On a day where he was feeling a bit more cheeky, perhaps, Edmund would be left at the mercy of his playful sense of spite. Sometimes, they took their ritual at The Pearl as a means of escaping the saturation of sexual pursuts in Ariel for a spell, and their time spend behaving themselves coyly over tea was a relief. But while the weather was sapping away at quite enough comfort that deserved rekindling, Zexion sought out easy consolation with an eagerness that rivalled Edmund's own.
It did not take much persuasion, then, to win him over. Just listening to his companion lust over the notion of having his mouth was enough to leave him humming with longing to become just that, so potent and rewarding.
"You're my favorite glutton, so I may have a completely illogical bias." Zexion confesses in a whisper with a sharper smile, nose bumping softly at Edmund's freckles. "It's the way you're so generous with showing when you enjoy something that fills me with solicitous airs, too- All men should know the feeling, more often their lives. Darkness could not overtake hearts as merry and well-satiated as yours, for long."
Their clothing rustles, hands pawing to stir some warming friction up, and by the time Edmund is reaching for his backside Zexion is all but cross-eyed with readiness for the warmth and lazy grip of his palm, kneading at his suppler flesh. A heathy diet of sweets and strong tea with double cream, eggs with runny yolks every morning and fresh butter from Ai's clever churning operations keeps Zexion very nicely padded in ways the yoga practice doesn't quite manage to sweat out, and he honestly suspects that most of his partners prefer him chubby bottomed from sins of sloth and self-satisfaction.
Edmund's fingers proffer one stolen away morsel, and Zexion knows what it is even before the powdered sugar touches his lips. The rosewater and pistachio scent is so delicate, yet entirely unmistakeable, and the squidgy texture, slippery once licked-clean, has always been a mild fascination. No fruit gels are ever quite as fine as a properly done Turkish Delight, fresh and pillowy. He laps at one side, the warm edge of his tongue brushing kittenish against Edmund's fingers, but he doesn't gently suckle until Edmund's lips are meeting his, the wet sweet sliding back and forth between their lips and against their tongues, surprisingly intact and so very slow to dissolve if resisting the urge to nibble and chew. Zexion can let this go on until he's accustomed himself to the feel of his bedfellow's mouth instead.
On a different day, he'd be utterly disgusted by this kind of sharing, but for the moment it's risquee and marvelous, the lewdness of the act only heightened by the way they stay clasped together, rumped clothing still (mostly) in place.
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It did not take much persuasion, then, to win him over. Just listening to his companion lust over the notion of having his mouth was enough to leave him humming with longing to become just that, so potent and rewarding.
"You're my favorite glutton, so I may have a completely illogical bias." Zexion confesses in a whisper with a sharper smile, nose bumping softly at Edmund's freckles. "It's the way you're so generous with showing when you enjoy something that fills me with solicitous airs, too- All men should know the feeling, more often their lives. Darkness could not overtake hearts as merry and well-satiated as yours, for long."
Their clothing rustles, hands pawing to stir some warming friction up, and by the time Edmund is reaching for his backside Zexion is all but cross-eyed with readiness for the warmth and lazy grip of his palm, kneading at his suppler flesh. A heathy diet of sweets and strong tea with double cream, eggs with runny yolks every morning and fresh butter from Ai's clever churning operations keeps Zexion very nicely padded in ways the yoga practice doesn't quite manage to sweat out, and he honestly suspects that most of his partners prefer him chubby bottomed from sins of sloth and self-satisfaction.
Edmund's fingers proffer one stolen away morsel, and Zexion knows what it is even before the powdered sugar touches his lips. The rosewater and pistachio scent is so delicate, yet entirely unmistakeable, and the squidgy texture, slippery once licked-clean, has always been a mild fascination. No fruit gels are ever quite as fine as a properly done Turkish Delight, fresh and pillowy. He laps at one side, the warm edge of his tongue brushing kittenish against Edmund's fingers, but he doesn't gently suckle until Edmund's lips are meeting his, the wet sweet sliding back and forth between their lips and against their tongues, surprisingly intact and so very slow to dissolve if resisting the urge to nibble and chew. Zexion can let this go on until he's accustomed himself to the feel of his bedfellow's mouth instead.
On a different day, he'd be utterly disgusted by this kind of sharing, but for the moment it's risquee and marvelous, the lewdness of the act only heightened by the way they stay clasped together, rumped clothing still (mostly) in place.