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altimit2023-10-06 03:51 pm
gluttoning) wrote in altimit2023-10-06 03:51 pm
[Closed] misteaks' mistakes - the sequel (catchall)
Who: Mr_Misteaks and also some other people
What: In person catchall + dungeon runs
When: October thru November
Where: various, please note in headers
Content Warnings: nsfw, ED discussion Please cw in headers.
[overflow and log space for October and November]
What: In person catchall + dungeon runs
When: October thru November
Where: various, please note in headers
Content Warnings: nsfw, ED discussion Please cw in headers.
[overflow and log space for October and November]
no subject
The cream is cool and a little moist against his lips, and he doesn't know what Barrett wants to try, exactly. But he's been taught habit well enough since his time here, and his lips part against Barrett's fingers automatically enough that he doesn't have to think about how, maybe, this choice isn't just habit, but wanting to know the taste of Barrett's fingers, topped with cream.
He runs his tongue along the length of a finger, finding it larger, somehow, than he expected; the cream is sweet, though, and he finds himself inclined to run his tongue from base to tip, the cream from the other fingers smearing against his soft lips as he gives excess attention to the one. )
no subject
Only when Morgan withdraws up to the fingertip does Barrett press both of his coated fingers purposefully back to Morgan's parted lips. He swallows hard, a thick and needy noise that matches how bright his eyes have turned despite the cloud of heat.]
...The other one, too. [It's quiet, voice a little rougher, syllables sharp with anticipation.] Show me what it tastes like.
no subject
Some part of him finds itself inclined to trace the cream dripping down his palm, but the rest of him finds it hard to resist the fingers at his lips, the sugar sticky against his lips, skin warm against his tongue. His gaze hoods a little lower and he swallows hard, quiet, still, but Barrett can feel that his breathing's grown slower, hotter. He presses in and draws his tongue broad along the length of the underside of both, dragging it slowly up, like he's savoring it slow, leaving his fingers wetter and stickier than they were before.
Until he reaches near the tip, and it seems for a moment he might double back to taste the rest, but - his gaze flicks up, catching Barrett's bright gaze with his own, and he takes his fingers in, dragging his tongue first along the top, and then again in between, his mouth small but no less hungry as it swallows around him when the sugar's too much to keep in. He doesn't break his gaze; his eye, a deep black, but maybe not so much in indifference, but a steady-building hunger for Barrett's taste. )
no subject
His own tongue traces against his lower lip, unable to draw his eyes away. The fingers drawn into Morgan's mouth press into that exploring muscle, gently, cooperatively, scissoring open just enough to let him take every drop he could.
But for once, he's feeling impatient. His free hand presses to Morgan's thigh as Barrett shifts his weight, leaning up on his knees with breathing that starts to come a little fast, eyes trained on his mouth. His fingers pull away, sliding down to his chin as Barret leans in to let his mouth take over, a firm lick up the line of his jaw, teeth and tongue following the peppered mess of sugar until their lips meet. The sweetness and heat, the slight salt of skin that vanishes once he enters Morgan's mouth.
The kiss, ravenous as it is, lasts only a few moments at first, before Barrett breaks it to trace up the rest of the sugar on the other side of his face, tilting his head, tongue tracing his chin, down to the bump of his adam's apple - broad and thorough, refusing to waste, letting his mouth and teeth suckle where sugar has coalesced and hardened. Once it's clean, he tilts right back into another kiss, as though to share the flavors.]
no subject
But they're gone almost as soon as he'd taken them in, and before he can feel their absence he feels Barrett's tongue against his skin, his heart skipping a beat in anticipation, a flush building at his ears and threatening his cheeks. He kisses back, hungry, no matter how brief it lasts, and he hooks his fingers into whatever fabric he can find against Barrett's chest, his chin tilting up as Barrett works his way down, his neck exposed bare - as if inviting him to indulge as much as he likes.
He gasps, soft and sharp, where Barrett's mouth lingers and sucks, and this time he seems keen on tasting everything Barrett has to offer when his lips return to him. Deep, deeper; tongues and teeth with a blooming heat in his chest, in his stomach, that seems to hope Barrett will want more in kind. )
no subject
It's the ache of knees against the floor that get him to break away, panting for air - not wanting to stop, but having enough of a braincell still left to realize they have a better place to do this.]
