[ One knot after another, until he's unraveling right there in front of him, draped over him and flexing his hips. Bull's hands fit there so easily, cupping the slender jut of bone, fingers slipping downward to almost brush against his cock, or perhaps just pull the fabric tighter. Give him more pressure to grind against. ]
It's always the horns.
[ He's amused when the words murmur against Zevran's lips, halfway through another kiss. ]
People can't get enough of them.
[ Some might argue against humor in the bedroom. And Bull probably wouldn't want to sleep with those people. ]
no subject
It's always the horns.
[ He's amused when the words murmur against Zevran's lips, halfway through another kiss. ]
People can't get enough of them.
[ Some might argue against humor in the bedroom. And Bull probably wouldn't want to sleep with those people. ]