[ Under any other circumstances, Sandalphon would hear that patronizing tone, would be incensed by it, every word lighting up a heat of humiliation and fury. Right now, all he hears is Belial's low voice rumble pleased moans in response to his efforts, hears words of praise for how well he does coming from his lips. All he feels is the heated organ throbbing against his tongue, another surge of salty liquid rolling into his mouth, a small droplet of it running down his chin, Belial's hand rubbing a soothing motion on his head and hair.
For a second he feels as if he should object to being told that this is what he's made for, the implication that it's his purpose— the idea feels meaningful, somehow, but he can't remember why. No, rather, he likes hearing Belial say that. He likes the way it feels, to obey Belial, to be praised for it, to be told he's good at pleasing him, and being called good boy makes his heart flutter happily, while heat pools between his thighs, making him squirm in place and shake his hips as he feels his softened cock twitch and stir. A pleased moan comes out in a low vibrating hum, smothered by the efforts of his mouth.
Encouraged, he quickens the movements of his tongue, flicking from side to side and licking faster and faster, taking Belial in just a bit deeper. He wants to go even faster, take him in all the way to the base and feel him press against his throat— not even thinking to question whether he even could fit it in that deep, or of the risk of hitting his gag reflect— but Belial hasn't told him to. He wants to use his hands to stroke him, touch him the way he touches himself and knows he would probably enjoy, too, but Belial hasn't told him to do that, either. Instead, he opens his eyes and looks back up at Belial, almost as if to spur him on to give him more instructions, to tell him what to do next, the look in his eyes all but pleading. ]
no subject
For a second he feels as if he should object to being told that this is what he's made for, the implication that it's his purpose— the idea feels meaningful, somehow, but he can't remember why. No, rather, he likes hearing Belial say that. He likes the way it feels, to obey Belial, to be praised for it, to be told he's good at pleasing him, and being called good boy makes his heart flutter happily, while heat pools between his thighs, making him squirm in place and shake his hips as he feels his softened cock twitch and stir. A pleased moan comes out in a low vibrating hum, smothered by the efforts of his mouth.
Encouraged, he quickens the movements of his tongue, flicking from side to side and licking faster and faster, taking Belial in just a bit deeper. He wants to go even faster, take him in all the way to the base and feel him press against his throat— not even thinking to question whether he even could fit it in that deep, or of the risk of hitting his gag reflect— but Belial hasn't told him to. He wants to use his hands to stroke him, touch him the way he touches himself and knows he would probably enjoy, too, but Belial hasn't told him to do that, either. Instead, he opens his eyes and looks back up at Belial, almost as if to spur him on to give him more instructions, to tell him what to do next, the look in his eyes all but pleading. ]