...Mn. Bed. Will be more comfortable. [Except they're still close, slightly entangled, and it tastes so delicious... he can't help but let his lips drift, mouthing up the line of his cheekbone, breath ghosting his ear as he noses at the rim of it - planting a kiss, then another, before his teeth and tongue start to take up the cartilage like the gentle knawing off meat off a bone.
It's in between the motions of his mouth that he whispers.]
...I want more. [Another gentle press of his teeth, catching the soft skin at the earlobe and letting the warmth of his tongue ease the pressure away.] If I gave you more... more of that cream to guide my tongue...
Can you show me where I can taste you?
no subject
His voice against his ear while it's teased only draws a sharp inhale from Mithrun, who exhales shakily, audible - enticed that much more by a promise by more, an anticipation that knots hot in his stomach, and lower still.
Where can he taste? Anywhere, anywhere - don't make him think while Barrett's getting his head all hazy, the remark about the bed by now forgotten. )
... Yes... ( His answer comes an exhale, a flush worked across his face. ) ... If you follow the trail down, as it drips...
( Where would he let it start, where would he let it go? If he began at the fingers again, they could begin again what had been paused at the picnic; else - could start at the neck, start at the chest, start at the stomach - but all that drips down, down between the legs, if Barrett would even follow it that far, and Mithrun hasn't even thought that deep about it. He's still stuck on the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth at his ear, each sensation a distracting shockwave that rushes across his body and reverberates back, leaving him sensitive. )
... I told you... you could have all of me. ( He swallows. ) So it's just... it's just a matter of where you want to start.
no subject
Easy. Easy, he presses at himself, an urging through the rapidly climbing fog. Don't do anything stupid.
One of his hands grips at Morgan's touch against his chest, skin hot, pulling him with a gentle urgency as he adjusts his kneel to push up onto his feet.]
Bed. Please. That's where we start.
[He's already shedding his own jacket to toss to the side as well as kicking his boots off, though his hands hesitate as he tries to guide Morgan to sit against the mattress, thumbs catching against the neckline of his top. He lets his fingers pull slightly, as though to bring the clothes to attention.]
...Can I? [They can start small. He doesn't need to see Mithrun bare before him if Mithrun isn't ready for it. But some bare skin was required if they wanted to chase the melting trail of sugar.]
no subject
He shifts onto the mattress however Barrett would find it easier to have him on there, whether over the edge or on it proper, gaze better fixed on Barrett dropping layers. He'd never particularly thought much of the act of disrobing - or clothes - or nudity at all; it was all about the same to him. But there's something about seeing Barrett strip down a layer that makes a sense of anticipation rise up in his stomach - even though he's seen him already in his beach skin. He already knows what's there. It's strange.
He exhales soft when Barrett returns, tugging at his top. )
... As much as you want.
( He reiterates with a murmur, his ears a blazing red and his face filling in flushed. Was this anticipation, too? He's not embarrassed or ashamed, and doesn't even mind that his body is covered in nicks and scars. And still, he swallows, his ears still burning with the faint memory of his teeth.
But there is intention behind the phrasing. Mithrun has no limit here, so Barrett can enforce his own - he doesn't need to take more than he's comfortable with. Because... )
... I trust you.
( He's not carried away, as much as he feels like he is. He wants to melt in Barrett's mouth, but he's not gone yet. )
no subject
...If anything hurts, or you need me to stop, just say stop. Okay? I... um...
[He exhales - hot, heavy, with the slightest shake in tone from both excitement and nerves.]
I want this. But I feel like I might get carried away. So... don't let me do that to you.
[He's seen Morgan clobber a dummy to pieces. He might as well clobber him for being a dummy if it came to it. Maybe this reminder wasn't needed, and maybe they would be fine. But with Morgan... Barrett feels the sentiment is important to voice, even for what might feel obvious.
Once the idea has settled, Barrett kneels down against the floor to start removing the long length of Morgan's boots. A careful start of stripping, one at a time, with his hands carefully feeling out the bare skin underneath as it's removed. Once both legs are bare, he spreads one out to nose at the tender flesh of the thigh, mouthing it briefly, recognizing the heat. This was for later. He would come back.
The boots are discarded as he crawls up to join him on the bed, taking up his arms in tandem, repeating the same with his gloves as he did with his boots. A careful removal, like the peeling of a fruit, letting his hands and mouth briefly touch against what was left exposed. The ring against one finger gets a glance, noticing the color that seemed different to the last time they'd been together. But it's carefully removed, long enough to take off the fabric underneath it, holding the jewelery carefully in one hand as his other guided a bare wrist against his lips to kiss at his pulse.]
