They are both of them performers, at least in the bedroom, and this is far from Mateo's first tangle with someone out in the open, such that it's nothing but a pleasure to have Thorn fuck him in front of any passers-by. Easily manoeuvred by the other man, he melts back against his chest as best he can with his hands still half braced against the table, and the courtesan is right - a vase of flowers, a notepad, and a few clothes all tumble or slip from the surface.
"Gods--" Mateo moans; they don't know each other at all, but rest assured this is one of the only times the botanist will call out to deities in this way, and as Thorn's fingers tighten around him and his hips pick a relentless place, he's heedless to resist the siren song of his orgasm.
Thrusting forward into the other man's hand, Mateo's praises spill from his lips in the travelling tongue, and it's through a haze of drugs and pleasure that he cums, leaning into the pressure around his throat.
