He says he's been thinking of my fingers. The way they cradle his jaw, his neck. I imagine the weight I take off his shoulders, the weight of his skull in my hands. He imagines my thumb on his lips. I imagine the way they part on exhale, the breath kissing the knuckle.
I imagine my thumb pressing harder between his lips, just enough pressure for them to separate. I imagine one hand bracing the nape of his neck, and the other gently climbing its way into his mouth.
I imagine him kneeling on the floor beneath me, looking up. The way his breath catches when a fingertip presses against his tongue, how his eyes widen just the tiniest bit before relaxing again. The way I hear him panting to the slow pace I fuck his mouth, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the heat coming off his face.
I imagine my darling's smile when I tell him how much of a tamed mutt he is, leaving me briefly unsure if it was truly a smile or a bared-tooth threat, but he makes no move to bite the hand that feeds him. Instead he closes his lips around my fingers and gives an experimental suck, his tongue flicking my finger tips as I continue to fuck his mouth.
The way he sinks more of his weight against me when his eyes slide shut. The way his whines hum in his chest between my legs, my own body twitching up against him to the same tempo of my fingers in his mouth.
I imagine the pop of his lips when I suddenly pull my fingers away, the harsh sound of a zipper getting caught on itself, a hiss behind my teeth, and finally the joined moans as his mouth meets my cock.
I imagine how one hand still cradles his head. Fingers sliding through his hair. Brushing over his cheekbone, his brow, the shells of his ears. How I want his weight against me, to help him feel lighter-- to take care of my possessions is my greatest joy.