...Do you want to keep this on? I didn't realize that it changed colors.
no subject
He reaches up to brush his fingers light through Barrett's bangs before his palm presses light against Barrett's cheek; a gesture to punctuate his answer. )
... Okay. I will.
( Mithrun doesn't doubt he can get Barrett to stop if he somehow finds himself unfond, but he thinks it's very like Barrett to stop and remind him, to be so conscientious. Mithrun doesn't mind it. And he understands it comes from a place of care.
He lets his touch slip as Barrett sets to work on the boots, and the gentle rush of heat from where he feels Barrett's mouth against his thigh causes his heart to skip and stumble, a soft ah when he feels him - so close. They'd spoken about eating; he'd even fantasized it before, but - his imagination is only so broad when he's still learning the shape of his wants, when it comes to this. He swallows as he pulls away, but doesn't protest. As much as he wanted Barrett to eat him, he wanted, also, to know - how Barrett would have him.
He glances at the ring, the color a vibrant pink, when it's referenced, having forgotten about it; his pulse is quicker than even Mithrun knows at Barrett's lips, each touch and brush against his mouth driving his anticipation higher. )
... I could... ( It doesn't really matter, he guesses, but...? ) ... It tells you what your mood is. And... the description says it's accurate. Deep pink is...
( What was it, again...? He'd memorized it, but he's a little distracted by Barrett; by his lips... )
... "Interested, passionate, aroused."
no subject
If this were real life, he'd be a little more suspicious. But if it came from the game, then...
...
He carefully fits the ring back to Morgan's finger, letting the color flourish. If Morgan had been equipping it, it must be for a reason, whether to test it out or simple curiosity.
Barrett's expression grows fond, eyes warm at the idea that Morgan could in fact be passionate about this. Even with all the evidence he should be able to see, the heat and noise and hunger... feelings still were a difficult thing to label, especially from another.
He gently brings his hands to Morgan's stomach, a slow press that runs up to his chest as Barrett eases him to rest fully backwards against the blankets. Fingers work on the buttons at his collar, a very gradual reveal of pale skin with every clasp undone down his neck, his chest.]
Well... we can test that, right??
Do you think it's telling the truth right now?
[He'll give the question just enough space, cocking his head slightly before impatience takes him over again.
He leans in to press his lips to the pit of his neck, teething at the collarbone, peppering his way down Morgan's sternum behind his fumbling fingers. His mouth opens to drag his tongue up the firm line of bone under rising and falling breath... and then scraping his teeth straight back down as the last of the buttons come free.]
no subject
Does he think it's telling the truth...? He curls his fingers into the blankets. His feelings are a feverish swamp; is this interest, passion, arousal? Is that the name for this anticipation, for the way he inhales sudden as he feels his teeth at his collarbone, the way he swallows wet feeling his lips and tongue along the sternum, tasting - maybe, even, relishing? His gaze is fixed on Barrett, his heart quick, quick, a shiver rushing down his stomach and his spine with each sensation.
Is that what this is?
He releases his grip, and slips his hands around the back of Barrett's head, cradling, and he leans in just slightly, his skin pressing against Barrett's lips. And then - he presses his tongue at the base of Barrett's horn, and runs it slow and wet along the ridges to the tip, his lips closing around the tip, sucking it almost like he might a kiss, before he lifts his mouth. )
... I think so.
no subject
It's an unexpected sensation, the sudden warmth and wetness against a part of his anatomy in game that he so often forgot about. He sucks in a breath, tense and sharp, fingers wrapping against Morgan's exposed waist as Barrett tilts his forehead against Morgan's chest with a shaking groan from deep in his throat, quiet and restrained, the tips of his horns tracing against bare skin as he leans into the sensation.
As Morgan's mouth closes over it, Barrett shudders bodily, his breath hot and his mouth working, a rumble deep in his chest as his teeth start to work at what flesh he can grab along the slender muscle of Morgan's chest, biting down with a gnawing pressure at the same time his hands scoop around to his back, tucking behind the fabric of his now-opened shirt to drag nails down - one at his shoulders, one at the curve of his lower back, pressing him up into the trail of Barrett's mouth.
