[He tells himself, initially, that he is fine with the pace that you've chosen for the both of them, that he can let you have him as you will.
That changes somewhere down the line, as he heats up beneath you, as his own body betrays him in favor of its desperate need for you. Said change must be remarkable to watch, because it rises to the surface slowly, writing itself out in the way the look on this one's face shifts to match the crumbling of his will in the face of the (torturous) way that you're working him up, the erratic buck of his hips, the raggedness of his breathing, the pant of his lips and the shadows in his eyes. He has also started to tremble in earnest, right down to the helpless grasp of his fingers in the air/the way he involuntarily tries to tug at the belt keeping his wrists together and is met full on with resistance.
A broken noise leaves his lips the moment he's impossibly hard in your grip (it matches the way the lust is clawing at his lungs, spilling over into everything else), and then he's biting down on his lip, pressing the side of his face against the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to find some way at cooling down, or maybe hiding the fact that he's blushing.
He shouldn't beg, he shouldn't ask. He's yours: he's said it himself. He's at your disposal, for you to do as you please.]
no subject
That changes somewhere down the line, as he heats up beneath you, as his own body betrays him in favor of its desperate need for you. Said change must be remarkable to watch, because it rises to the surface slowly, writing itself out in the way the look on this one's face shifts to match the crumbling of his will in the face of the (torturous) way that you're working him up, the erratic buck of his hips, the raggedness of his breathing, the pant of his lips and the shadows in his eyes. He has also started to tremble in earnest, right down to the helpless grasp of his fingers in the air/the way he involuntarily tries to tug at the belt keeping his wrists together and is met full on with resistance.
A broken noise leaves his lips the moment he's impossibly hard in your grip (it matches the way the lust is clawing at his lungs, spilling over into everything else), and then he's biting down on his lip, pressing the side of his face against the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to find some way at cooling down, or maybe hiding the fact that he's blushing.
He shouldn't beg, he shouldn't ask. He's yours: he's said it himself. He's at your disposal, for you to do as you please.]