Little Lark

Just what was his mouth good for? A lot of things, to be sure.

First and foremost was breathing. Air would tickle across his lips as he inhaled and make soft noises when he exhaled. His mouth was good for smiling, from the cocky grin of confidence to the brainless smile of the bedazzled. His mouth was good for speaking, and what beautiful words he spoke, golden to the ears of many. His voice was good for singing. He sung of love and fame. He sung of far away worlds and the streets of his own town.

His mouth was good for kissing. It was good for dragging those sweet tokens of love down the soft necklines of the girls who lusted after him so openly. He could steal the breath of any fair maiden.

His mouth was good for a different kind of kiss. Bruising his knees under the desk and going down on the one and only Corny Collins, oh hell yes his mouth was good for something.

His mouth was good for forcing moans out of the older man, as he overcompensated for experience with enthusiasm. His mouth was good for humming wordless tunes into the swollen flesh.

His mouth was good for whorishly licking up every drop of the man's personal flavour, and grinning up from the shadows to confirm that they would be doing this again soon.

His mouth was good for a lot of things.