The way he gasps out his name makes Barcus shiver. Could there be any sweeter praise than that, just the sound of one's own name on the lips of a lover in the throes of pleasure? It doesn't escape Barcus, either, that Bel's tone of voice and even his accent shift slightly as he gets distracted by sensation. It's wonderful, that sense of being trusted, the knowledge that the drow is gradually letting go.

And I will always pay that trust back in kind, he promises himself. What they have is rare; it will only deepen, if Barcus has anything to say about it.

He makes a low mnnnh noise at the warning and gives a slight nod (which, coincidentally creates a ripple of additional sensation). His free hand moves to Bel's hip, kneading the muscle there as if to encourage him. If he could swallow him all the way to the root, he would; alas, that's going to require some practice and conditioning, but in the meantime, he is here for the duration.