[ Berserker desperately wants to move, but he holds back. Self-restraint, especially in matters like this, is something he still excels at. He stills completely (not without a quiet, needy whine, though) and gives into the soft affections Diarmuid lavishes on him. Part of him feels like he doesn't deserve any of this, not the affection and especially not the devotion of the witch on his lap. This shouldn't have lasted, he should have been disappointed in something Diarmuid did and that should have been the end of it. Instead, here they are, closer than ever (in many senses of the word).
The dragon embraces him tightly for a few lingering moments, savoring his scent and warmth before easing up. Claws gently trace slow, lazy circles on his back, as if to help ease the adjustment. ]
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The dragon embraces him tightly for a few lingering moments, savoring his scent and warmth before easing up. Claws gently trace slow, lazy circles on his back, as if to help ease the adjustment. ]
...Please.