Dorian's blue eyes darkened, caught in a dance between detached anthropological interest and an unsettling, primal fascination. He had known about this, about all of this, though the current way his body was ripening to it was not entirely pleasant, least of all because it seemed to rise quite without his permission.
His beard and the dense oils and milks in the bath water hid whatever outward signs there might have been, but still his lips tightened slightly as the girl bounced and articulated against Danta. An uncomfortable tension pressed against Dorian's chest, and his fingers tightened on the edge of the bath. The involuntary reaction prompted a slow inhale, and Dorian drained the rest of his wine.
In the midst of the passionate tableau, Dorian interrupted, his gaze now focused on the girl. Waggling the empty glass back and forth, he cleared his throat softly. "Apologies. I seem to be dry."
His beard and the dense oils and milks in the bath water hid whatever outward signs there might have been, but still his lips tightened slightly as the girl bounced and articulated against Danta. An uncomfortable tension pressed against Dorian's chest, and his fingers tightened on the edge of the bath. The involuntary reaction prompted a slow inhale, and Dorian drained the rest of his wine.
In the midst of the passionate tableau, Dorian interrupted, his gaze now focused on the girl. Waggling the empty glass back and forth, he cleared his throat softly. "Apologies. I seem to be dry."
The high indifference some call fate
But we had names more intimate
But we had names more intimate
