thatswhatwizardsdo:
utterandcompletefreedom:
His back arches up, fingers curling into fists in their invisible bonds, as the sound of tearing cloth echos through his ears. The careless ripping promises pain, promises violence, and he can see more of them same glinting in Moriarty’s eyes. There’s something debauched about lying there on the cold stone floor, his shirt pushed up his chest, his pants torn off. More so than if he were just naked, the thin fabric still covering his body making him feel doubly bare. And after, god, his brain can barely process that somewhere reality still exists, there won’t be boxers for him to wear when he leaves. A reminder, a mark. His lips part in a half breath, waiting, goosebumps traveling up his bared expanses of skin.
His legs bend willingly when Moriarty pushes them, forces them up and out, so he can push his way between them. His own fingers crawl over without permission, looping themselves around his knees, spreading himself further, accommodatingly, putting himself on display. The position leaves him vulnerable, almost unbalanced, meant for humiliation and access and it succeeds. A small keen comes out of his lips.
But it’s the look in Moriarty’s eye that sears through him. Please, his brain thinks, so his mouth says it, because he’s not allowed to hide anything.
Rough bites come raining down on the sensitive skin of his thighs, Moriarty’s lips working roughly against him, curled into a dark smile. Sharp teeth rip bruises into him, barely away from drawing blood. The sensations have him hardening, more sounds escaping his lips as Moriarty moves his way closer to his cock. His breaths coming shallower, legs moving to expose more of him to the other’s savaging.
And then Moriarty’s mouth is around him suddenly, hot and wet and too much all at once. Not a moment for him to process before he’s surrounded The sudden turn over from the teasing to pure pleasure, the other’s saliva still drying on his thighs, has him rolling up eagerly into the mouth. Fuck, Moriarty is good at this, his own fingers dig into his thighs, leaving another set of dents, but he scarcely realizes. Moriarty’s tongue sliding wetly against his underside, teasing at the sensitive slit of his head, driving all through from his mind. And he’s whimpering and bucking, hips working reflexively, the lips sucking him down unrelenting, the other’s fingers pressing into him. His whole body squirms under the other’s lips, coherent thought pushed from his mind. It might be Moriarty with a cock in his mouth, but the other is completely in control.
“Fuck.” He moans out, unable to do anything but take the assault of sensation, ride out whatever the other is going to give him.
Jim’s head bobs on, taking Balthazar as deep as he can, just on the verge of gagging before pulls off and repeats. His face is flushed with effort, eyes glassy as he hums around the appendage in his mouth. He leans up slightly to get a hand beneath him, palming at his own growing erection, finally catching up with the actions at hand.
He’s about to slip his hands inside his pants, give him some relief, before he pauses and eyes Balthazar, moaning wantonly, gripping his own thighs, putting himself on even more display.
Enjoying this.
He pulls off with a wet pop, sitting back on his knees, wiping at the saliva on his lips. “Seem to be enjoying yourself,” he says with a laugh, one hand coming to stroke along his cock lazily. “But as I recall, you’re main goal here is to please me, correct?”
He raises a brow, leaning forward, handing still working the other, the pace torturously slow. He manages to run his fingers through Balthazar’s hair and grip tightly, pulling him up from the stone floor. “So why not get to pleasing, and maybe, if you do a good job, i’ll fuck you so hard against that stone wall,” his eyes flit over to one of the few walls not lined with potions or equipment, “so hard you wont be able to move for days.” Though it sounds like a reward, something he’ll maybe do, his eyes hold more promise.
Moriarty sets a punishing rhythm around him, taking him deep in seconds and then moving completely off in the next heartbeat. The constant change of pressure and sensation coats a fine sheen of sweat across his body. His hips are snapping up to meet Moriarty’s mouth, only to find it already gone, and he’s breathing hard, barely able to react coherently except with slight noises of frustration. The feeling he’s chasing never lasting long enough to make a difference.
His neck snaps up when Moriarty pulls off him, hooded eyes waiting desperately for the next movement, for the next order. The potion surging hot through his veins, urging him to be ready and eager. Through the dizzy pleasure that’s started up in him, he’s no longer sure if he’s fighting it, where it’s blindly leading him.
His fingers uncurl from his thighs, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin, and he sits up on his elbows, straightening as Moriarty straightens, only to toss his head back, as a hand closes around him again, working him in painfully tiny motions. His hips start to roll slowly up into the Slytherin’s hand, body rocking gracefully, as the hand massages him.
“Yes,” It’s a high breathy moan, and he answers around the gasps that choke his words, one hand continuing to work him, the other twisting into his hair. The grasp is rough this side of painful, and it drags him up onto his knees, their bodies close together. Moriarty’s hand is still between the yanking in his hair melding with the torturous fingers stroking him unyieldingly. “The goal is for you to be pleased, for you to use me to please yourself.” His head tilts, eyes meeting Moriarty’s, the yesnowrongplease echoing through his head as the other’s fingers keep curling against him. “I want to please you.” Moriarty’s promise, or is it a threat, seeps into him, a hot thrum of desire springing up in him at the images the words create. He can feel the phantom sensation of being pinned, pushed into, the stone rough against his cheek, Moriarty all around him, his eyes fall shut for a moment.
He doesn’t stay still for long though, the order has the compliance in him springing to life, and slowly, Moriarty’s fingers still working themselves around him, he bends himself over. Bows his head, hair falling forward, back of the neck bared, until his lips close around the button of the other’s pants and close around it. He works at it for a moment, struggling, until he manages to tug it free. He stays there for a moment, rubbing his cheek against the other’s fabric covered cock, before carefully unzipping the zipper with his teeth, opening the pants. He moves himself up to the waistband, teeth grazing Moriarty’s hips as they close around the jeans. But he needs the other to straighten before he can pull them off, his palms lying flat on either side of Moriarty’s hips.
Jim’s eyes widen with mild surprise as Balthazar bends, his mouth managing to work both the button and zip of his pants. It’s practically teasing, his mouth just there but being separated from actual contact by layers. When his cheek nuzzled against his covered cock he hissed at the contact he was growing hungry for, wishing a moment that Balthazar had his mouth around him. He’s obviously skilled with it, judging by his actions just now.
The teeth grazing his hip has him compliant, if just for this moment. He straightens, sucking in a deep breathe, letting his pants be properly pulled down.
“Can’t say I know too much about it, but from what I’m seeing you have an amazing mouth.” Bringing a hand up he gives the others cheek a stroke, nails grazing lightly under his jaw, the action as fond somewhat fond, and the compliment honest.
