[ Is he supposed to say something? He's got dick in his mouth. Talking with a sloppy, fucked-out inflection sounds like a great way to not be taken seriously, and that's the one thing he can't stand, bereft of the praise that he adores or the sore commitment to a promise he didn't actually make.
Very, very briefly, Tartaglia's gaze is overcast and storming from beneath his eyelashes. Patience halfway to eroded, he's somewhat disoriented. Should he give in just this once? There's a moment of intense consideration on his part, gone very still as he reaches back around to the zipper and artlessly peels the dress the rest of the way down, that weird curse placed on him either severed or in shambles.
After that, mind made up, Tartaglia slows to a crawl with his ministrations, slyness marring his stare. If He Xuan's truly wanting, then he ought to know for sure first.
So beg. He'll concede for nothing less, fist loosening even where he's got his hand wrapped around as low as his ballsack, mouth split only wide enough to take about a fourth of dick in his mouth. Not even half, no gesture that truly satisfies. Dangling in that challenge presented by He Xuan's hand, Tartaglia knows full well that he could be yanked up at any time.
But goading comes so easily. He Xuan should've thought some more about the kind of monster that Tartaglia is, depraved enough to stretch out temptation. Flippant with his tongue when it runs down a vein, he's swallowing spit and not the least bit pentient for drawing things out, despite the resultant ache in his jaw. ]
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Very, very briefly, Tartaglia's gaze is overcast and storming from beneath his eyelashes. Patience halfway to eroded, he's somewhat disoriented. Should he give in just this once? There's a moment of intense consideration on his part, gone very still as he reaches back around to the zipper and artlessly peels the dress the rest of the way down, that weird curse placed on him either severed or in shambles.
After that, mind made up, Tartaglia slows to a crawl with his ministrations, slyness marring his stare. If He Xuan's truly wanting, then he ought to know for sure first.
So beg. He'll concede for nothing less, fist loosening even where he's got his hand wrapped around as low as his ballsack, mouth split only wide enough to take about a fourth of dick in his mouth. Not even half, no gesture that truly satisfies. Dangling in that challenge presented by He Xuan's hand, Tartaglia knows full well that he could be yanked up at any time.
But goading comes so easily. He Xuan should've thought some more about the kind of monster that Tartaglia is, depraved enough to stretch out temptation. Flippant with his tongue when it runs down a vein, he's swallowing spit and not the least bit pentient for drawing things out, despite the resultant ache in his jaw. ]