i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck
"You don't strike me as the sort of man who begs." The attuned whispers back, and just as his fingertips have begun to grow ragged with claws that he might return the delicious pin-bright sensation across Danta's sides, he feels his hands simultaneously pinned over his head as the Maverick draws their bodies together once again.
Gasping with the sheer surprise of how heat seemed to bloom in the bottom of his feet and creep up between his thighs with every roll of the ascended's hips, Ever pulled experimentally with one hand to see if he might be released. In the psychedelic fog of the third eye, the ancient's words as much as his movements have acted like a carelessly thrown cigarette tossed into a grove of sun-parched trees.
Gasping with the sheer surprise of how heat seemed to bloom in the bottom of his feet and creep up between his thighs with every roll of the ascended's hips, Ever pulled experimentally with one hand to see if he might be released. In the psychedelic fog of the third eye, the ancient's words as much as his movements have acted like a carelessly thrown cigarette tossed into a grove of sun-parched trees.
.
