[ Warning registered, Dorian's hands, settling at Zevran's neat waist, squeeze back, felt through the stiff fabric and rigid boning of the corset. He doesn't move his mouth so much as slow the more urgent movements that had worked the elf to this point, mouth remaining tight but pliant around his cock, hands looser to allow whatever may come of crackling, shattering fall.
Dorian prefers chaos and disorder over real mess, only inclined to lift his mouth away from the elf when he thinks he can do so tidily, for all that relatively speaking, it's a lost cause. ]
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Dorian prefers chaos and disorder over real mess, only inclined to lift his mouth away from the elf when he thinks he can do so tidily, for all that relatively speaking, it's a lost cause. ]