[The glimpse of a sharp canine sparked a hot flame in his stomach, a little twist, remembering how it felt to have them buried in his skin. It wasn't a sensation he would soon forget. Nor did he think he'd ever get used to seeing the fangs in Alucard's mouth, so distinctive a threat, making him appear feral in an otherwise otherworldly face of cold beauty. Everything suggested Alucard was a pale beast carved from marble, but his touches hungered like nothing Dorian had ever felt and his mouth was molten.
When lowered, he went obediently, legs unhooked around Alucard's waist and wrists pinned under a hold much more forgiving than earlier. Dorian stretched across the bed in a deliberate picture of temptation. He kicked off his boots, arched his back just slightly enough to lift his hips, and gazed through the black curtain of his own lashes. He'd expected to take the control from this situation in Alucard's inexperience; it seemed that wouldn't be the case, but he wouldn't lay here docile and shy.]
For the time being.
[Dorian was thinking of nothing beyond the pleasure of the moment. He suddenly wanted. It clenched in his belly, a deep ache of arousal as Alucard's silky gold hair hung down and tickled his chin. He smelled like nothing Dorian could place in memory, crisp and foreign, with that rusty undertone of blood.
That hand drew his eyes south, watching its descent with anticipation. In situations like these he was far more used to impatience - the quick hurried fucks of secrecy and remote attraction that would wash out with orgasm. Nothing more than satisfying an urge like an itch. Alucard wasn't touching him like that; he felt his pulse race beneath the fingers over his collar and sternum. The black line of the submissive tattoo was a visible stripe up his throat at this distance.
Unable to use hands, instead he dragged the heel of one foot along the outside of a long leg, then arched again in a defiant squirm, chin tipped back.]
You do strike me as the sort to play with your food.
no subject
When lowered, he went obediently, legs unhooked around Alucard's waist and wrists pinned under a hold much more forgiving than earlier. Dorian stretched across the bed in a deliberate picture of temptation. He kicked off his boots, arched his back just slightly enough to lift his hips, and gazed through the black curtain of his own lashes. He'd expected to take the control from this situation in Alucard's inexperience; it seemed that wouldn't be the case, but he wouldn't lay here docile and shy.]
For the time being.
[Dorian was thinking of nothing beyond the pleasure of the moment. He suddenly wanted. It clenched in his belly, a deep ache of arousal as Alucard's silky gold hair hung down and tickled his chin. He smelled like nothing Dorian could place in memory, crisp and foreign, with that rusty undertone of blood.
That hand drew his eyes south, watching its descent with anticipation. In situations like these he was far more used to impatience - the quick hurried fucks of secrecy and remote attraction that would wash out with orgasm. Nothing more than satisfying an urge like an itch. Alucard wasn't touching him like that; he felt his pulse race beneath the fingers over his collar and sternum. The black line of the submissive tattoo was a visible stripe up his throat at this distance.
Unable to use hands, instead he dragged the heel of one foot along the outside of a long leg, then arched again in a defiant squirm, chin tipped back.]
You do strike me as the sort to play with your food.