( It is history dredged up, a half a dozen memories of what had been pleasant so long ago, his own fantasies rifled through like card stock, instinct at the forefront. Gaon squirms like he can't contain himself though, and Yohan silences the part of his brain that has to tick away three steps ahead, instead focuses on only what he wants and what feels good to them both, Gaon's cock a heavy weight on his tongue and his own arousal pinned to the mattress, restless energy underneath his shoulder blades. He can't answer the gasped question without lifting his mouth away, and that would be unforgiveable, so he merely sinks another inch lower and lets out a quizzical sound that could mean several things - an agreement, perhaps, encouragement, a singular note of wonton arousal before he continues his ministrations.
One arm curves under Gaon's thigh, palm hooked over the shape of the muscle. His fingers dig into the meat of his skin, blanching it white under his touch. The other stays wrapped around his shaft, stroking in quick and firm caresses, touching wherever his mouth can't reach. Yohan's gaze has fallen away in favour of his new priority, head bobbing. It's already a little wet, a little messy, frantic in it's own way. His breathing sounds harsh here, through his nose and panted, throat clicking as he swallows. He can't take it all - a fact that he's going to rectify with practice - but he commits attention to whatever he can, tongue and lips and even the threatening edge of his teeth all working in tandem.
Gaon squirms, and Yohan makes another noise, low enough to almost be lost but gravelly vibration that he should feel, the pressure of his mouth a sudden, firm suck before he has to lever himself up, tongue pressing to the frenulum in a tease, his palm dropping to roll Gaon's balls between his fingers. It's trial and error, but Yohan does his best to stay attuned, honed in on the way the younger man shifts, what makes him gasp, what causes him to buck up underneath Yohan's touch. It feels good, learning him like this, it feels worth something, dedicating himself to this new craft. )
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One arm curves under Gaon's thigh, palm hooked over the shape of the muscle. His fingers dig into the meat of his skin, blanching it white under his touch. The other stays wrapped around his shaft, stroking in quick and firm caresses, touching wherever his mouth can't reach. Yohan's gaze has fallen away in favour of his new priority, head bobbing. It's already a little wet, a little messy, frantic in it's own way. His breathing sounds harsh here, through his nose and panted, throat clicking as he swallows. He can't take it all - a fact that he's going to rectify with practice - but he commits attention to whatever he can, tongue and lips and even the threatening edge of his teeth all working in tandem.
Gaon squirms, and Yohan makes another noise, low enough to almost be lost but gravelly vibration that he should feel, the pressure of his mouth a sudden, firm suck before he has to lever himself up, tongue pressing to the frenulum in a tease, his palm dropping to roll Gaon's balls between his fingers. It's trial and error, but Yohan does his best to stay attuned, honed in on the way the younger man shifts, what makes him gasp, what causes him to buck up underneath Yohan's touch. It feels good, learning him like this, it feels worth something, dedicating himself to this new craft. )