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Sinric moans warmly, hitching a leg around Emcee's hip, changing the angle of their dance. He manages to pull Emcee's shirt up about to stoke the skin of his lower back, fingers dancing over the top curve of his rear.

Emcee grasps Sinric's thigh, holding fast as he rubs against the crease of his hip. He is hard and eager and ready, wanting just as much of Sinric's bare skin.

"I want you naked, darling," he rasps heatedly, his lips working their way across his collarbone .

Sinric giggles and steps back. There's no graceful way to get out of a damp swim suit. Even for someone like Sinric. But he does his best. Utterly unself-conscious, he stands there naked and flushed. He holds his hand out in presentation, a sparkle of challenge and mischief in his eyes.

Edited 2018-05-26 12:44 (UTC)

Emcee smiles appreciatively (and lustfully) as he watches, before stripping off his tank top and undoing his trousers, button by button.

"You look as delicious as a little water nymph," he says, his gaze sweeping up and down Sinric's glowing body. "And I would be the satyr who ravishes you."

Sinric smiles and steps to him, reciting something lyrical and lovely in Greek as he goes to his knees in front of Emcee. He waits for the last bottom before pulling Emcee's trousers down.

With that mischievous grin, he leans in to kiss the tip of Emcee's manhood.

Sinric's voice and words stir something in him; even if they aren't laced with magic, Sinric never fails to move him like this.

His cock twitches at the kiss. (He's moved like that, too.)

Running his fingers through Sinric's damp hair, he tips his head with a soft, breathy chuckle.

Sinric smiles and widens his lips, teasing Emcee's slip with little flicks of his tongue.

Teasing, playing, goading Emcee to ravish him.

Emcee groans, his eyelashes fluttering. A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips at the deliberate teasing.

He cups Sinric's face in both hands, holding it steady.

"Make me wet, darling," he murmurs, looking down at Sinric from under smoky-lidded eyes.

Edited 2018-05-27 04:47 (UTC)

Sinric licks his lips, slow and deliberate, opening his mouth for Emcee to take. After all, Emcee has hold of his cheeks, in just the right position for his mouth to be plundered.

With a pleased purr, Emcee slowly slides his cock into Sinric's mouth, watching the length of him disappear past his lips. He breathes out a guttural moan, relishing the heat of his tongue. Then almost as slowly, and still holding his head, he pulls back halfway, before pushing in again.

Emcee licks his own lips, thoroughly enjoying this.

Sinric loves that line between surrender and control, twisting his tongue just so to tease the greatest pleasure from Emcee as he gives himself over to Emcee's thrusts.

Emcee gasps air in through his teeth and tips his head back with a moan. He, too, loves that line, as here he is thrusting into Sinric's mouth, yet being at the mercy of it. They dance back and forth over that line so well.

Eventually Emcee pulls his cock free, hard and glistening.

He then drops to his knees and kisses Sinric, grasping the back of his head and plunging his tongue into his mouth.

Sometimes, it's fun to dance on the side of control.

Edited 2018-05-27 06:06 (UTC)

Sinric's lips are hot and wet, swollen from use and quick to return the passion. "Take me." He begs before kisses. "Ravish me."

"Gladly," he growls, and he leans on Sinric, pushing him down onto the towel with his kisses.

Sinric sprawls out like a sacrifice on an altar, willing and flushed. He whispers words of adoration and desire in Greek, calling for Emcee to slake his lust.

Emcee presses kisses down the center of his slender throat, teeth grazing the pale skin. Lower down, he kisses his breasts almost worshipfully, licking and sucking his nipples. He knows how sensitive they are. He loves the way they feel under his tongue.

Sinric cries softly, wrapping his legs around Emcee and arching up to meet his kiss. "My mirror! How well you know me!"

And he loves the way Sinric reacts.

"I wouldn't be me, if I didn't know you, darling," he murmurs against his breast, sweeping his lips over his nipple.

With one hand he reaches down between their bodies, fingertips finding and teasing his opening to ready him.

Sinric spreads himself wider, pressing against Emcee's fingers with greedy eagerness to be plundered. "Nor I, you." He breathes, fingers chasing up and down Emcee's back with caresses and light scratches.

Emcee aligns himself, and with a throaty moan, presses into Sinric. He runs a hand down his side and grasps his hip, thrusting deeper, as deep as he can.

As tight as Sinric is, they both feel every inch as Emcee enters him, groaning his pleasure as he stretches and flexes. He buries a hand in Emcee's hair, pulling and squeezing and holding close through the glorious burn of it.

When Emcee can push no further, when their hips are as flush as they can be, he pauses to pant heavily against Sinric's neck. He closes his eyes and savors this sensation, their bodies locked together.

Sinric whispers words of encouragement and desire in a dozen languages. He doesn't need magic with Emcee. Just this - the race of their hearts, the heavy blows of their breath. Skin on skin, hot as fire. The weight of Emcee's body on his. He arches up, finding no more room, there is no closer they can be and it's glorious.

"Oh, Sinric," Emcee breathes across his cheek, brushing his lips over his skin, "you feel so wonderful like this. You always do."

"As you feel in me." Sinric groans, clenching around him. "So right."