It's so hot. He's starting to feel so, so hot. He should probably take his own shirt off - its starting to annoy him. But his hands, his mouth, his mind, are all far too occupied, tracing and teething scar tissue and muscle, testing out a harder and harder bite when he has enough to gather into his mouth.]
no subject
Barrett earns a sharp whine of sound as he teeths the scars along him, his voice no longer so quiet at all every time he bites into him, the heat between his legs wet and palpable, enough that reflex forces his legs to press together on either side of Barrett, each sharp sound accompanied by his lips kissing sloppy along his horns because he hasn't moved his lips - they press there, shuddering, teeth scraping against the slick and hard texture when Barrett bites into him hard enough. )
Keep... Keep— going...
( He speaks hot against his horn and hair, chin pressed into his locks. He's no longer cradling Barrett's head so much as he's wrapped his arms around it, his body trembling; ah, it feels good, it feels better than he imagined. )
no subject
He wants to keep going, tongue tracing over the bite marks that now sit red and deep in Morgan's skin. Noises pitch and skin presses and the tastes roll as though they're meant for his mouth; salt and skin, fabric and leather, the scent of musk and sweat and the starts of sex that flourishing hormones bring... and that lingering sweetness beyond it all.
He noses further, wanting to find that sensitive nub beyond the fabric of Morgan's shirt. But with Morgan's arms wrapped so tight against his head, there's no way to maneuver, leaving him unfulfilled, nipping just shy of his goal with a growl of displeasure.
With Morgan's legs already tucked up against him, Barrett rocks himself up just enough to bury his teeth against Morgan's neck, pressing their hips flush and hot in the process. A strained noise of need echoes out, still quiet, still caught in the back of his throat -- but he doesn't take action to the sensation that floods through his hips and legs like firecrackers. No, he pries Morgan's arms off of him, gripping at the edges of his top where they bunch at his shoulder and peeling them down, desperate to get the fabric out of the way. The teeth at his neck stay clenched, like a predator pinning its prey.
It's unceremoniously tossed to the floor in the .5 seconds it takes for Barrett to let go, sliding himself back down to trace his tongue against a freed nipple, pressuring it between the hot muscle and the edge of his teeth out of a needy curiosity as his hands slide to take Morgan firmly by the hips. Stay close. He's here. He won't stop.]
no subject
It's not easy to get his arms off him like this, get his clothes off; not when Barrett's pressed up against him, his layers and fabric grinding up against his need in a way that leaves him ice-hot in the stomach and izzy. This is different than Tylor, it's different than Hani; it's a lot more, it's a lot more of more, and it leaves his breath slight and shuddering as Barrett keeps him in his teeth and works him nearly nude, save the shorts and overskirt on him.
He misses his teeth the moment they leave his neck, the skin their red and pulsing pleasantly in lingering ache, but he doesn't miss them long. He gets a sharp Ah off Mithrun, his chest flat as you'd expect, but soft. After everything, and especially with this, he's sensitive, nipples hard. Still, as awash with sensation he is, his chest and hips press up to meet Barrett's once he takes him up, fingers curling into the blankets.
He'll keep close. Close as Barrett will let him be. Because he isn't sure he'd ever want him to stop wanting him so ravenously - with such impatient need to taste. That's what heats his head, just as much as everything else Barrett does to him now. )
no subject
Barrett lets his attention on the sensitive nub between his teeth escalate; first tugging it slightly in his bite, rolling the flesh with the tip of his tongue... before letting his whole mouth open completely overtop, teething quickly turning into a brisk and tight sucking of his mouth.
With a wet pop, he lets go to leave the flesh of his nipple bare against the night air, nosing at its partner with a swipe of his tongue as something foggily comes back into his head. The cream... the cream, right...
He mumbles slightly as he searches back through his inventory for the half of the creampuff he had yet to finish using, leaning up off Morgan to visibly show the pastry being pulled out, scooped up...
His coated fingertips settle on the opposite nipple of his chest, cold and smooth, a curious press of the flesh of his pecs as he lets the cream start to melt under their joint heat. His eyes watch, mouth open and panting with a starved licking of his own lips.]
Show me... show me where you want me. [He slowly, slowly drags his fingers down, a diagonal that presses against every rib, the streak left behind already starting to drip in thick, sugared trails.]
no subject
There's a sense of anticipation as he feels his tongue again, a soft mmh, but hazily he recognizes Barrett leaning up. It takes him a second more to recognize the pastry again when his head's so full of Barrett's mouth, but the feeling of the cream against his chest earns a slight twitch at the sudden cool sensation, and he catches up to what Barrett means. Ah, right. They'd meant to do that.
