bakerstreet | april texting.

Clearly you can't. All the better for me. Now, my dove, what exactly would those pouty lips like to wrap around other than my own self? Whiskey? Beer? Water?

[He smiled as the man stood with him, just a bit shorter than he, but thicker, stockier. He liked it, and he let his fingers dance up to play with one of those dark ink marks.]

A few fingers, yeah. Of whisky first, then we'll see.

[ The joke makes him grin roguishly, not remotely ashamed, it seems, of anything. Water probably would have been his second choice. Nobody likes to fuck with pints of beer sloshing around, and he's not really that experienced with wine. He doesn't want to get smashed too soon and forget any of this.

So whisky it is, and if it's something he can savour over the course of the next hour, all the better that he has something else to occupy his mouth with too. ]

Of course, I could make you a smoothie. Something with a little extra iron in it.

[He joked, but he was walking backwards towards the wet bar alongside the kitchen, hands not leaving the nude man in front of him, but he did manage to kick off his shoes along the way. Progress.]

Yeah, nah, no way I'm keeping my hands to myself for the whole time you make a smoothie.

And like I said... you're going to need your fingers. Don't need you losing them getting distracted with a blender.

[ Whisky it is, though there's part of Bob that appreciates the thoughtfulness of the offer. Never been to a bloke's house before let alone been offered a smoothie as refreshment between rounds. ]

Well then, I suppose I'll just have to make do with wearing you out enough that you'll need genuine sustenance to keep going. Whiskey it is.

[He lures him over to the wet bar and reaches for a glass decanter filled with a dark amber liquid.]

This comes from not far from my homeland. I think you'll like it. Less of a burn and more of a vanilla oaky flavor.

[Fae liked their spirits, and Rowan was no exception. He poured a few fingers in each glass, then handed one over to Bob.]

Sláinte, mo stór.

[ As tactile as Bob is, he does let Rowan have enough movement to make the drinks. It allows him a moment to look around again, curious as to details he can use to understand the man better.

It's clear he has money. But it's not really that Bob's interested in. He might have grown up in a poor, deprived neighbourhood, but money doesn't mean much to him. Yeah, he steals for a living, but it's not for the pay off he's in it. Just happens his mates are all in it too, and he likes spending time with them.

And at some point he'd become convinced a life of crime is the only thing he knows well enough to survive on.

But his eyes are looking around for any pops of personality or details that help form a better picture of the good doctor. ]

Yeah you keep saying that. If you wear me out that much I'm probably suggesting Maccy D's before reaching for a smoothie.

[ He accepts the glass with a soft 'ta boss' and lifts it, inhaling the scent through his nose first before taking a slick mouthful.

It's nice. Nicer than the swill he'd have picked out if he'd been left in charge. ]

Nicer than JD, I'll admit.

What's that you just said, anyway?

[The furniture and art are setting pieces. They came with the suite and he didn't think he'd be staying long enough to make any effort to change them. A sofa was a sofa, wasn't it? And 'long enough' was a perspective thing, since in his mind, five to ten years was barely a blip, so no reason to set down roots. He'd liked the showcase furniture when he'd been digitally perusing the place, and he'd agreed to the added sum to keep it. So the decor wouldn't give much of a glimpse into him as a person.

It was all clean, though. He liked to keep his things in order, and while they weren't technically his to take pride in, he liked his space to be in good taste. And during large spurts of him needing to be called into the hospital to lend a hand, he had hired help that he could reach out to. He was a prince, after all. Far, far, far down the royal line, but it was there, and he couldn't escape it anymore than he could escape the need to fix what was broken when he came across it.]

Your preference for high sodium foods isn't helping your iron intake. Nor will it keep that exceptional body in shape forever.

[He takes a savouring sip himself, then grins at the question.]

You live a stone's throw from the green isle and you don't know gaelic? Ow. That stings. Cheers, my darling. Sláinte is the cheers part. You're likely familiar enough with that, aye?

