[ In response, the other man puts away his champagne flute and slips his arm around James' waist, maneuvering him easily onto his lap, one leg on either side of his thighs, hips and James has to spread wide to accommodate him. Especially as he finally spreads his legs and pulls James' buttocks apart at the same time, oh, their cocks rubbing up against each other so good from this position and Mr. Morningstar's (Lucifer's, got to be Lucifer from hereon out) tongue is pushing into his mouth, opening him up there first. Strong, imagine how strong he's got to be, lifting him around like that, James is slim but not exactly lightweight. He groans, too, balancing himself with one hand grabbing Lucifer by the shoulder and the other pressing against his chest, keeping himself hoisted over him as he drags his cock up along the underside of the other man's big, hard dick. Repeat, the friction wet and smooth thanks to the water.
He breathes hard through his nose, taking everything the other man is giving, hands, mouth, sudden overwhelming heat and nearness. It's good. He's good with it. James follows the line of the man's neck, caresses his jawline briefly with his thumb before unceremoniously burying the fingers of his right hand into Lucifer's hair, angling his head by pulling at it and pushing his tongue back inside his mouth in turn, the wet slide of muscle making his toes curl. He groans, louder this time.
With his other hand, he reaches down and closes his fingers around their shafts, managing just barely, because - well, Mr. Devil's hung, pretty much, and hears the splashing of his wrist, fingers, breaking the surface once, twice, three times, as he starts stroking them both, just a slow, firm grip to amp up the friction, right?
It's not like this is the end of it. They're just getting started. James knows he's getting preyed on tonight, he's going down.
He's going down, and you won't hear him complaining about it, maybe until tomorrow. ]
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He breathes hard through his nose, taking everything the other man is giving, hands, mouth, sudden overwhelming heat and nearness. It's good. He's good with it. James follows the line of the man's neck, caresses his jawline briefly with his thumb before unceremoniously burying the fingers of his right hand into Lucifer's hair, angling his head by pulling at it and pushing his tongue back inside his mouth in turn, the wet slide of muscle making his toes curl. He groans, louder this time.
With his other hand, he reaches down and closes his fingers around their shafts, managing just barely, because - well, Mr. Devil's hung, pretty much, and hears the splashing of his wrist, fingers, breaking the surface once, twice, three times, as he starts stroking them both, just a slow, firm grip to amp up the friction, right?
It's not like this is the end of it. They're just getting started. James knows he's getting preyed on tonight, he's going down.
He's going down, and you won't hear him complaining about it, maybe until tomorrow. ]