[ Oh, the effort it takes to remain still, the tension that coils tight through his shoulders, down his back. It aches, holding back, but it's worth it. Every slick stroke of those fingers. Every breath that lets him focus on the smell of Dorian's skin, the faint scent of whatever he'd thrown on himself for the party, and the oil, sharp in the background. ]
You've never seen yourself, then. Maybe we should change that. Think you'd appreciate the view.
[ One blunt nail scratches across the deep red bruise on Dorian's throat, where his hand still remains, before the weight on the bed shifts. It means drawing away from his hands, the sweet friction and pressure of those skilled fingers, but all can be forgiven once he hitches one thigh high against his hip, one eyebrow arching in silent question. ]
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[ Oh, the effort it takes to remain still, the tension that coils tight through his shoulders, down his back. It aches, holding back, but it's worth it. Every slick stroke of those fingers. Every breath that lets him focus on the smell of Dorian's skin, the faint scent of whatever he'd thrown on himself for the party, and the oil, sharp in the background. ]
You've never seen yourself, then. Maybe we should change that. Think you'd appreciate the view.
[ One blunt nail scratches across the deep red bruise on Dorian's throat, where his hand still remains, before the weight on the bed shifts. It means drawing away from his hands, the sweet friction and pressure of those skilled fingers, but all can be forgiven once he hitches one thigh high against his hip, one eyebrow arching in silent question. ]