[The response is immediate. With a breathy gasp, Diarmuid all but crumples against him as the coursing want in his body is finally answered in inelegant but satisfying strokes. Everything from the warmth of his hands to the slight roughness of his skin is deliciously familiar, making his heart race.
In spite of everything, though, he manages to hold onto a degree of self-restraint. What he wants is to buck into his touch but he still has the presence of mind to think of it as coarse and unbecoming: by the gods, he's a knight.
Less knightly, however, are the few, soft sounds that escape his lips. Aching and desperate, ratcheting up to a half-purr as Berserker catches him just right.]
Give me everything. [Fuck it. Let him be greedy for once.] I can take it.
no subject
In spite of everything, though, he manages to hold onto a degree of self-restraint. What he wants is to buck into his touch but he still has the presence of mind to think of it as coarse and unbecoming: by the gods, he's a knight.
Less knightly, however, are the few, soft sounds that escape his lips. Aching and desperate, ratcheting up to a half-purr as Berserker catches him just right.]
Give me everything. [Fuck it. Let him be greedy for once.] I can take it.