Harry turns onto his side, pressing his shoulder and his weight into the hollow of John's thigh. His arm curls around his leg, encouraging it to lie along the line of his spine - practically cuddled up against the other man's hips while his mouth is busy. The hand wrapped around John's cock loosens, leaving thumb and forefinger wrapped snug about the base, to make room for his mouth. He sweeps down on John, nothing but mouth and tongue, clearly seeking to impress him (as though he doesn't think he has by now, what with his crooked fingers, the subtle sway of his hips, the dark lure of warmth and company on a cold night) by mashing his nose against John's stomach.
Harry gets there right when John starts talking again, something about the way he looks, and tawny eyes flash open, tracking up what he can see of John's body from his angle. Reluctantly, the hand that's wrapped around the base relinquishes its hold, and he manages to put off an air that clearly states you're lucky i'm so well bred and mannered and don't elect to talk with my mouth full. It barely takes a few seconds to go through the motions, and then Harry's mouth tightens and he flattens his tongue, and pulls up.
It's a slow climb to the top, and he nearly pulls off at the end, pursing his lips against the tip of John's cock, wet and slick, before dropping right back down. The fingers of his free hand dance across whatever they can reach: across John's belly, scratching momentarily across the back of a thigh, squeezing his balls or slipping between the flesh and cushion to grab a handful of ass (let the facts be: john marcone had a wonderful ass, be it givenchy-clad or bare). He keeps one hand in perpetual motion, lingering over what could only be his favorite spots (the spit-slick length of john's cock was definitely on there), while his head bobbed and twisted.
Harry even goes so far as to reach up, stilling the hand that's petting through his hair - only to press it firmly against his skull. Christ, John. The message is pretty purposeful: get grabby if you want, Harry was more than capable of stopping you if you did something he didn't want you to. He was bred to be strong, and with the Knight's mantle backing him? Well. If he didn't want it, it just wouldn't be done. He pulls up and off with a wet-and-dirty 'pop', right when his tongue was getting used to the curve of John's cock and his lips were starting to feel swollen and - smirks.
He shifts his angle, letting go of John's leg so that he can settle on his knees, press a hand back into the hollow of his thigh to keep him spread out and on display for the Knight to fucking enjoy. "Just thought I'd look handsome?" He asks lowly, "Come on, John. You can do better than that." He rubs a thumb up the underside of the man's cock then, just the pad of his finger, only to wrap his index finger about the top - into a loose circle - and flicks his wrist once or twice to test the waters. Then he jacks the man, tightening his grasp when he hits bottom, dragging his hand right off at the head with a flick. Rinse, repeat. Harry's got enough room to lean over when he pleases too, and he doesn't seem to be 'pleasing' with just his fingers dancing and his eyes locked on the Baron.
no subject
Harry gets there right when John starts talking again, something about the way he looks, and tawny eyes flash open, tracking up what he can see of John's body from his angle. Reluctantly, the hand that's wrapped around the base relinquishes its hold, and he manages to put off an air that clearly states you're lucky i'm so well bred and mannered and don't elect to talk with my mouth full. It barely takes a few seconds to go through the motions, and then Harry's mouth tightens and he flattens his tongue, and pulls up.
It's a slow climb to the top, and he nearly pulls off at the end, pursing his lips against the tip of John's cock, wet and slick, before dropping right back down. The fingers of his free hand dance across whatever they can reach: across John's belly, scratching momentarily across the back of a thigh, squeezing his balls or slipping between the flesh and cushion to grab a handful of ass (let the facts be: john marcone had a wonderful ass, be it givenchy-clad or bare). He keeps one hand in perpetual motion, lingering over what could only be his favorite spots (the spit-slick length of john's cock was definitely on there), while his head bobbed and twisted.
Harry even goes so far as to reach up, stilling the hand that's petting through his hair - only to press it firmly against his skull. Christ, John. The message is pretty purposeful: get grabby if you want, Harry was more than capable of stopping you if you did something he didn't want you to. He was bred to be strong, and with the Knight's mantle backing him? Well. If he didn't want it, it just wouldn't be done. He pulls up and off with a wet-and-dirty 'pop', right when his tongue was getting used to the curve of John's cock and his lips were starting to feel swollen and - smirks.
He shifts his angle, letting go of John's leg so that he can settle on his knees, press a hand back into the hollow of his thigh to keep him spread out and on display for the Knight to fucking enjoy. "Just thought I'd look handsome?" He asks lowly, "Come on, John. You can do better than that." He rubs a thumb up the underside of the man's cock then, just the pad of his finger, only to wrap his index finger about the top - into a loose circle - and flicks his wrist once or twice to test the waters. Then he jacks the man, tightening his grasp when he hits bottom, dragging his hand right off at the head with a flick. Rinse, repeat. Harry's got enough room to lean over when he pleases too, and he doesn't seem to be 'pleasing' with just his fingers dancing and his eyes locked on the Baron.