Taste of Ink

Long, flat strokes along the bridge of the leather, tongue darting out, breath rasping in quiet moans. His hands are restrained at the small of his back, but it only adds to the image. Swirling blue eyes flash upwards, tongue dragging painfully slow over the imported Italian leather.

"Does it make you laugh, knowing how much I like this?" He licked a long line up the front of the boot, tasting the flat spice of expensive leather, breathing hard and letting out a tiny moan. He stopped where the boot did, placing a kiss at the bent knee, peppering kisses on the trail he'd just made on his way back down, taking a moment to breathe before sucking the toe of the boot back into his mouth, made sure his slurping was audible.

The practiced tongue pressed insistently, flicking up to the bridge of the boot then back to the toe, swirling around the curve, breath coming harshly and tiger eyes narrowed in a look of sheer lust, almost enough to make Arthur shiver.

"It's only because you clean my boots so well, frog." he murmured, moving his boot to journey over the corded neck, up along the strong jaw, to his cheek where Francis nuzzled his boot, pressing his lips almost reverently against the flat panels. Did he know what he looked like, tongue working the leather, body strained and eyes searching?

Praising lips moved lower, to the sole of the shoe, to kiss there, coming around to lick another long trail, breathing so hard and desperately that Arthur wanted to feel it against his skin, and wished the boot weren't in the way. His fingers tangled in strands of gold silk, pulling tighter and wrenching back his head, watching his throat work and his eyes shift.

"You can do better things with that mouth of yours, can't you?" He leaned in close, smelling the red of pomegranates and the white of lilies and laughing because they cancelled each other out. He got a breathy laugh and felt it through his lips when he kissed Francis's pale throat, fingers traversing the sensitive skin laid bare for him.

His grip on the soft hair tightened, and he jerked him closer so that their lips could touch. He deepened the kiss and groaned. The body under him strained for release, and the tempest eyes burning his field of vision begged for destruction.

"That depends." Francis pressed another kiss to the boot, then the bent knee, then the thigh, the belt buckle, the fingers that pushed belt and pants away. He grinned up into fairy green eyes, eyes he's always been enchanted by, muscles aching from being on his knees and tied for so long.

But it all adds to the image. Arthur likes seeing him like this.

Long flat strokes up hot flesh, swallowing roughly and breaths coming in uneven pants of scalding breath. Arthur sighed and let his head fall back, groaning when he's engulfed in warm, tight heat, slick and convulsing. He wondered if this was how the boot felt, and pet blonde locks tenderly.

He pushed the errant ringlets away, watching himself disappear into the perfection of that pink mouth, hands that could be stroking him locked at his back, vulnerable and pale and naked. The breath on his flesh is warm and alive, and he closed his eyes to let wave after wave of pleasure push and pull him.

A soft kiss at the base, a long lick to the tip, a harsh bite that caused more pleasure then it should. He stroked with teeth and tongue and lips and throat, moaning softly, being perfect because he was good at it.

"You look beautiful like this."

He looked up, nuzzling into the hand that slipped down to his cheek, and smiled. "You like me on my knees don't you?" He paused a moment, grin widening. He looked beautiful on his knees, looked better with his mouth full of cock. Better still when he moaned like a whore and begged frantically to be fucked. Even more beautiful when he tossed his hair over his shoulder and looked up with teary blue eyes.

He knew this. He kissed the wrist of the hand on his cheek. And knew that if it were anyone else. If it were anyone else he would have beat them, he would have laughed and torn them apart. But not Arthur. Arthur was good at making him surrender every inch of his soul.

"Now sir, I have yet to clean your other boot."