[ a flinch of razored muscles is all that touch brings. it's strange, how he can feel it, as if on his skin and yet echoed through each facet of the sharp jewel's refracture until it nestles into his own muscle. teasing and temptation are not things Guanshan holds up well against. ]
[ russet-tipped eyelashes go low. considering, maybe. apologizing, perhaps. compartmentalizing. people's minds do all sorts of things when they go against their own morality; he would know better than most. when he looks back, it's almost doe-eyed and beguiling, but not so much as his mouth parting open, willing and pliant, for that first big gulp. it may as well be his legs spreading open for all the invitation it holds. ]
[ delicate guiding fingers at Cain's elbow help — but he lets it be a clumsy, messy, raw thing, his lips parted around the glass and his adams apple bobbing with the drink, but not in any time or hurry that saves amber from running down his chin, his swallowing throat, the freckled and unmarred expanse of his ever-rosying chest. nor do his eyes leave Cain's, dark and charcoaled-in, just like a devilish memory that sometimes comes to warm his bedside. ]
[ when he's relinquished, he chases the flavor with his tongue to openly showing his appreciation, the breath and pulse of the lamb quickened in the presence of the wolf. ]
Shouldn't touch me, either.
[ there's no denying that light little tone — it's coy. ]
no subject
[ russet-tipped eyelashes go low. considering, maybe. apologizing, perhaps. compartmentalizing. people's minds do all sorts of things when they go against their own morality; he would know better than most. when he looks back, it's almost doe-eyed and beguiling, but not so much as his mouth parting open, willing and pliant, for that first big gulp. it may as well be his legs spreading open for all the invitation it holds. ]
[ delicate guiding fingers at Cain's elbow help — but he lets it be a clumsy, messy, raw thing, his lips parted around the glass and his adams apple bobbing with the drink, but not in any time or hurry that saves amber from running down his chin, his swallowing throat, the freckled and unmarred expanse of his ever-rosying chest. nor do his eyes leave Cain's, dark and charcoaled-in, just like a devilish memory that sometimes comes to warm his bedside. ]
[ when he's relinquished, he chases the flavor with his tongue to openly showing his appreciation, the breath and pulse of the lamb quickened in the presence of the wolf. ]
Shouldn't touch me, either.
[ there's no denying that light little tone — it's coy. ]