[ A touch to his chest, a deeper kiss... Caelus feels like a dog chasing crumbs, desperately lapping at little treats dribbled out to him from between Luocha's gloved fingers. The sensation of the merchant's tongue teasing the sensitive insides of his mouth mingles with the scent of white lilies caught at the back of his throat. A fresh rush of euphoria seizes him when Luocha calls him by name, making sensation buzz at the back of his brain like a thrill down his spine. The man's hips roll against the firm promise of his hard cock, making pleasure tingle through his belly to his throat, and he can't help but think one more time — not even for the first time this evening — that he's never felt better in his life.
Ache, the Stellaron whispers, and Caelus lets the last of his self-doubt crumble into dust. ]
...That's okay. I like mess.
[ His voice is low, like before — deep from the chest, with a hint of the Stellaron's throaty purr from earlier.
He does like mess. He likes destruction. He likes breaking things and wallowing in the filth of what he himself has wrought. There's a little bit of saliva clinging to his bottom lip when their tongues part, because he's such a messy, messy boy, sometimes; he laps it up with catlike grace, his predatory, pleading gaze still lingering on Luocha's mouth. ]
I want to make a mess with you. Make a mess out of you. I want —
[ Is there a limit to that patience, that infuriating sense of eternal serenity he always projects in his outward calm? Caelus wants to know. He wants to take Luocha apart — or at least see what attempting to take him apart will bring him.
So: he doesn't quite yank. He's not that ill-mannered. But he does take a handful of Luocha's long, lovely blond hair, pulling firmly back to make him bare his neck again, and when he sees that beautiful stretch of alabaster skin, he bites, hard enough to draw blood. ]
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Ache, the Stellaron whispers, and Caelus lets the last of his self-doubt crumble into dust. ]
...That's okay. I like mess.
[ His voice is low, like before — deep from the chest, with a hint of the Stellaron's throaty purr from earlier.
He does like mess. He likes destruction. He likes breaking things and wallowing in the filth of what he himself has wrought. There's a little bit of saliva clinging to his bottom lip when their tongues part, because he's such a messy, messy boy, sometimes; he laps it up with catlike grace, his predatory, pleading gaze still lingering on Luocha's mouth. ]
I want to make a mess with you. Make a mess out of you. I want —
[ Is there a limit to that patience, that infuriating sense of eternal serenity he always projects in his outward calm? Caelus wants to know. He wants to take Luocha apart — or at least see what attempting to take him apart will bring him.
So: he doesn't quite yank. He's not that ill-mannered. But he does take a handful of Luocha's long, lovely blond hair, pulling firmly back to make him bare his neck again, and when he sees that beautiful stretch of alabaster skin, he bites, hard enough to draw blood. ]