[ He curls his nails against Dorian's scalp, dragging them in a long scrape- mussing the curls that stay in place through product or magic. Which doesn't matter, the pull and glide of Dorian's lips, the rumble of his voice, the press of his nails? That is what matters. The tight heat pulling him through as he breathes slow and even to keep himself from straining against the corset, the subtle shift of Dorian's hips against the sofa.
That won't do. He's not in much room to do anything just yet, though. ]
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[ He curls his nails against Dorian's scalp, dragging them in a long scrape- mussing the curls that stay in place through product or magic. Which doesn't matter, the pull and glide of Dorian's lips, the rumble of his voice, the press of his nails? That is what matters. The tight heat pulling him through as he breathes slow and even to keep himself from straining against the corset, the subtle shift of Dorian's hips against the sofa.
That won't do. He's not in much room to do anything just yet, though. ]
No need to take your time, Pavone.