[ with the volume of everything turned up, it's so much more. Cain drawing closer brings the body heat of a black sun, his touch like the smooth slither of a snake's belly, eyes as bright and hot as the searchlights in hell. the forbidden promise of trust between besmircher and besmirched is another drug, another drink to him; he can taste honey-mead breath on his mouth and pivots forward with the urge to taste it more only to grapple with the ropes at the last moment. ]
[ the brush is brief, velvety, just a graze on the fullest points of both their lips. Guanshan shivers with the tension the way a hung body jerks, exhales harshly as the yearning twists just a little tighter. he won't let himself have it yet, isn't finished relishing in the suspense — will they, won't they? more importantly, "will he or will I?" when giving in and not giving in both mean victory and reward, playing the long game only elongates the fun. ]
[ because for as long as this lasts, he already belongs to the man encircling him. the (unabashed, uncontrolled, unconsidered) quiet burn of synchrony has writ as much. it projects a single note: desire. this, all as he lowers his eyes and wishes for this body so close against him. ]
Mm'supposed to be quiet... no matter what happens.
[ spindly fingers emerge from beneath the water, dripping points pattering softly back into the bath, and then onto Cain's skin, and then the water connects them as he oh so gently pets his way up his breathing sternum. an excuse to be completely unbidden... among the promises that need to be kept. he's never heard himself called "pretty" (it almost makes him laugh), but he does know most of the honeypots he'd fall into traps for — and it's not especially difficult to stoke a hotblooded man's imagination. ]
But I don't think anyone will hear us here, d'you?
no subject
[ the brush is brief, velvety, just a graze on the fullest points of both their lips. Guanshan shivers with the tension the way a hung body jerks, exhales harshly as the yearning twists just a little tighter. he won't let himself have it yet, isn't finished relishing in the suspense — will they, won't they? more importantly, "will he or will I?" when giving in and not giving in both mean victory and reward, playing the long game only elongates the fun. ]
[ because for as long as this lasts, he already belongs to the man encircling him. the (unabashed, uncontrolled, unconsidered) quiet burn of synchrony has writ as much. it projects a single note: desire. this, all as he lowers his eyes and wishes for this body so close against him. ]
Mm'supposed to be quiet... no matter what happens.
[ spindly fingers emerge from beneath the water, dripping points pattering softly back into the bath, and then onto Cain's skin, and then the water connects them as he oh so gently pets his way up his breathing sternum. an excuse to be completely unbidden... among the promises that need to be kept. he's never heard himself called "pretty" (it almost makes him laugh), but he does know most of the honeypots he'd fall into traps for — and it's not especially difficult to stoke a hotblooded man's imagination. ]
But I don't think anyone will hear us here, d'you?