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[ #crowdotwips ] christening this account with that one concept sitting in my drafts where argalia steps on roland's dick
Roland shifted back against the bedpost he was pinned to, his hands bound behind his back with the tie that he’d worn out earlier in the day. The knot had been tied low enough that Roland couldn’t get to his knees, let alone onto his feet; the platform of the bed was too low. He had no choice but to sit in the shadows and the moonlight with the wooden bedpost digging into his spine. Above him loomed an unyielding shadow, haloed in silver—with a gaze too-clear and far too _blue_ against the monochrome. Argalia pinned him in place with that gaze as he took one last drag off of his cigarette before snuffing it in the ashtray he kept on his vanity. Even in the dark, Roland could make out Argalia’s smile—a smile that seemed almost painted on, like it belonged to a doll. There was a certain icy self-satisfaction about it that always made Roland shiver. “This _is_ a good look on you,” he purred, letting the smoke unfurl from his lips as he leaned over Roland, encompassing him entirely in his shadow. Argalia nudged Roland’s knees apart as he stepped forward, regarding him with a contemplative hum. “How should I describe it… Hunger?” Argalia didn’t give Roland the chance to answer before he pressed the sole of his shoe to Roland’s clothed crotch. He sucked in his breath through clenched teeth at the pressure; his slacks had been feeling on _just_ the wrong side of too tight for a while. Since he’d been bound to the bedpost and told to wait, maybe. Since Argalia returned from the bathroom having shed his daytime ensemble in favor of lace intimate wear, certainly. For a split second, Roland couldn’t help but be relieved that Argalia wouldn’t be able to feel the way his cock twitched, followed almost immediately by a lance of shame as he realized that the way the tips of his ears burned almost certainly gave him away anyway. Hunger. Roland wasn’t sure how he’d describe it and he wasn’t sure if he cared to put a name to it in the first place. Roland turned his head away when Argalia pressed the tiniest bit harder in an effort to hide how his breath shuddered out of him, how he squeezed his eyes shut. “Argalia…” he breathed, clenching one hand into a fist behind him, then uncurling his fingers one at a time. He bucked his hips to chase the contact and Argalia—of course—pulled back a bit, until the contact was enough to tantalize but not nearly enough to satisfy. “Actually... I think that _desperation_ fits better.” A musical lilt crept into Argalia’s voice, then. He was watching Roland as much as Roland was watching him; there was an unavoidable sharpness to his gaze, but his eyes were half-lidded and his lips ever-so-slightly parted. His smile had relaxed into something that looked almost like admiration, until he flicked his tongue out over his lips. “Do you want to touch me, Roland?”
November 16, 2024 at 12:42 PM