NERON
the hailstorm
The laugh that rumbles up from Neron’s throat, while muffled by the trail of kisses he’s leaving - kisses made cold by magic - is nonetheless wicked and amused. He’s doing his best to ignore the hard and waiting cock in his line of sight, suddenly very interested in the claw-tipped fingers gripping his shoulder, in the silvery markings that he thinks would probably fit the seal of his own mouth quite well.
It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do with it - he’s owned one his entire life, after all, and he was far from the socially awkward recluse that Loren was in his youth. But the intense pleasure from a moment ago already feels so far away, and since he’s not been told to stay away from this particular area, he’s keen to make the most of it.
”Hold on.” Is it a joke? A pause? A request for patience? Or is it a literal warning - to hold onto something - as he sinks his fangs into an unmarked place along Sunjata’s hips, feeling blood swell up from the wound, a firecracker of pleasure in the base of his spine.
It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do with it - he’s owned one his entire life, after all, and he was far from the socially awkward recluse that Loren was in his youth. But the intense pleasure from a moment ago already feels so far away, and since he’s not been told to stay away from this particular area, he’s keen to make the most of it.
”Hold on.” Is it a joke? A pause? A request for patience? Or is it a literal warning - to hold onto something - as he sinks his fangs into an unmarked place along Sunjata’s hips, feeling blood swell up from the wound, a firecracker of pleasure in the base of his spine.
