[ The manipulations of Zevran's hand are easily rewarded; the insistent tip of Dorian's hips, a slightly lazy, purring hum low in his throat, certainly no relent in the heavy sprawl settling atop the elf. The specific friction of fabric against the most sensitive spots send sparks through his nerves, so much more attentive than the impassive plane of cushion he'd been trying to seek the same from moments ago.
Still. Dorian is not so without his faculties not to arch an eyebrow and look down his nose at the elf. ]
Is that so?
[ The subtle spine-long squirm seems to agree, and the affect is lost. He doesn't feel patient enough to coax Zevran into more, certainly not enough to go through the trouble of preparing the elf for further conquering; his own erection aches at the thought, or maybe just Zevran's hand, articulate and artful through his trousers.
Fuck it, as they say.
His lips, his nose, his cheek all nuzzle and caress, both creating sensation as well as removing makeup in smudges. His thighs sink on either side of Zevran's hips, getting comfortable as well as sliding into the situation, the picture they make. ]
no subject
Still. Dorian is not so without his faculties not to arch an eyebrow and look down his nose at the elf. ]
Is that so?
[ The subtle spine-long squirm seems to agree, and the affect is lost. He doesn't feel patient enough to coax Zevran into more, certainly not enough to go through the trouble of preparing the elf for further conquering; his own erection aches at the thought, or maybe just Zevran's hand, articulate and artful through his trousers.
Fuck it, as they say.
His lips, his nose, his cheek all nuzzle and caress, both creating sensation as well as removing makeup in smudges. His thighs sink on either side of Zevran's hips, getting comfortable as well as sliding into the situation, the picture they make. ]