It feels - strange; sticky, maybe, as the cream melts into his body heat, but not bad. He finds appeal in it, as Barrett drags his cream-covered fingers down, in having proper food dressing his skin - in having Barrett view him with such tangible hunger. He feels a little more like a proper meal, a heat in the wake of Barrett's fingers.
Where did he want Barrett to consume him, besides everywhere at once?
... )
... Where you put it... and...
( He lifts his fingers, catching a thick clump of cream gathered at his chest, and hesitates; then - he lifts it to his neck, pressing it there against where it grows redder from where Barrett's bitten him, and drags his fingers down in a steady trail. He draws the line steady downward along the sternum, the cream running low as he reaches the stomach, but the trail drips southward down, past the bellybutton and below, and the path he's drawn drips sticky into thick, creamy branches - one joining the path Barrett had drawn along Mithrun's chest, his ribs. )
... to start with.
( To start with. As if he won't be satisfied with just this - with just this much hunger. He'd wanted to give Barrett a feast; he wants to be, for him - and, maybe, himself, too. )
no subject
Firstly- he drags what cream is left on his own fingers back over Morgan's own breathless lips. Not a request to enter, but another marking. Here, too. He will pay attention here.
Wanting to make it evident that this trail is for his mouth and his alone, Barrett lifts his own hand back up to his own mouth, licking himself clean. There isn't much power to the tasting- he isn't here to devour himself. But it leaves a contrast for when he fishes up Morgan's hand as a followup - an appetizer - a careful drawing of his tongue against the digit before his hungry pace takes over. His mouth works, across the heat of flesh, to taste every bit of him behind dripping cream. Finger and knuckle, palm and muscle, tendon down to the wrist where the trail comes to a stop. Feeling with both his fingers and tongue as he goes. Searching. Making sure every bit is left cleaned to the bone.
He breaks away, to finally peel his own shirt off and toss it to the floor, a sheen of sweat over the sharp, dark stripes that litter tensed muscle. But it leaves more of him to feel, to stay aware of the difference of soft and warm and sticky as he leans in to press a kiss to Morgan's lips - one that quickly turns to sucking, biting at the sensitive warmth, a breathless and selfish pace.
It's as he travels to his neck that Barrett coaxes Morgan by the arm - as though to urge him to hold on, nosing at his ear with a hot pant of breath.]
I've never done this... so... tell me if it hurts. Tell me. Call my name and tell me to stop.
[It's the only further warning he'll give. Starting at the neck, Barrett starts to work the same way as he did at his hand. Thorough, explorative, as though feeling out every crevice between tongue and teeth, hums of effort and delight coming in turn at any way Morgan jolts and shivers, any way that muscle moves and presses underneath him. It leaves his face a mess. Always a messy eater. Always a compliment to the chef, the last thing he cares about cleaning up in the middle of a meal. His body presses close when it can, taking care not to touch what's been decorated, strong hands maneuvering Morgan so that he can explore beyond what he can see - a tilt to get to the back of his neck, an easing up off the blankets to trace his shoulders. Down he works, every river against the rise of his chest, every careful and tenderly warm mouthful of the exposed abdomen.
Mutterings of his name, just a bare roll of syllables, start to come more frequently. Delicious. Delicious.
It's as he gets to his stomach that Barrett finally pauses, fingers further down, meeting the waistband of his shorts. They curl in, under, anticipating - before he lets them trace over, down to the brief space where his thighs are exposed instead, slipping his fingers underneath there instead. Letting his mouth do the travelling to the last of the pooling, down the navel and farther, tonguing the border between skin and fabric. Taking up a part of the band in his teeth, impatient, as his fingers grow bolder.
But he glances up. Pausing, breath hot and heavy with his face stationed just enough over Morgan's hips, visibly eager and nervous in turn to settle between his legs.]
...Morgan. [Hot, dripping, satisfied but not satiated.] Can I have more?
no subject
It makes his kiss in turn messy, and deep, Barrett's sucking and biting only feeding into it, and getting the same back out - stealing Barrett's mouth selfishly, when he still wanted it all over him. It's greedy and self-contradictory. He wouldn't mind it, if Barrett's kiss left marks there. He wouldn't mind if he left Barrett marks in turn, too.
He hooks his arms around his neck, an audible breath escaping him as Barrett presses his )
... I will. I will.
