thewidewideworld | (no subject)

Dorian starts humming under his breath, the slow sounds and cadences of old chants, as his lips wander around Sinric's breasts.

Sinric can't help but pick up the tune, singing on old song of worship. High and breathless with moans, his voice takes in an unearthly quality, both angelic and pornographic.

Dorian loves that dichotomy in the song, slowly kissing his way down Sinric's front.

Sinric gasps, adding to the soaring sound of the song as he falls back to rest his weight on his elbows. Perched between the candles and arching on the altar, he radiates with pleasure.

Dorian keeps stroking Sinric's breasts as he keeps humming, and kissing his way downwards on the pale skin shimmering in the candlelight.

Dorian's name weaves it's way breathlessly into the song of praise babbling over Sinric's lips. His thighs spreading as he welcomes Dorian's kisses.

Dorian presses his lips on Sinric's little prick, murmuring something in Latin.

Sinric tries to make out the work but it is lost in the murmur of skin and the pounding of his own racing pulse. His song or praise and glory seems to take on a life of it's own, more a compulsion than an act of will now. His little snail jumps and leaks with eagerness, arching into hardness.

Dorian's lips move against the pricklet as he carries on with his phrases of worship, in adoration of the pale little member all his attention is focused on.

"Dorian. Oh, Dorian!" He's fully hard now, his little prick quivering.

Dorian spreads Sinric's legs and reverently kisses the inside of his thighs.

Sinric sings his joy, his voice high and reverent. He rests his ankle on Dorian's shoulder, drawing him closer and offering himself up.

Dorian licks a long line between Sinric's legs, still murmuring Latin.

Sinric whimpers sweetly, reaching out to steady himself. His hands close around the base of the great silver candle sticks.

Spread-eagled on the altar, arms outstretched in the flickering light, he too closely resembles some ravished saint or debouched angel.

Dorian licks the entrance to Sinric's body, murmuring prayers to that ravished saint.

He gasps roughly, his chanted song of praise growing high and breathless. He has done this often for other men but rarely has it been done to him. He arches, his lithe body tensing sharply. "Dorian, oh! Oh please?"

"Whatever you wish," Dorian says. His lips keep moving between Sinric's legs.

"Please? Don't stop. It feels so-" He breaking off with a whimper, shaking in pleasure. "Your lips- Oh!"

Murmuring in Latin, Dorian takes the tip of that little prick between his lips.

Sinric's voice rises in rapture, calling the grace of all the gods to this pleasure. Hot and hard, his little prick twitches against Dorian's lips.

Dorian suckles, moving his lips around the little prick as he still murmurs elements of the Latin mass.

"Dorian please? I'm so close!" He cries, such joy still novel and wondrous to him and being able to beg his pleasure as a free man makes it all the sweeter.

"Amen," Dorian says, wrapping his tongue around the little snail and sucking strongly to bring Sinric off.

It takes very little to push Sinric over the edge, the tight spring of pleasure inside him releasing in a long note of pure joy as he spills onto Dorian's lips.

Dorian keeps murmuring Latin, lapping it all up.