[It's a desperate whine, a gasp emitted against Lorenz's throat as he pauses in his biting. Oh, Maker, and he knew the shape of what was to come, but he hadn't banked on the specifics. He hadn't banked on the way love in infused in each and every fantasy; how they're filthy, yes, and he desperately wants Lorenz to bend him over the kitchen counter, over the table, picking him up and fucking him against the wall, please, oh, Maker, please, but also--
But also: Lorenz so hungry to see him happy. But also: Lorenz eager to see him undone, to see him delighted, to see him happy. He all but chokes at I truly love you, so overwhelmed it's a wonder he doesn't spontaneously combust then and there.]
I love you, [he breathes, and it's a secret. It really is. Slaves aren't allowed to love, but here Lorenz is, so wonderful and perfect that it would be impossible not to love him. I love you, and he kisses the hollow of this throat sweetly, tenderly, before pulling back to stare down at him.]
I love you.
[Utterly, sincerely, always. I love you, and it will forever be an act of rebellion, no matter how long he is a free man. I love you, and he leans down, kissing him tenderly, an answer for Lorenz's own kiss.]
Darling . . .
[Oh, he loves him so much, so much. He's grateful for the subject change, if only because it's too hard to linger on the subject. His hips rock down, and now he moves down, both hands gripping Lorenz's ribs, his hips.]
I do enjoy bossing you. And while I love you [i love you!] bossy, I love you pliant as well. Bending over a table, the bed-- or simply on your back, legs spread, begging me for what I will always, always give you.
[Case in point: his mouth is steadily moving southward, sharpened teeth dragging pointedly against Lorenz's fair skin, sharp scratches lingering against his darling's fair skin.]
no subject
[It's a desperate whine, a gasp emitted against Lorenz's throat as he pauses in his biting. Oh, Maker, and he knew the shape of what was to come, but he hadn't banked on the specifics. He hadn't banked on the way love in infused in each and every fantasy; how they're filthy, yes, and he desperately wants Lorenz to bend him over the kitchen counter, over the table, picking him up and fucking him against the wall, please, oh, Maker, please, but also--
But also: Lorenz so hungry to see him happy. But also: Lorenz eager to see him undone, to see him delighted, to see him happy. He all but chokes at I truly love you, so overwhelmed it's a wonder he doesn't spontaneously combust then and there.]
I love you, [he breathes, and it's a secret. It really is. Slaves aren't allowed to love, but here Lorenz is, so wonderful and perfect that it would be impossible not to love him. I love you, and he kisses the hollow of this throat sweetly, tenderly, before pulling back to stare down at him.]
I love you.
[Utterly, sincerely, always. I love you, and it will forever be an act of rebellion, no matter how long he is a free man. I love you, and he leans down, kissing him tenderly, an answer for Lorenz's own kiss.]
Darling . . .
[Oh, he loves him so much, so much. He's grateful for the subject change, if only because it's too hard to linger on the subject. His hips rock down, and now he moves down, both hands gripping Lorenz's ribs, his hips.]
I do enjoy bossing you. And while I love you [i love you!] bossy, I love you pliant as well. Bending over a table, the bed-- or simply on your back, legs spread, begging me for what I will always, always give you.
[Case in point: his mouth is steadily moving southward, sharpened teeth dragging pointedly against Lorenz's fair skin, sharp scratches lingering against his darling's fair skin.]