[Sensitive, huh? Information to be stored away for later-- assuming there is a 'later.' Scott nearly bites his lip at the thought, knowing that he's treading some dangerous ground latching onto the first man that just so happened to wake up in the same bed as him. A man he knows really nothing about it. This is just a fuck, mutual attraction as they chase the building heat between them.
...He's still letting his own recent loss affect him, isn't he? Despite not 'thinking about it anymore.' He's a fucking disaster.
The hickeys are a nice distraction at least, the feeling of his lips latching onto his neck pulling more blatant gasps despite himself. A part of him wants to also bitch at Wriothesley for making those marks so available for others to see. But it's a little hard to find those words when the robe slips off, showing off his well-trained body, muscles that Scott's felt earlier and now for his eager eyes to take in. The scars are far from off putting, just remnants of stories that he knows nothing about, and Scott almost misses what Wriothesley says, so distracted by this obscene sight in front of him.]
H-huh? [Seeing that grin on him, his words evaporate in his throat for a moment, feeling like an animal trapped, some of that confident demeanor shuttering. This stupid asshole--] Well, good. Glad we're on the same page.
[But as his leg lowers, as Wriothelesly starts smoothly sliding to his knees, Scott's pulse races, the intent more than clear. He's never done this before, not with another man, but such admittance isn't something he wants to air out. Instead, he does his best to balance himself, his feet spreading, as a certain thrill builds in the base of his spine in anticipation. His own robe slips off his shoulders, piling on the ground, mostly revealing toned legs that feel like they're barely supporting him right now.
A noisy exhale leaves Scott as he looks down at the man that's leveling himself to his almost fully erect need, blood shamelessly pulsing there. Hips continue twitching, a tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he watches with baited breath to see what Wriothesley will do first.]
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...He's still letting his own recent loss affect him, isn't he? Despite not 'thinking about it anymore.' He's a fucking disaster.
The hickeys are a nice distraction at least, the feeling of his lips latching onto his neck pulling more blatant gasps despite himself. A part of him wants to also bitch at Wriothesley for making those marks so available for others to see. But it's a little hard to find those words when the robe slips off, showing off his well-trained body, muscles that Scott's felt earlier and now for his eager eyes to take in. The scars are far from off putting, just remnants of stories that he knows nothing about, and Scott almost misses what Wriothesley says, so distracted by this obscene sight in front of him.]
H-huh? [Seeing that grin on him, his words evaporate in his throat for a moment, feeling like an animal trapped, some of that confident demeanor shuttering. This stupid asshole--] Well, good. Glad we're on the same page.
[But as his leg lowers, as Wriothelesly starts smoothly sliding to his knees, Scott's pulse races, the intent more than clear. He's never done this before, not with another man, but such admittance isn't something he wants to air out. Instead, he does his best to balance himself, his feet spreading, as a certain thrill builds in the base of his spine in anticipation. His own robe slips off his shoulders, piling on the ground, mostly revealing toned legs that feel like they're barely supporting him right now.
A noisy exhale leaves Scott as he looks down at the man that's leveling himself to his almost fully erect need, blood shamelessly pulsing there. Hips continue twitching, a tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he watches with baited breath to see what Wriothesley will do first.]