[Ah- there it is. Diarmuid's reaction is immediate, giving way to him so completely that it might seem submissive were it not laced with a feverish want. As he helps Berserker undress, his voice is barely a whisper in his ear, half lost in a sigh.]
Thank you. [And then-] You're beautiful.
[No doubt he's heard it hundreds of times before- it's woven into his legend the same way as it is Diarmuid's- but he can't help it. More rests on the tip of his tongue. Sweet, intimate words, a declaration of adoration, amazement at his own fortune to be his- none of them come to fruition. He's right: actions hold more worth right now. And so he puts his mouth to better use, stealing another hungry kiss from him as he trails a hand down over his chest. Diarmuid traces each tattoo and curve of muscle, strokes his tail once his fingertips reach his hips. He makes short work of the buttons of his pants.
It's only then that he glances up again, waiting for permission to continue.]
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Thank you. [And then-] You're beautiful.
[No doubt he's heard it hundreds of times before- it's woven into his legend the same way as it is Diarmuid's- but he can't help it. More rests on the tip of his tongue. Sweet, intimate words, a declaration of adoration, amazement at his own fortune to be his- none of them come to fruition. He's right: actions hold more worth right now. And so he puts his mouth to better use, stealing another hungry kiss from him as he trails a hand down over his chest. Diarmuid traces each tattoo and curve of muscle, strokes his tail once his fingertips reach his hips. He makes short work of the buttons of his pants.
It's only then that he glances up again, waiting for permission to continue.]