09-08-2024, 09:30 PM
In Seven’s experience, it was rare to need permission for fooling around in someone else’s space. Privacy wasn’t always necessary either. Some of his fondest memories were in the company of others—pairings tangled but distinct, where the moans and whispers of pleasure blended into a haze, amplifying the experience until all sense of decency faded.
Tonight, the chaos of a group wasn’t in the cards, but that suited him just fine. The hands guiding him up the stairs ignited his skin, drawing him into the pull of something quieter, yet no less intense. Halfway up, he stopped. He grabbed the man’s hips, pausing the ascent, and pressed his lips to the small of his back. The warmth beneath the fabric, the faint musk of him, was its own kind of frenzy.
Moments later, the door shut behind them, sealing out the cold glow of the aurora. Seven leaned against the doorframe, taking a moment to admire the one who had so easily lured him. Lean and wiry, his companion's muscles shifted under his skin with a graceful fluidity that promised more than just touch. Seven could already imagine the play of his tongue along that taut abdomen.
With deliberate casualness, Seven pulled off his mask, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall loose around his ears. In silent response, he slipped out of his shirt and let it fall, each movement slow, deliberate, a performance in its own right.
When he let his pants fall to the floor, he wore a g-string beneath, and he stood with the poise of one so perfectly comfortable in his own skin, the night’s activities were clearly a regular event.
"Do you want to know my name?” he murmured, close enough that his breath brushed the other man's ear. He nipped at the lobe, the rasp of his stubble grazing soft skin. Their body heat mingled, the air between them thick with something heady and intoxicating.
He didn’t care if they stayed nameless, but there was a certain power in speaking it aloud at the right moment. A name gave shape to the gasps and moans, a grounding for when the pleasure became too much to bear.
For now, he waited, giving in to the slow burn.
Tonight, the chaos of a group wasn’t in the cards, but that suited him just fine. The hands guiding him up the stairs ignited his skin, drawing him into the pull of something quieter, yet no less intense. Halfway up, he stopped. He grabbed the man’s hips, pausing the ascent, and pressed his lips to the small of his back. The warmth beneath the fabric, the faint musk of him, was its own kind of frenzy.
Moments later, the door shut behind them, sealing out the cold glow of the aurora. Seven leaned against the doorframe, taking a moment to admire the one who had so easily lured him. Lean and wiry, his companion's muscles shifted under his skin with a graceful fluidity that promised more than just touch. Seven could already imagine the play of his tongue along that taut abdomen.
With deliberate casualness, Seven pulled off his mask, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall loose around his ears. In silent response, he slipped out of his shirt and let it fall, each movement slow, deliberate, a performance in its own right.
When he let his pants fall to the floor, he wore a g-string beneath, and he stood with the poise of one so perfectly comfortable in his own skin, the night’s activities were clearly a regular event.
"Do you want to know my name?” he murmured, close enough that his breath brushed the other man's ear. He nipped at the lobe, the rasp of his stubble grazing soft skin. Their body heat mingled, the air between them thick with something heady and intoxicating.
He didn’t care if they stayed nameless, but there was a certain power in speaking it aloud at the right moment. A name gave shape to the gasps and moans, a grounding for when the pleasure became too much to bear.
For now, he waited, giving in to the slow burn.