[ If he can't confess a love of Big Macs to his doctor, who can he confess to? Bob grins in return, enjoying even the mildest suggestion of a telling off. Maybe he's more into that dynamic than he thought.

He tries not to get too in his head about his inexperience otherwise, and he's still smiling when he replies. ]

I've never been out of England, boyo. Don't even have a passport, do I.

[ And the Irish people he's come across in the past haven't exactly been in a setting to sit down and have a friendly drink. Opposite, really. But that's just London. Everybody's got their own tribe. ]

Think you've got me confused with somebody who's all cultured and shit. Don't really expect much more from a fella whose nickname is 'Handsome Bob', d'ya?

[He takes another small sip, then sets the glass down, reaching out to slide his arms around Bob's waist. He tugs him in closer, hip to hip as he looks him over, as if assessing.]

Oh, you're handsome alright. But culture isn't exactly something to aim for. Cultured swine are the type to look down their noses at the people below them when they have every means to reach down and help. Nothing wrong with being who you are, love. I think you'd find that most people who rely on culture and sophistication are hollowed out husks of humans with no purpose if you took all the glitz and glam away. What then could they have to prove their worth? Surely not any skills.

[ With his drink still in one hand, he lifts it just enough that Rowan's arms can fold around his waist. The man's probably right. Only so long he can eat fast food as often as he does and keep a slim waistline.

He doesn't usually get bashful about anything, but there's a moment he feels exposed and seen, and he can feel his cheeks getting warmer. It's a weird enough experience that he laughs, almost to break the awkwardness he feels over how self-conscious he is about how unsophisticated he is in general. He doesn't usually care, but sometimes he can feel doubt creeping in. ]

Yeah, well. You're probably right. All the fancy arse people I've met before have been absolute cunts.

The mouth on you.

[Said as he laughs. He lets his fingers trace idle designs along Bob's back, smiling still.]

Oh, I can't wait to see what I can do with that beautiful thing.

[And that was the rub with aristocracy and culture. They were born learning how to put people below them, how to make them feel like shit so they swallowed what they were fed and liked it instead of rising up. He'd been in Underhill when the French revolution had decimated the mortal wealthy, and he'd come across a few times to witness. How quickly the lower class forgot how much power they wielded. ]

Mm.

[ He doesn't sit with his fleeting feelings of inadequacy for long. Not when there's important other things to do. Like take another mouthful of the whisky and then slide the glass onto the side. Leaning in is easy, his lips still damp with the spirit as he kisses across Rowan's shoulder and up the side of his neck. ]

Don't want to keep you waiting.

My mouth is ready for you.

[ He presses a firm and somehow still sloppy kiss on the other man's lips and then ducks, dropping to his knees. Fingers work at the fastening of Rowan's trousers, the button then the zip. And only then does he look upwards. ]

[The move is quick, or maybe Rowan's just distracted by the kissing and touching. Bob goes from having his mouth on his, to kneeling in front of him with that beautiful mouth too close to his untouched cock behind his own jeans. He reaches down and let his fingers toy gently with the very short buzz of Bob's hair, smiling.]

Guesting laws require that I ensure my guests have every comfort allowed them. Kneeling on the floor doesn't seem all that comfortable, dove.

[ That pulls a grin to the surface. He likes the phrasing, but he's not uncomfortable at all. In fact, there's something that turns him on about his knees against a hard floor. His own dick stirs in interest after its rest.

Fingers work their way along the warm bulge beneath the man's underwear. The fly of the jeans now peeled open, as if he's venturing towards the juiciest part of a meal. Excitement buzzes beneath his skin as he presses a kiss to the thin fabric, feeling the hot firmness under his mouth. ]

Well well. What have we got here then?

[ He strokes what he can of the length still concealed, not yet making a move to pull Rowan free entirely. ]

[His boxer briefs are black, Rowan liking simple in terms of what he wears, and the touch to them both with the press of fingers against it, then the heat of his breath through the cotton has him biting his lip and holding back the need to make a sound. It catches in his throat, and he has to swallow past it to speak.]

