[it would be easy for him to lose himself in the fevered heat, let all temptations become reality. he knows Oliver would do it, too, knows he's enjoying this - maybe enjoying it more than him. their magic doesn't clash as his does with most, there's a little more wiggle room that doesn't leave him feeling pricked. he remembers how the heavenly classes felt - they were overwhelming for him, suffocating in their ways. mostly because by then he was so heavily involved in the darkness the light became one he avoided.
the whispers of give in, give in, give in practically wrap around his throat, especially as Oliver settles his hand at his waist. every touch he leans into, their position becoming a funny dance of who's balancing whom. his chest heaves like he's taking in air for the first time and he nips at Oliver's jawline, wishing he had a hand to use, tightening his grip on his hand. he wonders if it hurts.]
I don't want to, but I feel like - [the wine bottle becomes a barrier between them when he brings it up for another quick swig] I feel like, this might be a bad idea.
[all empty words though, because as soon as the bottle leaves his lips he's nudging Oliver's face with his nose until he gets the picture and he can lean in enough to sink his teeth right into the curve of his neck. a release of the rising sexual frustration he has. hard enough for a gentle bruising, but it's short-lived and he's quick to run his tongue along the area, a deliberate, sweet apology.]
no subject
the whispers of give in, give in, give in practically wrap around his throat, especially as Oliver settles his hand at his waist. every touch he leans into, their position becoming a funny dance of who's balancing whom. his chest heaves like he's taking in air for the first time and he nips at Oliver's jawline, wishing he had a hand to use, tightening his grip on his hand. he wonders if it hurts.]
I don't want to, but I feel like - [the wine bottle becomes a barrier between them when he brings it up for another quick swig] I feel like, this might be a bad idea.
[all empty words though, because as soon as the bottle leaves his lips he's nudging Oliver's face with his nose until he gets the picture and he can lean in enough to sink his teeth right into the curve of his neck. a release of the rising sexual frustration he has. hard enough for a gentle bruising, but it's short-lived and he's quick to run his tongue along the area, a deliberate, sweet apology.]