the endless call of your caress

i bank on the funeral

There’s a sharpness with which Nate shudders and it gives Sunjata an opening, wings adjusting a bit so that each time Nate’s hips roll, there’s wing edges to press back into, the roughness of the scales poking and hard edged, unyielding aside from the flexes and twitches Nate inspires in them. And he inspires more, as his nails dig in and Sunjata’s nearly shaking, trembling with desire, his breath coming faster and hitching yet again once Nate’s fingers dig into his hips. But even that has nothing on the sensation that comes next, Nate adjusting and Sunjata an inferno as soon as the Ascended’s hand grabs a hold of his cock. “Fuck. Nate—”  A sharp inhale of a moan racks through him, mind blanking and torn between wanting to surge forward to take Nate’s lips, or to roll his hips instinctively again.

But he picks the third option, one that until now hasn’t been an option at all, one hand moving to slide up Nate’s side and tangle in those dark wild curls again, the other snaking around to stroke Nate’s length, a sort of brimming pride accompanying the wild impulse and rebounding sensation that meets him again and again. And he burns, a smoldering steel gaze lifting to meet Nate’s face, to watch and wait with panting breaths and glistening sweat slick skin, for how his husband might respond.

He has to give back some, after all.

'cause i learned all my lessons that way

SUNJATA