[ His underwear is stained with his own come, his turtleneck sticky with sweat against his upper body; but since Belial doesn't tell him to take it off, he doesn't, only pulls his leggings and underwear back up for reduced discomfort. His breath hitches at the sight of Belial lapping up his come as if it were a tasty treat— he has no reference for it himself, but surely it can't exactly taste good? But the sight is still entrancing, the knowledge that it's his own, the flicking of Belial's tongue on those long fingers that worked his body over so expertly. Belial's promise to guide him assuages any worries his inexperience will prove him unable to satisfy; of course, he just needs to give himself over to Belial and do as he tells him, to please him, and the perverse comment that registers in his mind as sweet praise washes away any hesitation in favor of giddy enthusiasm. ]
Okay.
[ Sandalphon wastes no time eagerly dropping to his knees, coming face-to-face with Belial's erection straining in his pants, and wastes no time getting to the next step, either. He shoves that myriad of belts out of the way and the drip of cloth beneath them to unzip Belial and pull out his cock from beneath the cloth, finally getting to see and touch with his own hands what has dominanted his mind for so long since that time Belial took him, since he marked his body and memory with the sensation for it. The size of it is in proportion to the rest of him, but more than that, it's the memory of it and the thought that it's Belial's that makes Sandalphon lick his lips unconsciously at the sight.
He looks back at Belial, the sight of him from below, his tall, powerful figure looming above him, eliciting a thrill and a shiver down his overstimulated body, an eagerness to please, to do as told, to submit, an absolute certainty that it's all that he would ever need and want, that if he does so everything will be good. Yet his expression and tone of voice is earnest, almost innocent when he meets his eye and asks: ]
no subject
Okay.
[ Sandalphon wastes no time eagerly dropping to his knees, coming face-to-face with Belial's erection straining in his pants, and wastes no time getting to the next step, either. He shoves that myriad of belts out of the way and the drip of cloth beneath them to unzip Belial and pull out his cock from beneath the cloth, finally getting to see and touch with his own hands what has dominanted his mind for so long since that time Belial took him, since he marked his body and memory with the sensation for it. The size of it is in proportion to the rest of him, but more than that, it's the memory of it and the thought that it's Belial's that makes Sandalphon lick his lips unconsciously at the sight.
He looks back at Belial, the sight of him from below, his tall, powerful figure looming above him, eliciting a thrill and a shiver down his overstimulated body, an eagerness to please, to do as told, to submit, an absolute certainty that it's all that he would ever need and want, that if he does so everything will be good. Yet his expression and tone of voice is earnest, almost innocent when he meets his eye and asks: ]
Where do I start?