Audire
Can't do dirty talk, my boy can't. See, normally, ya can't shut him up. Can prattle on about anything, to anyone, usually with a smile on his pretty face. Drives me up the fuckin' wall.
Oh, he starts out chatty, but soon you get him hot, get him horny, he loses it, it's all gasps and groans and sighs. He sounds, well, like a feckin' girl, but it's also hot as hell 'cos you can tell how much he's enjoying it.
Wonder what he's like in the sack with one of his pretty girlfriends? He's gotta talk then? Or is he the strong, silent type? Nah, Kurt's the charmer, he talks them into bed, I know he does, so he'll talk to em' in bed too. But when it's just us, it's all in his eyes, his body language and those soft, sweet little noises.
He'll talk about anything, he'll happily talk about sex. But not during. He's the confidant of the teen kids at The Mansion, they like him 'cos he don't judge people, don't care if they're gay or whatever. He'd have never made a priest; bein' celibate wouldn't have suited him but he'd have been good at the understanding shit. He don't judge folk. Not even me. And he knows what I am.
We're sat on the huge leather sofa in the lounge, it's late, the place is quiet, but it's still pretty public, by our standards. An' those damn kids, they just get everywhere. I was watchin' the hockey, but it's finished. I turn the tube off, he's not interested in hockey, I think the only sport he really likes to watch is football, soccer. He's usin' my leg as a back rest while readin' some book or other. Learned long time ago not to ask what it's about, 'cos he'll tell ya'. Particularly dangerous, those old books with the orange an' white cover with a duck or summat' on them. Oh, he'll tell ya' all about them.
But his tail, that sneaky, naughty tail is snaking up my thigh. He might be interested in his book, but it's got other ideas. "What d'ya want, darlin?"
Anything, anything he wants, any position, any combo. If he wants to top me, that's cool, not like him, but cool, if he wants me to fuck him? That's what we'll do. If he just wants to cuddle, whatever, it's up to him, it always is. But he has to tell me. Mind reader, I ain't.
I ruffle his hair. "What does my beautiful lad want?" Gettin' on thin ice, he can be a bit touchy about me callin' him 'lad' or 'boy' but I've got a hundred years on him; he's always gonna be a kid to me. He's not so keen on bein' called 'beautiful' either, but he is, damn it.
He tilts his head up to look at me. "You." He breathes, soft, sultry, those glowing eyes, twin lamps in the gloom. "I want you."
I shiver at his tone; he's lost a lot of that soft accent over the years, but not all of it. "Do you now?" He puts the book down. Aha, we're gettin' serious.
He moves, fluid, graceful as a cat (but we can't say that; not allowed), I'm being stalked by this suddenly magnificent creature where a moment ago there was a sleepy, if athletic, bookworm.
No clue what's triggered this, but so not complaining. He places a hand on either of my shoulders and rises up, pinning me beneath brings his head down and nuzzles my neck, those sharp little fangs, not breaking the skin but I can still feel them. I run my hands down his lean, muscled back then up under the thin sweatshirt. I grasp the hem and he leans back and raises his arms to allow me to take it off him. Nice, now I have an armful of muscled fur. He goes back to my neck and I start rubbing his back, smoothing the silky pelt.
Talented fingers are working on my shirt, then he's worrying a nipple with those sharp teeth. I hiss; ah, damn that's nice. He finds the other nipple with his hand and pinches, hard. He's not interested in pain, in giving or receiving it, he's not biting hard enough to really hurt, but he knows how to play me. I groan and my jeans are getting real tight. He rocks his hips, grinding himself against me.
"Ah, fuck." I'm trying to keep it quiet, but he's awful good at this.
There's voices in the hallway, the clatter of feet and someone switches the lights. Fuck! But then, the crack of imploding air and a headrush like no other and were not in the lounge, we're in his bedroom.
But it's broken the mood, he's still on top of me but now he's giggling, like a schoolboy. I grin and ruffle his floppy hair.
"That was a close one, Elf."
"Ja, we could have scandalised someone with our deviant behaviour." He clicks his teeth in disgust. "Verdammt"
"Huh?" Erudite, ain't I?
"I left 'Sons and Lovers' downstairs."
I shrug and envelop him in an embrace, start to build the mood back up. "Pick it up later, we've got more important things to think about. I want to fuck you now, so damn hard, you beautiful, wicked man." I breathe into his ear. "I'm gonna spread you so wide and pound you so deep, ya' wont be able to sit for a week."
His eyes are huge, the golden glow is almost enough to read by. See, he might not be good at dirty talk, but I'm very, very good at it.
"Oh." He's enjoying what I'm doing, an' what I'm sayin' an' my jeans are gettin' tight again.
Sure if they read his book they'll get an education. But me? I'm workin' on summat a bit more hands on; listnin' to my Elf get happy, and maybe a bit loud.