I'd still know you, not being shown you, I only need the working of my hands
The encouragement has the aviator doubling down in his efforts such that his tracing of Thorn's tattoos with his claws becomes almost an exact tracing of the black lines as if not wanting to leave a single stem or vine untouched. "These are beautiful." He whispers, glancing up Thorn's body to meet the courtesan's green gaze. Having no idea how bedroom talk is meant to go and completely ignorant of what it means to talk dirty, the aviator has some idea that blunt compliments are perhaps not what was expected of him, but the words had left his lips before he could think far enough ahead to cage them behind his teeth.
As it turned out, the aviator was quite turned on by the other man's body art.
"Tight?" Ever repeats as the muscles of his stomach clench against the current of pleasure that the pressure of Thorn's leg causes. Glancing at the bottle and having at least some sort of idea what it was for and what was meant to happen—he might be inexperienced, but with a doctor for a parent Everest did have a working knowledge of anatomy—he reached out for the bottle. "How do you know who goes where? That you're the..." Frowning for a moment, the aviator paused as he tried to find the word he thought he'd heard before.
"..bottom?" Was Everest a bottom? Should he be?
As it turned out, the aviator was quite turned on by the other man's body art.
"Tight?" Ever repeats as the muscles of his stomach clench against the current of pleasure that the pressure of Thorn's leg causes. Glancing at the bottle and having at least some sort of idea what it was for and what was meant to happen—he might be inexperienced, but with a doctor for a parent Everest did have a working knowledge of anatomy—he reached out for the bottle. "How do you know who goes where? That you're the..." Frowning for a moment, the aviator paused as he tried to find the word he thought he'd heard before.
"..bottom?" Was Everest a bottom? Should he be?
Everest
