FALL CATCH-ALL

[chronosynthesis]

WHO: Syrlya and You (Closed Prompts)
WHAT: The Fall Catch-All
WHEN: All Fall Baby
WHERE: Wherever we need (on the island or a boat)
WARNINGS: NSFW marked below

((Plan With Me: Plot Comment #1 | EVENT ONE OPEN POST))

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[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya slowly slips back against the bed, closing his eyes and letting all his thoughts be swept away by the feeling of Trahearne's tongue and lips lathering Syrlya's stamen.

He jolts with a gasp when he feels fingers pressing in, twisting the sheets as he rolls his hips into every place Trahearne is touching him. To be penetrated and sucked at once is a harmonious feedback in his nerves.]

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne savors every shift, every movement against him. His mouth moves opposite Syrlya, his fingers scissor and stretch and massage in tandem with him.

It's. It's getting very difficult to restrain himself now, though. The arousal between his legs is almost painful at this point, the tightness almost in objection to being neglected.

And so he stops. As much as he's reluctant to do so, he drags his lips up and off Syrlya's stem, and slowly pulls his fingers out. He lifts himself up and crawls up, wrapping his arms around Syrlya's shoulders, his waist as he buries his face into the crook of his neck. ]

I love you.

[ A smile crosses his face. It'll just be a minute--he just wants to indulge. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya cracks his eyes open as he feels Trahearne shift up, off and out of him, head lolled to the side as Trahearne buries into his neck.

He whimpers, shifting up in an effort to maintain contact. He doesn't respond verbally, but Trahearne will feel a rush of affection in response to his words. He's just twisted up inside from being brought close to the edge and denied, and the impatience stings.]

[pactmarshal]

[ How precious he is. As Syrlya shifts against him, Trahearne chuckles and holds tighter. He's so lucky.

His legs shift, and there's a brief pause before he suddenly pulls himself and Syrlya up into a sitting position. He holds the smaller sylvari to him as he turns and adjusts, draping his legs off the side of the bed and planting his feet to the floor.

His hands run up Syrlya's side, pushing his robe up to his waist, gently pulling him up off his lap; one hand lets go so that Trahearne can angle his stamen towards Syrlya's rectum.

His eyes remain fixed on Syrlya's face, though, and there's a soft, hazy smile across his expression. ]

I need you to sit on me.