I'd still know you, not being shown you, I only need the working of my hands
Looking not dissimilar to a puppy who isn't quite sure if he's done something wrong or not, the aviator stills at the touch as his gaze rises instantly to Thorn's. You'd almost think from the way the gentlest of touches could bring him to an immediate halt that Ever had been beaten or abused as a child, though of course he hadn't. Such was merely the depth of his desire to pleaes. "Oh I see. The name makes sense then." The aviator agrees as his gaze slips to the catlike shape of Thorn's lips. "I suppose I've never actually tried to stop before." All two times, before.
Thorn will find his student more than pliable and quickly it's the courtesan's turn to feel the starchy sheets against his back as the aviator finds himself sitting astride the other man. Flushing at the sound of Thorn's little moan, it's likely no surprise to anyone at all that praise and instructions are high up on the aviator's list of turn-ons such that he goes about his task with an academic sort of enthusiasm which would (hopefully) become passionate at some point.
At first, his fingertips are feather-light as they ghost over seams and down buttons, adjusting, tugging, opening. Once Thorn's torso lay before him however, claws press out from Ever's hands, marking the vines and following their slow descent to the other man's hips. Having never been with a man before and with little sexual experience himself, Everest had no idea if he was meant to just go for it, but suspected not. Instead, he eased his movements away from the courtesan's hips, gliding up Thorn's torso before leaning forward to block out his tattoos with the full length of his own body.
Pressing their hips together—albeit clumsily—Ever hitched in a breath against Thorn's chest as a slow ripple of arousal shivered through his body. "Is...that..?" Right? Good?
Thorn will find his student more than pliable and quickly it's the courtesan's turn to feel the starchy sheets against his back as the aviator finds himself sitting astride the other man. Flushing at the sound of Thorn's little moan, it's likely no surprise to anyone at all that praise and instructions are high up on the aviator's list of turn-ons such that he goes about his task with an academic sort of enthusiasm which would (hopefully) become passionate at some point.
At first, his fingertips are feather-light as they ghost over seams and down buttons, adjusting, tugging, opening. Once Thorn's torso lay before him however, claws press out from Ever's hands, marking the vines and following their slow descent to the other man's hips. Having never been with a man before and with little sexual experience himself, Everest had no idea if he was meant to just go for it, but suspected not. Instead, he eased his movements away from the courtesan's hips, gliding up Thorn's torso before leaning forward to block out his tattoos with the full length of his own body.
Pressing their hips together—albeit clumsily—Ever hitched in a breath against Thorn's chest as a slow ripple of arousal shivered through his body. "Is...that..?" Right? Good?
Everest
