Michel had, to be perfectly honest, not expected to find himself in this room for a second time, and he wasn't certain why this was. He was confused to some extent, but a part of him realized that his body was being trained to accept something, like any exercise he'd learned as a chevalier, he fell into it naturally. So when Zevran eased himself into his lap, touched him, made it difficult not to respond, Michel obeyed every instinct without considering that's what he was doing. This might have played out differently if the elf had sat in another chair, if he'd come with his shirt on, his charms in check, instead he was changing Chevalier...making it difficult for Michel to figure out what was wrong with himself.
He wanted a diversion. He wanted to indulge in a few more of life's pleasures? He wanted...what he wanted wasn't exactly clear to him anymore. Purpose had always been everything to him and now he was confused, but he kept it well inside and buried.
"I think I can allow that," Michel whispered as he felt the familiar heat pool in the pit of his stomach, now primed to respond to Antivan leather, particularly those gloves, and oil, with arousal. He could feel the stirrings as a thrill of pleasure rippled down his spine. It was absolutely a good thing that Antivan leather was so difficult to come by, at this point if it was common Michel might just find it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Eventually he would need to concentrate. For now he curled his fingers around Zevran's as the elf guided his hands to his thighs, not at all opposed, curious by the order.
Pride he had in spades, but he was not beneath following orders, though following orders as a Chevalier was one thing. As a noble, and an Orlesian, with Zevran being an elf, the idea should have inspired some dissonance...and yet again Michel acted opposite of what was expected of him. He did not move his hands, but he kept them pressed firmly against Zevran's thighs, not above caressing them and smoothing his palms along the inside for a bit of a distraction, but he did not move his hands from the general area.
"I...I look forward to it..." and though he sounded more modest than he should have Michel found he was anticipating Zevran's moves more and more. His shoulders rolled under the attention, Zevran's gaze, however, was difficult to hold without feeling as though he might tumble into it. He remained though, fixed, a subtle burning behind his expression as Zevran made certain the gaze was held. It wasn't an order, but some things didn't require and spoken command, it was the implication. Not for trying, but as the assassin's hand moved to his throat Michel found focusing with his eyes to be difficult, much less keeping them open as he pressed himself into that hand against his neck, breath catching just a bit in his throat.
Was he inviting something? Not even he could say what he was doing or asking as just as easily that hand was continuing its downward path.
"Aaa..." his body hitched a little and the air rushed from his lungs quickly as Zevran took him by surprise. His nipples were still untrained and unused to the torments of being coaxed intro arousal. It still had him trembling and struggling to keep his eyes on his companion's face, color rushing to his own like a fever overwhelming him. He wanted to disguise it more, to push it down just a bit, to keep up with Zevran on an even keel, if for no other reason than the want to be good at this, instead he was a slave to the slightest touch and it wasn't at all bad.
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Date: 2016-01-11 02:56 am (UTC)He wanted a diversion. He wanted to indulge in a few more of life's pleasures? He wanted...what he wanted wasn't exactly clear to him anymore. Purpose had always been everything to him and now he was confused, but he kept it well inside and buried.
"I think I can allow that," Michel whispered as he felt the familiar heat pool in the pit of his stomach, now primed to respond to Antivan leather, particularly those gloves, and oil, with arousal. He could feel the stirrings as a thrill of pleasure rippled down his spine. It was absolutely a good thing that Antivan leather was so difficult to come by, at this point if it was common Michel might just find it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Eventually he would need to concentrate. For now he curled his fingers around Zevran's as the elf guided his hands to his thighs, not at all opposed, curious by the order.
Pride he had in spades, but he was not beneath following orders, though following orders as a Chevalier was one thing. As a noble, and an Orlesian, with Zevran being an elf, the idea should have inspired some dissonance...and yet again Michel acted opposite of what was expected of him. He did not move his hands, but he kept them pressed firmly against Zevran's thighs, not above caressing them and smoothing his palms along the inside for a bit of a distraction, but he did not move his hands from the general area.
"I...I look forward to it..." and though he sounded more modest than he should have Michel found he was anticipating Zevran's moves more and more. His shoulders rolled under the attention, Zevran's gaze, however, was difficult to hold without feeling as though he might tumble into it. He remained though, fixed, a subtle burning behind his expression as Zevran made certain the gaze was held. It wasn't an order, but some things didn't require and spoken command, it was the implication. Not for trying, but as the assassin's hand moved to his throat Michel found focusing with his eyes to be difficult, much less keeping them open as he pressed himself into that hand against his neck, breath catching just a bit in his throat.
Was he inviting something? Not even he could say what he was doing or asking as just as easily that hand was continuing its downward path.
"Aaa..." his body hitched a little and the air rushed from his lungs quickly as Zevran took him by surprise. His nipples were still untrained and unused to the torments of being coaxed intro arousal. It still had him trembling and struggling to keep his eyes on his companion's face, color rushing to his own like a fever overwhelming him. He wanted to disguise it more, to push it down just a bit, to keep up with Zevran on an even keel, if for no other reason than the want to be good at this, instead he was a slave to the slightest touch and it wasn't at all bad.