[ There's a sharp intake of breath when you touch him, followed by the pliant way he sinks into those sheets as he feels the weight of your hand over his skin. His fingers are also curling onto the edge of that pillow and he's quietly hiding his face away as the muscles on his back flex with restrained anticipation.
You're like a drug he can't get enough of; a craving that he hadn't realized had sunk into the marrow of his bones.
Have a small sound from him. It's not a protest -- unless of course you decide to stop what you're doing. ]
no subject
You're like a drug he can't get enough of; a craving that he hadn't realized had sunk into the marrow of his bones.
Have a small sound from him. It's not a protest -- unless of course you decide to stop what you're doing. ]