gravity don't mean that much to me
As much as Milo wants to take Sam there, he refrains. Focused instead on how the hunger roaring within him would be sated. Despite being a street kid, a ‘dock worker’, a smuggler, Milo has manners, has it ingrained into his mind to not simply take because he could. There’s a playful smirk to his face when Sam’s easily moved, when he presses his leg in against him and Milo’s chin lifts a small amount, pressing his hips into Sam again.
Reluctantly, he tears his gaze away from Sam to focus on which chair he’s picked – that feline smirk curling around his lips a bit more when his honeyed gaze focuses back on Sam. His hands move, tugging Sam closer to him, stepping over toward the chair and keeping the other red haired man as close as he can, pausing only to slip the shirt over his head and discard it to the side.
“Whatever I wanna do, huh?” He nearly purrs to Sam, that same smirk crossing his face as he’s shifting again – a hand reaching out for Sam’s own clothes, trying to dive in and get under them, craving the feeling of skin against skin, teeth against teeth. His other hand attempts to work with the buckle to his belt and the ever growing pressure there.
Reluctantly, he tears his gaze away from Sam to focus on which chair he’s picked – that feline smirk curling around his lips a bit more when his honeyed gaze focuses back on Sam. His hands move, tugging Sam closer to him, stepping over toward the chair and keeping the other red haired man as close as he can, pausing only to slip the shirt over his head and discard it to the side.
“Whatever I wanna do, huh?” He nearly purrs to Sam, that same smirk crossing his face as he’s shifting again – a hand reaching out for Sam’s own clothes, trying to dive in and get under them, craving the feeling of skin against skin, teeth against teeth. His other hand attempts to work with the buckle to his belt and the ever growing pressure there.
now i'm floating near the atmosphere
no shackles on my feet
MILO
