Were John's eyes anywhere but on him, Harry might have actually had to teach him what all eyes on me actually meant. Especially in showbiz. Please, with a father that was on stage constantly, one learned how to put on a show. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool and didn't understand Harry's rapt fascination with making a sight of himself. Why else deal out explosive magics and speak loudly (while also carrying a big stick)? He even stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth while he focused on wriggling out of his pants before John's eyes.
And with his own attention focused on the man's eyes, he can nearly see all the little flickers of imagined scenarios and situations. He's pretty sure they involve the two of them are they are now, in any number of positions. For tonight, after careful speculation and much deliberation, he knows he'd like to show John his personal favorite (and sometimes he thought back on the man he used to be and felt bad for himself, because god, what he was missing out on).
John wants him back though, and he gladly obliges, tucking himself in along the length of the other man's body with a flicker of bright-eyed amusement. At the least, he hikes himself high enough so that John can get hands on his ass, and sighs appreciatively. That's nice too. But it also means he can lean his elbows into the cushions, just above John's broad shoulders and tangle fingers into his hair as he kisses him nice and slow and languid. There's a little bit of fumbling on his behalf, since he's just had his mouth preoccupied by John's cock and his lips are already swollen and aching pleasantly.
He doesn't bite, not this time - but he nicks his incisors against John's curious tongue to say hello and then replaces them with his own tongue, nails scratching into the man's scalp lightly as he presses into the kiss and presses down with his own hips. At first, he holds steady. Then he circles his hips under John's hands and pulls back to laugh against his mouth, questioning coyly: "What? Tired of me on your dick already?" That's a loaded question if anything.
"Because if that's the case," Harry clarifies, after he's spent some time pressing his mouth hard and open to John's again. "it's a crying shame. I was going to ride you down into the cushions."
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Were John's eyes anywhere but on him, Harry might have actually had to teach him what all eyes on me actually meant. Especially in showbiz. Please, with a father that was on stage constantly, one learned how to put on a show. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool and didn't understand Harry's rapt fascination with making a sight of himself. Why else deal out explosive magics and speak loudly (while also carrying a big stick)? He even stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth while he focused on wriggling out of his pants before John's eyes.
And with his own attention focused on the man's eyes, he can nearly see all the little flickers of imagined scenarios and situations. He's pretty sure they involve the two of them are they are now, in any number of positions. For tonight, after careful speculation and much deliberation, he knows he'd like to show John his personal favorite (and sometimes he thought back on the man he used to be and felt bad for himself, because god, what he was missing out on).
John wants him back though, and he gladly obliges, tucking himself in along the length of the other man's body with a flicker of bright-eyed amusement. At the least, he hikes himself high enough so that John can get hands on his ass, and sighs appreciatively. That's nice too. But it also means he can lean his elbows into the cushions, just above John's broad shoulders and tangle fingers into his hair as he kisses him nice and slow and languid. There's a little bit of fumbling on his behalf, since he's just had his mouth preoccupied by John's cock and his lips are already swollen and aching pleasantly.
He doesn't bite, not this time - but he nicks his incisors against John's curious tongue to say hello and then replaces them with his own tongue, nails scratching into the man's scalp lightly as he presses into the kiss and presses down with his own hips. At first, he holds steady. Then he circles his hips under John's hands and pulls back to laugh against his mouth, questioning coyly: "What? Tired of me on your dick already?" That's a loaded question if anything.
"Because if that's the case," Harry clarifies, after he's spent some time pressing his mouth hard and open to John's again. "it's a crying shame. I was going to ride you down into the cushions."