“Alright, alright- Patience…” Cid makes a rumbling deep in his chest as Vander kisses his neck. For him, it had been a while since anything quite so romantic had happened to him. Utilitarian was usually how this went.
He lifts himself up on his knees just enough to pull his trousers apart, his cock bobbing free. It was average enough, if a little on the girthier side, with the head poking almost halfway from the foreskin. He sighs against the careful attention to his scars, his petrification. He soaks it up as he rakes his fingers up Vander’s chest, squeezing his pecs on the way down- for his own satisfaction in part. He decides not to call attention to the other man’s nastiest scar. That had a long story, surely, one best told over a good drink.
He looks between them in his drunken state, realizing swiftly that he would have to turn back around if he wanted to keep his trousers in hastily-pull-uppable reach. But then he’d have to turn around and have no leverage. Cid sighs, doing his intoxicated little calculations.
What must be done must be done. He unhooks something inside his trousers, pulls the boot off his right leg and pulls his leg through his trousers, freeing it. Then he does the same on the other side, leaving him with his knit gartered hose- clearly some sort of medieval sock, though it looks rather like unclasped thigh highs in this state.
Cid tosses his pants to drape on the seat behind him for what will hopefully be easy reach. Otherwise… from the back, does anyone really need to know?
But now- Now he could focus. He takes both of them in hand and squeezes their cocks together.
“How’s that? Good man. Eager, still properly stiff at your age, too. Good on you,” his praise is genuine, though his voice is laced with a teasing edge. He can’t help but appraise a man, even when he was moments from being taken by him.
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He lifts himself up on his knees just enough to pull his trousers apart, his cock bobbing free. It was average enough, if a little on the girthier side, with the head poking almost halfway from the foreskin. He sighs against the careful attention to his scars, his petrification. He soaks it up as he rakes his fingers up Vander’s chest, squeezing his pecs on the way down- for his own satisfaction in part. He decides not to call attention to the other man’s nastiest scar. That had a long story, surely, one best told over a good drink.
He looks between them in his drunken state, realizing swiftly that he would have to turn back around if he wanted to keep his trousers in hastily-pull-uppable reach. But then he’d have to turn around and have no leverage. Cid sighs, doing his intoxicated little calculations.
What must be done must be done. He unhooks something inside his trousers, pulls the boot off his right leg and pulls his leg through his trousers, freeing it. Then he does the same on the other side, leaving him with his knit gartered hose- clearly some sort of medieval sock, though it looks rather like unclasped thigh highs in this state.
Cid tosses his pants to drape on the seat behind him for what will hopefully be easy reach. Otherwise… from the back, does anyone really need to know?
But now- Now he could focus. He takes both of them in hand and squeezes their cocks together.
“How’s that? Good man. Eager, still properly stiff at your age, too. Good on you,” his praise is genuine, though his voice is laced with a teasing edge. He can’t help but appraise a man, even when he was moments from being taken by him.