no subject

[ The lack of an argument is enough for him. Now is not the time to have that discussion, not when Diarmuid has such an undeniable need. Berserker makes quick work of his pants, opening them up and pushing them down just enough to get better access. He wraps his hand around his cock and starts to stroke him immediately, urgently. Compared to Diarmuid's smooth, almost graceful strokes, his own are rough and unrefined. ]

My beautiful knight... [ Soft, fond words spoken against the witch's lips. ] Let me give you what you crave.

[ And what he, too, craves. ]