( He exhales, warm-cheeked, for a moment finally taking in Barrett, half-nude, above him, before Barrett comes down to eat. He'd meant to say something a little meatier, but he can't recall what. He's too impatient to bother with himself, and it's better that Barrett starts instead. He doesn't disappoint.
What feels better than his lips and tongue and teeth is how much Barrett enjoys it. Mithrun's voice is quiet at first, but it builds; not loud, but louder, his breath audible, his voice wet and in concert with every jolt and tremble - always pressing into his mouth, and never away. Barrett likes it. He does. And the way he moves him to teeth him down to shreds, to want to taste him so badly and to murmur his praise and his name the way he says it with such hunger and want, that drives him just as badly wild as the way Barrett leaves his neck and chest feeling raw. Keep going, keep going, it's for you, this meal is for you - his murmurs falter, and punctuated with hushed litanies of his name, but never with a plea to stop. He's happy, he's happy.
It's when he feels Barrett's fingers press up his shorts, his lips at his hem, that he's shaken briefly from his daze, his breath heaving heavily, his expression flushed and heady. Barrett... looks good from this angle. A hand loosely clinging to his shoulder brushes the side of his face with a palm, banishing some messy hair from his face so he can adore him a little better.
More... He swallows. His lips part, slowly. )
... Mm. As much... as you want. ( Ah... He exhales. It feels - so tight there. ) Do you want it that much...?
no subject
Wordlessly, he nods, letting one of his hands dip underneath the meat of one of Morgan's thighs, slipping that leg up to hook against Barrett's shoulder even as the redhead kneels himself deeper between Morgan's hips. Face now caught against the tender flesh of Morgan's inner thigh, Barrett's mouth starts to work, a wordless begging of his own. Close, close, delicious on its own right, but wanting more.
His free hand leaves the hem of Morgan's shorts and spreads - inward, inward, a palmed press to heat unfamiliar underneath layers of fabric, slow and firm and rhythmic with the sucking bites from his mouth. In comparison to his mouth, his touch seems to be less aggressive - betraying his inexperience, showing a desire for permission, for reciprocation, for curiosity of what sat below and what Morgan wanted done to himself.
For now, he just lets it settle in the moment. Rhythmic presses, humming bites, a mouth that wants to travel inward and inward and noses the hem of his shorts as though he wishes to tear the obstacle away with his teeth.]
no subject
He swallows. )
... You don't... have to stop there. Not... Not if you don't want to.
( It's an offer, seeing how Barrett seems to rail against the hem, Mithrun's heart beating faster in - anticipation? Is that it? He's had people between his legs before, but, it's - different, wondering if Barrett will, wondering if Barrett would.
But Barrett does like to keep to a slow and steady pace - and that's something he often likes about him, too. So... he won't plead for it, if Barrett's really sure he'd rather keep to this. There are things Mithrun will insist on with Barrett, but feeling wet between the legs isn't one of them - not right now. )
no subject
As his hand leaves the hot core of Morgan's hips, Barrett lifts up his weight, just enough to take Morgan's lower half up slightly with him, practically kneeling with one knee pressed between spread legs. Both hands have Morgan's unbitten thigh, one braced at the knee and one at the tender spot where fabric still covered the meeting with his groin - like grasping at the edges of a chicken bone in preparation to gnaw it clean. Unlike the other leg, he starts higher, tongue tracing the tendon and soft pit of skin on the underside of where his upper and lower leg connected, teeth taking over at the more familiar give of muscle and fat. Biting and biting and biting, tongue and lips following suit as though to make sure he's cleaned up, to make sure his affection still comes through. Down and down, bites coming faster and more insistently, adjusting his grip lower and lower as he eases that leg over his shoulder and back and leans and further in.
By the time he's right back to that unruly hem of his shorts, Barrett's hand returns right back to the press of Morgan's erection, kneading it slightly before his fingers grasp intentionally for the unfastened waistband. But he falters. Eyes flicker, and the face that had stayed so buried against hot skin looks up, messy and flustered and still so hungry as he swallows, searching and cautious.]
You're sure?
[It feels so foolish to ask with his face practically buried between his legs. But this felt incredibly important - a line he can't cross without knowing for sure. So he lets his breath stay hot against the fabric between leg and groin, keeping heated eyes to Morgan, hands momentarily stilled to nothing but a sensual pressing motion - wanting, hoping Morgan was still wanting in return.]
Show me... w-where you want me.