[ Lyney's touch speeds up an arousal already well underway. Warmth curls within his abdomen and Wriothesley feels himself hardening up despite the faint voice at the back of his head telling him they should take this slow, that they're only just figuring this out, that this is still wrong in so many ways no matter how badly they both desire the other. What his body wants couldn't be further south of that caution--he thinks of Lyney's small slight hands, his rosy lips, his smart mouth, his lithe body so warm in his lap. The conclusion he arrives at--head hazy, eyes half lidded--is that maybe sin with hesitations is still sin, that whatever is about to happen is already on its irrevocable tracks, and that if he's going to do wrong, he might as well do it the right way.
He's only too happy to indulge that command. One hand finds Lyney's chin again, his thumb running over Lyney's bottom lip in a few experimental passes, then pushing lightly in wordless request for access to his mouth. ]
no subject
He's only too happy to indulge that command. One hand finds Lyney's chin again, his thumb running over Lyney's bottom lip in a few experimental passes, then pushing lightly in wordless request for access to his mouth. ]