[ Elio responds by telling him what's basically a pornographic anecdote about the buttplug and the fun he's inevitably getting each time he forgets about it. Lucifer licks his lips, like his teeth might actually be watering, and when Elio pushes up lightly against his palm, he closes his hand more firmly over him, feeling his hard-on moving beneath the fabric of his trousers. He thinks, briefly, about just getting him off like this, leaving a big, all-too-visible spot of cum on his trousers for all to see. His own cock is leaking a bit, he can tell, though the wet spot's not as noticeable in his dark suit. He shifts. Spreads his legs a little, just giving Elio a nice view of what's happening here.
I want it to be you says Elio, inside me and thank you, they're in complete fucking agreement there. Sexy as it's been, watching Elio making it through dinner like a thirsty man, scrambling his way across the desert, that handjob in the bathroom really wasn't enough by far. He very purposefully doesn't reach for himself because that won't be enough, either, and he's not made it through the last eons by settling for scraps.
Instead, he breathes out slowly. Deliberately. Then, he curves his hand around what he can grasp of Elio's cock, feeling the shaft out, the fabric stretching between his fingers. He could buzz him, of course, if that was the sort of game they're playing but it isn't. Instead, he tries out something else - something a little new but suitable, he thinks, for what they're actually doing: ]
Keep still.
[ He turns his gaze away, looking over the stage instead. Seeing nothing, if he's honest, and he always is. ]
I'll give you my cock when we get home if you can stay still for the rest of the performance. [ A small squeeze. ] Like this.
That's always the criteria of success, for Elio. Getting people to answer, getting people to respond, so that he isn't yelling into an abyss. He's been yelling into abysses so many times, he knows the difference, between that and this, Lucifer's hand tightening around his cock, holding him. Still, it means. Elio's had people leave and he's had people chase him off, being met somewhere in the middle is rare, at least with the kind of men he's used to - well, calling for. Being with.
Giving himself to.
At Lucifer's words, he pauses completely, instantly. It's almost a freeze, if he'd been a fumbling virgin who couldn't recognize a domination scenario when presented with it, that would certainly be what it was, right? Instead it's like a shut-down in his body first, then in his mind, secondly. His shoulders relax, the tension in his muscles seeping out a bit. His entire lower body is aching and throbbing and screaming for him to move, push, take, but as long as he stays like this, the buttplug's just intrusion and stretch, nothing more. Lucifer's hand is just pressure and heat, nothing more, he can take it. He can bear this.
Elio glances sideways at the other man, lets his eyes run down his front, to the enormous bulge in his pants and it's so evident, so visible how he wants him, how he wants to give him his cock when they get back that Elio's own cock actually jerks against his palm. Oh. Like this? Just like this?
Swallowing hard, he fixes his eyes on the stage. People are beginning to return to their seats, although they don't truly register, as if they're in another world and Elio's here, wherever the heat of Lucifer's voice has taken him. The weight of his palm. Commanding, commanding. ]
I'll be still.
[ And he is, very still, very good, his voice only shaking a little bit, as the lights start dimming above their heads. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I want it to be you says Elio, inside me and thank you, they're in complete fucking agreement there. Sexy as it's been, watching Elio making it through dinner like a thirsty man, scrambling his way across the desert, that handjob in the bathroom really wasn't enough by far. He very purposefully doesn't reach for himself because that won't be enough, either, and he's not made it through the last eons by settling for scraps.
Instead, he breathes out slowly. Deliberately. Then, he curves his hand around what he can grasp of Elio's cock, feeling the shaft out, the fabric stretching between his fingers. He could buzz him, of course, if that was the sort of game they're playing but it isn't. Instead, he tries out something else - something a little new but suitable, he thinks, for what they're actually doing: ]
Keep still.
[ He turns his gaze away, looking over the stage instead. Seeing nothing, if he's honest, and he always is. ]
I'll give you my cock when we get home if you can stay still for the rest of the performance. [ A small squeeze. ] Like this.
no subject
That's always the criteria of success, for Elio. Getting people to answer, getting people to respond, so that he isn't yelling into an abyss. He's been yelling into abysses so many times, he knows the difference, between that and this, Lucifer's hand tightening around his cock, holding him. Still, it means. Elio's had people leave and he's had people chase him off, being met somewhere in the middle is rare, at least with the kind of men he's used to - well, calling for. Being with.
Giving himself to.
At Lucifer's words, he pauses completely, instantly. It's almost a freeze, if he'd been a fumbling virgin who couldn't recognize a domination scenario when presented with it, that would certainly be what it was, right? Instead it's like a shut-down in his body first, then in his mind, secondly. His shoulders relax, the tension in his muscles seeping out a bit. His entire lower body is aching and throbbing and screaming for him to move, push, take, but as long as he stays like this, the buttplug's just intrusion and stretch, nothing more. Lucifer's hand is just pressure and heat, nothing more, he can take it. He can bear this.
Elio glances sideways at the other man, lets his eyes run down his front, to the enormous bulge in his pants and it's so evident, so visible how he wants him, how he wants to give him his cock when they get back that Elio's own cock actually jerks against his palm. Oh. Like this? Just like this?
Swallowing hard, he fixes his eyes on the stage. People are beginning to return to their seats, although they don't truly register, as if they're in another world and Elio's here, wherever the heat of Lucifer's voice has taken him. The weight of his palm. Commanding, commanding. ]
I'll be still.
[ And he is, very still, very good, his voice only shaking a little bit, as the lights start dimming above their heads. ]