[ The tantric breathing is fucking hot, so Daniel's down to keep that up however hippie-dippie he'd find it if it was pointed out to him. The rise and fall of their chests together, letting the (stolen) blood in his own body thrum a beat that matches Matt's — a sync that lessens the urge to bite into the kiss, because it makes Matt less like food and more like an extension of Daniel. He angles his head, closes his eyes, even though he really wants to keep watching the magic. They're gonna have to have a threesome eventually just so he can observe the shape of a spell from the cuck chair.
A slow, deep kiss, taking no quarter when it comes to licking into Matt's mouth. Hands rucking his clothes as they slide tight and hard up his waist and back to his hips. If Matt is barely a moth's brush, Daniel wants him pinned to the board. Wants the blood not just synced between them but flowing, shared. Wants to —
No. Breathing. Easing up a little, though not breaking the kiss— just trying to wrestle back control so he doesn't sink his razor fangs into the pulsing, blood-fat muscle of Matt's tongue. ]
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A slow, deep kiss, taking no quarter when it comes to licking into Matt's mouth. Hands rucking his clothes as they slide tight and hard up his waist and back to his hips. If Matt is barely a moth's brush, Daniel wants him pinned to the board. Wants the blood not just synced between them but flowing, shared. Wants to —
No. Breathing. Easing up a little, though not breaking the kiss— just trying to wrestle back control so he doesn't sink his razor fangs into the pulsing, blood-fat muscle of Matt's tongue. ]