I think you know good and well what you have there, and why it's in the state it is, you tease.

You can tell me all about it.

[ Meanwhile, he'll mouth along the length that he can reach and when he can't stand the suspense any longer sinks a finger beneath the elasticated waistband. Down he drags it until the other man's cock springs free, almost hitting him under the chin.

That makes him giddy with desire. ]

You ever been in a situation where you have to keep talking like nothing's happening but somebody is sucking your cock like it's a Calippo in a heatwave?

[ He's turned on by that hypothetical scenario, something he's still thinking about as he twirls his tongue around the head of Rowan's cock and then licks up from the tip to his pubic bone. ]

Incidentally, I have.

[More than once. And he'd loved every moment of it. It was teasing, edging, having to restrain himself while pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. It strained his control, and he had to be doubly restrained to make sure his glamour didn't waver.

His thumb traced along the outside of the corner of Bob's lips, his breath hitching as he felt that wet heat sending pleasure up along his body from the base of his groin.]

Would you like me to recite anything in particular?

[ Another bolt of arousal that reaches deep into his loins at the mental picture of Rowan having to keep collected. He hums in approval, tongue sliding back to press up against the slit at the very tip of the other man's dick. ]

Whatever's on your mind.

[ It won't matter, because really Bob's listening for a crack in his tone. Stumbling over words. Anything that conveys the man's having a good time. ]

[That last lick has his toes curling in his socks, his cock bobbing as he flexes in response, teeth catching at his lip. He looks down at those blue eyes, cupping the side of his face as the man seems intent to torment him.]

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

[He got that far before he had to pause to keep his voice from quavering.]

[ Bob didn't pay much attention in his English lessons at school, so while he vaguely remembers the poem, he couldn't volunteer William Blake's name.

He smiles against Rowan's cock all the same, small kisses turning into involved licks and then the inevitable wet heat of his mouth.

It escalates quickly, his tongue providing the perfect surface to glide a hard cock over, not stopping even as it nears the back of his throat. He lets it, relaxing his throat as much as he can in order to tease the man like he'd teased in return earlier. ]

Gods!

[His hand rested on top of Bob's head, holding him there, but more to still and give him time to gather his thoughts than to force himself further down his throat. Not that the urge wasn't there, but he was much more than just urges. And he had a feeling Bob had some issues that needed to be talked about if this were to be more than a single casual fling.]

You're far too good with that tongue, youngling.

[ Assuming the references to him being young, or Rowan referring to himself as old, are jokes, his throat vibrates with a muffled laugh. He's not sure he really understands the joke, but it seems silly in a funny way. They must be the same generation. No way Rowan is more than a decade older than he is.

The hand on his head stills him for a moment, but only because he thinks Rowan needs a second. He bobs his head, not yet pushing further and simply concentrating on the first half of the man's cock, lavishing it in his attention. ]

You are... very distracting. Why don't you come back up here? I want a taste of you.

[He slid his nails along Bob's scalp, teasing there as he felt his breath stuttering in his chest, his cock throbbing in the sheath of his mouth. Christ, the man was lovely. He was lucky he was in this day and age. He'dve been one spirited away ages ago.]

[ If he didn't have a mouthful of cock, he'd laugh out loud at that assessment. Distracting? What's the bloke trying to focus on outside of this?

Eventually he draws back, string of saliva stretching out between his bottom lip and the tip of Rowan's cock. It only breaks when he grins upwards. ]

You don't want to jizz down my throat, nah?

I'm not in a rush to reach my edge immediately. You do look rather pretty where you are, but I think I want to see you laid out on my sheets.

[Up on top of the loft, tucked away in the corner was his bedroom. He loved the view from it, especially when it was covered in fog. He held a hand down to offer to Bob to help stand.]

And it's not as if we can't continue there.

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Mobile tagging so can't see hover text D:

oh no. it's just cheers, my darling.

Ahaha thanks for translating

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