doc, you goddamn sonofabitch -- fuck -- [ His hips jerk and he shudders as he comes, splattering the floor in front of him in thick spurts, his whole body rigid for a long moment before he subsides again. If he could hang his head, he would. As it is, he just breathes hoarsely and opens one eye to look over at the other man. ]
Sweetheart, you.. fuckin'.. [ He trails off, beyond words for the moment. ]
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this hand he doesn’t bother to steady at all, so there’s that slight leaf-blown shiver to the fingertips that he sweeps a thumb down the column of his neck, over an outstanding vein, and then finally down to his pulse, throbbing beneath the skin. he lets it rest there in silence, a long and unnecessary touch.
at last the band around logan’s neck disappears, a de-materialization. stephen’s fingertips curl ever so slightly in the sweat-matted hair at the fringe of logan’s neck. he does not, however, apply pressure. he just looks at him, long, near-inscrutable but for the way his pupils are ink-black with hunger, and when he drags his hand away the bands are loosening accordingly, although not quite letting go, as if to let logan trail ribbons of flame behind him when he obeys this next and damning order-- ]
Clean it up.
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Well, more or less.
He almost whines as Stephen touches his throat, his breath pushed out through gritted teeth. There's a primal statement in offering the most vulnerable place on his body, in being touched and held there. As Strange glides his fingertips over his skin, Logan realises with a thrill that the other man knows that as well as he does. And is willing to use it against him.
With mindless dog-dumb predictability, his still hard cock bounces with that thought, yearning for more. He's almost disappointed when the bands of magic disappear, though their loss is made up by the touch to the back of his neck and the pressure of that stern gaze. Everything else outside of the contact, outside of this room, has long since disappeared; Logan meets the wizard's eyes panting heavily, the growls on the edges of each breath more instinct than an expression of anger.
Clean it up. Another thrill of delight at his tone, no room for disobedience. But it takes a moment before Logan obeys, going slowly as he drags his arms against the pull of the magic, letting Stephen enjoy his obedience as much as anything as he leans down towards the cool floor.
Without further hesitation, he leans forward to slide his tongue through the wetness splattered across it, the tangy salty taste of his own spent need and the chalky residue of magic and carpet fibres, and starts to lap it up in messy swipes, groaning softly under his breath as he does so. ]
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when logan is close to done, when most of the pearlescent spatters are cleaned off the floor, stephen shifts his weight onto his back heel, as if it takes a full-body movement to manage the dark depths of his arousal. then he eases back in front of logan. his feet are still bare, terribly casual, even as he reaches back down to brush his fingers back against logan’s hairline. he guides him up, if he’s willing: just enough to park him back upright. ]
I should’ve moved the rug farther. [ there’s a hint of apology in his voice. stephen is a gracious host. ] Wash it down.
[ and with that he strokes a conciliatory touch over an oddly defined cheekbone, before he’s tipping logan’s head back again with a hand in his hair, lifting the glass to his mouth. rosemary and simple syrup and ice cubes that have almost certainly taken too long to melt. a nice summer treat. ]
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He bares sharp pointed teeth over the tongue he sticks out to receive his reward, cool and sweet and fresh with the scent and taste of the herb that washes through his senses, chasing down salt and base minerals. Some of it runs out the corner of his mouth and he lets it, keeping his mouth open and eyes half-lidded. Once it's all gone he licks his chops, lifting his gaze back up to Stephen's face, his broad chest rising and falling on heavy breaths. ]
Please, I want.. [ Now his hands are free, he can lift one to boldly stroke up Stephen's thigh, wanting to map out the shape of his hard dick through his jeans. Ice-coated, his mouth is too cold and too empty. His voice is slightly hoarse. ] Let me blow you.
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and checks his watch first, as if he hadn’t cleared his afternoon specifically to argue with logan and then maybe fuck him into a keening puddle. he hums, that hand in his hair seizing immovably tight real quick so he can dictate the exact distance of logan’s face from his thigh, from the thick outline of his cock in his jeans. the grip hurts. he kind of likes that it hurts. makes that tenderness more real somehow, a cloying play at them being in this together. ]
I suppose ...
[ the kind of comment one might make with pursed lips, making a game time decision at the store. he glances back down at logan, his expression impassive again. he gives logan a pat on the cheek--good boy. ]
Go on, then. [ there’s a huskiness to the usual clinical tone of his voice that he can’t entirely help. he’s dripping under the dark denim, regretting with amusement his usual choice to forego underwear. ] Make it worth my while.
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Fuck -- [ He hisses the word out between his teeth, then growls with pleasure when he's finally given leave to do what he's been aching to do for the last half hour.
Practice lets him unbutton Stephen's fly one-handed, tugging his jeans down with almost clumsy haste. He huffs his interest at the sight of the other man's hard dick, unable to stop himself from reaching up to stroke it, getting a good appreciative look at what he's got to work with.
Then he leans in, pointed teeth and wet tongue, and takes him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around him to get him down all the way in one go until he's full and his nose is pressed up against the dark hair at the base of Stephen's cock. He gives him maybe a second or two there to enjoy that before he leans back and starts to suck and lick at him with utterly shameless enthusiasm. ]
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Yeah. [ his voice low and thick and poisonous, and mostly in reaction to the tip of logan’s nose against his naval, what he imagines all those feral animal senses must feel like in overdrive, put up hard against the painful reality of stephen’s aching cock. ] Good boy. [ his fingers twist harder in logan’s hair; he fucks into his mouth, hears the wet click of logan’s throat. ]
I’m going to come. And I want you to taste it.
[ not take it; of course he can take it. he wants to burn himself into those hypersensitive senses. he will. ]
Alright?