It's funny, the things you pick up along the way. Especially from a man that has boasted, before, on knowing every single little trick to get what he wants – and North has always fancied himself a quick study, a man with a sharp mind and, with the right intent, the open opportunity to lay waste to every single ounce of willpower, of self-control York has ever been thought to have.
The moment that had brought them together initially is emblazoned in his mind with the kind of crystal clarity that etches out every detail flawlessly. A harsh night doesn't even begin to cover the way the man had come out of a night terror that had left his entire body trembling with it, and Evan had pulled him close, wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he thought he could get away with. Coming away from that with a man that would just as readily shake himself apart for him, given the chance, as anything else is not something he'd been expecting, but you won't hear him complaining about it. Won't hear him saying a damn thing to the contrary, because he's convinced he'd gotten the better part of the deal.
"Yes, you do." It's murmured against his skin, low and warm and inviting as he licks a careful line over the length of York's cock, taking his time with it just as surely as he would anything else. ( He can't be rushed, can't be hurried. Won't be, in any case. )
Lightly, he pushes up into the pressure of the hands at the back of his neck, running over his shoulders as though it might give the other man something to hold onto – scrambling for purchase, desperate and whining, and this, he thinks, is his favorite Taylor. The one that can't bullshit his way out of or into something he wants, the one that can only beg and plead and moan as he is made to wait, voice breaking around the words slipping from the back of his throat as roughened whispers.
His thighs spread further apart, and Evan can only growl his approval. "And no, you won't. You're not getting out of his bed until I'm ready to let you, and let me assure you that I won't be for quite a while."
His mouth closes over the head of the other man's cock, and he sucks, taking him in until he nudges the back of his throat and he stops, traces the vein along the shaft with the tip of his tongue as he recedes.
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The moment that had brought them together initially is emblazoned in his mind with the kind of crystal clarity that etches out every detail flawlessly. A harsh night doesn't even begin to cover the way the man had come out of a night terror that had left his entire body trembling with it, and Evan had pulled him close, wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he thought he could get away with. Coming away from that with a man that would just as readily shake himself apart for him, given the chance, as anything else is not something he'd been expecting, but you won't hear him complaining about it. Won't hear him saying a damn thing to the contrary, because he's convinced he'd gotten the better part of the deal.
"Yes, you do." It's murmured against his skin, low and warm and inviting as he licks a careful line over the length of York's cock, taking his time with it just as surely as he would anything else. ( He can't be rushed, can't be hurried. Won't be, in any case. )
Lightly, he pushes up into the pressure of the hands at the back of his neck, running over his shoulders as though it might give the other man something to hold onto – scrambling for purchase, desperate and whining, and this, he thinks, is his favorite Taylor. The one that can't bullshit his way out of or into something he wants, the one that can only beg and plead and moan as he is made to wait, voice breaking around the words slipping from the back of his throat as roughened whispers.
His thighs spread further apart, and Evan can only growl his approval. "And no, you won't. You're not getting out of his bed until I'm ready to let you, and let me assure you that I won't be for quite a while."
His mouth closes over the head of the other man's cock, and he sucks, taking him in until he nudges the back of his throat and he stops, traces the vein along the shaft with the tip of his tongue as he recedes.