[ A tsk when Ian’s head knocks back against the headboard, but he'd be lying if he said the reaction wasn't deeply satisfying to watch. To know that he was already making Ian feel good, and Mace gives him a fistful of fast, rough strokes as a reward for his pains before slowing down again. Takes his time, twisting his hand on each upstroke, rubbing his thumb right below the head. He’s not going to speed up again until it starts to leak.
God, he wishes they had something more than just spit — and it seems like Ian’s thoughts might be headed in the same direction, but he breaks off as his cock gives one hard, needy throb in the fist stroking it, with a breathless stutter that gets a glint of teeth out of Mace.
But it's not nearly enough, he’s perhaps only a quarter of the way gone; still some humour in the way he phrases himself, too coherent when he speaks again.
Mace wants him all of the way gone. ]
I had no idea teachers lived such scandalous lives.
[ It hadn’t escaped his notice earlier that Ian seemed to like hearing Mace speak, and he figures that’s one way to up the drive Ian out of his mind factor. He lets his voice turn drawling and gravelly, wielding it like a touch, tilting his head as he watches Ian watch him in return, the appreciative look in those pretty eyes.
He can't remember the last time someone looked at him like that and it makes him want to kiss Ian again, his heart doing something strange at the sight — but he refrains from that just yet, not wanting to break the rhythm they’ve got going. ]
You like what you see, Professor?
[ The touch of Ian’s fingers along his arm, fingertips searching out the play of muscles underneath skin. ]
You wanna touch?
[ As if to emphasize his words, Mace brings up his other palm and instead of spitting into it this time, he licks across his fingers instead, avoiding the laceration on his palm. Gets them as wet and as sticky as he can before bringing them down and rubbing them in flat, tantalizing circles against the head of Ian’s cock, his fist going tighter as he works the length in counterpoint. ]
no subject
God, he wishes they had something more than just spit — and it seems like Ian’s thoughts might be headed in the same direction, but he breaks off as his cock gives one hard, needy throb in the fist stroking it, with a breathless stutter that gets a glint of teeth out of Mace.
But it's not nearly enough, he’s perhaps only a quarter of the way gone; still some humour in the way he phrases himself, too coherent when he speaks again.
Mace wants him all of the way gone. ]
I had no idea teachers lived such scandalous lives.
[ It hadn’t escaped his notice earlier that Ian seemed to like hearing Mace speak, and he figures that’s one way to up the drive Ian out of his mind factor. He lets his voice turn drawling and gravelly, wielding it like a touch, tilting his head as he watches Ian watch him in return, the appreciative look in those pretty eyes.
He can't remember the last time someone looked at him like that and it makes him want to kiss Ian again, his heart doing something strange at the sight — but he refrains from that just yet, not wanting to break the rhythm they’ve got going. ]
You like what you see, Professor?
[ The touch of Ian’s fingers along his arm, fingertips searching out the play of muscles underneath skin. ]
You wanna touch?
[ As if to emphasize his words, Mace brings up his other palm and instead of spitting into it this time, he licks across his fingers instead, avoiding the laceration on his palm. Gets them as wet and as sticky as he can before bringing them down and rubbing them in flat, tantalizing circles against the head of Ian’s cock, his fist going tighter as he works the length in counterpoint. ]