[It's a mess, when Yuri comes on his face; oh, he does his best to catch what he can, mouthing and licking him through it with the best of them, but there's so much to contend with that he supposes it's only natural to be left with slick on his chin, on his face, dripping off his jaw to spatter on his waiting collarbones below. Satisfaction starts to twinge in the back of his mind — good, he did good, see what he did, this potential mate is pleased — but then the sweet haze tears apart beneath a flash of sudden irritation as something occurs to him: Yuri had moved his hand.
Yuri moved his hand. He'd slid it down between them. He'd touched himself to come, to tip himself over the edge, and a flash of petty fury races like lightning through Dimitri's blood.
How dare he? How dare he rob his alpha of the satisfaction? Who said he could touch himself? Who said that was his to touch?
A growl spills from his throat, frustrated; he's bristling from the feeling of having been slighted somehow, yet too inexperienced an alpha to know what he's supposed to do to cope with it. You couldn't do it, his instincts rail at him, You weren't enough, he touched himself, show him take him fuck him prove your worth, prove it, prove it!
Huffy, he tugs on Yuri's hip and lashes his tongue against his clit, right where his finger had touched, unmindful of the fact that he'd probably sensitive after his climax, uncaring whether it might be too much. He licks at it like he thinks he can wipe away every touch that had lingered there before, replacing it with his own efforts, just him, his, his.
Come down his throat, his alpha instincts coax, appeased by his efforts and tempted by the sense memory of Yuri's purring. Like he can still fix this. Like it's not too far gone. Come in him. Bite him. Knot him. Ours. Ours. Ours.
And — yes. Yes, his mouth is hot, the suction tight, the grip on him just what he wants. As his flashburn of defensiveness melts back into possessive pride, he bucks his hips up hard, enticed by thoughts of marking and claiming until at last he's coming himself, his cock thick and twitching as his first round spills into Yuri's waiting mouth.]
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Yuri moved his hand. He'd slid it down between them. He'd touched himself to come, to tip himself over the edge, and a flash of petty fury races like lightning through Dimitri's blood.
How dare he? How dare he rob his alpha of the satisfaction? Who said he could touch himself? Who said that was his to touch?
A growl spills from his throat, frustrated; he's bristling from the feeling of having been slighted somehow, yet too inexperienced an alpha to know what he's supposed to do to cope with it. You couldn't do it, his instincts rail at him, You weren't enough, he touched himself, show him take him fuck him prove your worth, prove it, prove it!
Huffy, he tugs on Yuri's hip and lashes his tongue against his clit, right where his finger had touched, unmindful of the fact that he'd probably sensitive after his climax, uncaring whether it might be too much. He licks at it like he thinks he can wipe away every touch that had lingered there before, replacing it with his own efforts, just him, his, his.
Come down his throat, his alpha instincts coax, appeased by his efforts and tempted by the sense memory of Yuri's purring. Like he can still fix this. Like it's not too far gone. Come in him. Bite him. Knot him. Ours. Ours. Ours.
And — yes. Yes, his mouth is hot, the suction tight, the grip on him just what he wants. As his flashburn of defensiveness melts back into possessive pride, he bucks his hips up hard, enticed by thoughts of marking and claiming until at last he's coming himself, his cock thick and twitching as his first round spills into Yuri's waiting mouth.]