Not because he assumed Byleth cruel, no, he knows he isn't, but because he's rather used to having to beg a little more for intimacy to he given during a scene. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but that also doesn't make this a bad thing either. In fact, with the earlier humiliation still fresh and hot on his mind (and it will be for some time to come) this is what he needs. He really didn't want to have to struggle to be handled more gently, softly.
As his arms and legs are released, his muscles ease and ache a little from the strain of the position they had been holding. The rubbing of the indentations inspires him to suck in a breath, but he doesn't complain, if anything, he seems into the sensation. Even further into the feel of Byleth's hands holding his, fingers weaving together. With half lidded eyes, he looks at him, his lips parted as he huffs out pleasure-filled breaths.
"Yes..." He more breathes than says the word, his hips moving with Byleth's to accommodate the movement, to allow him to press into him a little more deeply, while not sacrificing the rhythm. As Byleth showers him in affection and kisses, Emet-Selch returns in kind. Or, as much as he can given his position. He watches with eyes full of adoration as his fingers and wrists are kissed, exposes his neck and arches into the kisses to his chest—but when those lips capture his own, he kisses him with unmitigated passion. Their breath mingling together as their bodies press into each other.
It's almost funny, the contrast of just moments ago and now. This soft affection between them, blossoming warmth and affection instead of simply pleasure and shame. There's plenty of pleasure to be sure, and while the shame still lingers, it's not so prevalent, and it's residual. In a way it helps things along. As their bodies rock together, and Byleth's cock presses inside of him, nudging against his prostate, he tightens around him. Squeezing him with each inward movement, the suggestion of his hips moving in tandem to Byleth's own as he feels that similar build of pleasure and pressure, but made all the sweeter by the thrill of emotion that thrums between them.
Much more of this and he's pretty certain he'll come again, his stiffened cock softly slapping against his belly is certainly threatening to add to the mess that's already there.
no subject
Not because he assumed Byleth cruel, no, he knows he isn't, but because he's rather used to having to beg a little more for intimacy to he given during a scene. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but that also doesn't make this a bad thing either. In fact, with the earlier humiliation still fresh and hot on his mind (and it will be for some time to come) this is what he needs. He really didn't want to have to struggle to be handled more gently, softly.
As his arms and legs are released, his muscles ease and ache a little from the strain of the position they had been holding. The rubbing of the indentations inspires him to suck in a breath, but he doesn't complain, if anything, he seems into the sensation. Even further into the feel of Byleth's hands holding his, fingers weaving together. With half lidded eyes, he looks at him, his lips parted as he huffs out pleasure-filled breaths.
"Yes..." He more breathes than says the word, his hips moving with Byleth's to accommodate the movement, to allow him to press into him a little more deeply, while not sacrificing the rhythm. As Byleth showers him in affection and kisses, Emet-Selch returns in kind. Or, as much as he can given his position. He watches with eyes full of adoration as his fingers and wrists are kissed, exposes his neck and arches into the kisses to his chest—but when those lips capture his own, he kisses him with unmitigated passion. Their breath mingling together as their bodies press into each other.
It's almost funny, the contrast of just moments ago and now. This soft affection between them, blossoming warmth and affection instead of simply pleasure and shame. There's plenty of pleasure to be sure, and while the shame still lingers, it's not so prevalent, and it's residual. In a way it helps things along. As their bodies rock together, and Byleth's cock presses inside of him, nudging against his prostate, he tightens around him. Squeezing him with each inward movement, the suggestion of his hips moving in tandem to Byleth's own as he feels that similar build of pleasure and pressure, but made all the sweeter by the thrill of emotion that thrums between them.
Much more of this and he's pretty certain he'll come again, his stiffened cock softly slapping against his belly is certainly threatening to add to the mess that's already there.
"Byleth—"