[ The settling of Zevran's thigh against his shoulder has him curl his arm up around it, hand planted, nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. Too preoccupied in his own task to be cognizant to any mental shift going on in Zevran's mind, Dorian luxuriates in the sounds Zevran is making, the sensory points of contact of the elf's hand on his jaw and cock filling his mouth, the smell of perfumes, and the earthier, organic scents of exposed, warm skin.
The muscles in his back shift in releases and coils of tension as he settles in, skin bare and bronze in all the low light, gathering a sheen. He is hard in the expensive fabric of his trousers, relieving his own tension with only a subtle shift of his hips against the lounge.
Eyes generally kept shut, Dorian flashes a glance upwards at the decadent sight laid out before him, smeared makeup and dishevelled hair. ]
no subject
The muscles in his back shift in releases and coils of tension as he settles in, skin bare and bronze in all the low light, gathering a sheen. He is hard in the expensive fabric of his trousers, relieving his own tension with only a subtle shift of his hips against the lounge.
Eyes generally kept shut, Dorian flashes a glance upwards at the decadent sight laid out before him, smeared makeup and dishevelled hair. ]