Pleased to have successfully drawn his alpha's attention, Essek stretches out on the bed, allowing Percival's skilled hands to tug impatiently at his robes. They peel away the layers between them, fewer than usual, pushing up the front of his long skirts without bothering with any of the hidden ties or laces, until they are gathered artlessly around his upper thighs, baring the smooth dark skin of his legs. Yet he does not bother to remove them entirely. This is not that sort of drawn-out affair.
When his husband tugs his own shirt over his head and climbs over him, pinning his robes under him, Essek's sharp teeth rake over his own lower lip. He's more interested in undressing Percival than disrobing himself, but the sharpness in his husband's voice is compelling, and the way he looks at him makes Essek ache.
"And you," he whispers, eyes grazing down Percy's bare chest to the front of his trousers, where the shape of his erection is temptingly outlined. His pointed ears twitch, all of his complicated jewelry crumpled as so many collapsed chains and dangling stones against the blanket under him.
He lets his legs part slightly as he unfastens his sash, then delves into the layers beneath, undoing the knots of his inner robe and chemise. The thin, sheer fabric slides smoothly apart; he chose this outfit for its ease, and he wears nothing beneath. His head swims, the drape of his loosened layers against feverish skin dragging him into the sort of syrupy pleasure he's come to associate with heat. Between his thighs, he's tender and soaked and swollen. Dark, flushed skin shines with his own slick mingled with the evidence of their earlier activities.
no subject
When his husband tugs his own shirt over his head and climbs over him, pinning his robes under him, Essek's sharp teeth rake over his own lower lip. He's more interested in undressing Percival than disrobing himself, but the sharpness in his husband's voice is compelling, and the way he looks at him makes Essek ache.
"And you," he whispers, eyes grazing down Percy's bare chest to the front of his trousers, where the shape of his erection is temptingly outlined. His pointed ears twitch, all of his complicated jewelry crumpled as so many collapsed chains and dangling stones against the blanket under him.
He lets his legs part slightly as he unfastens his sash, then delves into the layers beneath, undoing the knots of his inner robe and chemise. The thin, sheer fabric slides smoothly apart; he chose this outfit for its ease, and he wears nothing beneath. His head swims, the drape of his loosened layers against feverish skin dragging him into the sort of syrupy pleasure he's come to associate with heat. Between his thighs, he's tender and soaked and swollen. Dark, flushed skin shines with his own slick mingled with the evidence of their earlier activities.