[ Dorian has a moment of pause over Bull's words, the same pause he experienced when he was asked to dance. As if he's brushed against some line that they're meant to be maintaining, like perhaps he ought to be put off, or not experience some mysterious Feeling at the answer he gets. But it's all a little too late for second-guessing, so he must do as is honest.
With only a little bit of blind fidgeting, he unwinds the strap, taking care, not actually looking at the wound until he's set the eyepatch aside amongst the rest. The ripple of scar tissue is as gruesome as he was warned, and something of a distraction, if not entirely for the more obvious reasons.
And not an overpowering distraction, at that. Dorian squirms in place contentedly as Bull sets about removing his robes, hands dropping to allow it. ]
Well, what is it you said, that first time? You can't trust the pretty ones.
[ Eye contact is warm once it's reclaimed, and he rolls his hips against Bull's in emphasis. ]
no subject
With only a little bit of blind fidgeting, he unwinds the strap, taking care, not actually looking at the wound until he's set the eyepatch aside amongst the rest. The ripple of scar tissue is as gruesome as he was warned, and something of a distraction, if not entirely for the more obvious reasons.
And not an overpowering distraction, at that. Dorian squirms in place contentedly as Bull sets about removing his robes, hands dropping to allow it. ]
Well, what is it you said, that first time? You can't trust the pretty ones.
[ Eye contact is warm once it's reclaimed, and he rolls his hips against Bull's in emphasis. ]