[ And Bull has been drinking cheap, something full-bodied and served from a barrel, and it isn't a bad thing, judging by the pliant reception of Dorian's mouth under Bull's, the hum of contentment. Settling in warmly as he is drawn into the kiss, Dorian's hands rest on Bull's chest, fingertips idly tracing the raised outlines of scar tissue where they blindly find it. The outer world dims like torches guttering out.
Slow doesn't have to equate to sweet, although there's no urgency in any hint of bite. His claws aren't out yet, but he fits his hips in snugly. ]
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Slow doesn't have to equate to sweet, although there's no urgency in any hint of bite. His claws aren't out yet, but he fits his hips in snugly. ]