Carlisle hardly gets that question out before there's a flurry of movement: Glacius repositions them, wisely not giving the clergyman a chance to reconsider his reservations regarding his own intimate desires. He's spent so long living a solitary life not because of his profession, but because of his curse. People like him aren't allowed relationships; he has been told his entire life that the twice-cursed breed misfortune wherever they go, ebbing it into communities, bleeding it into anyone they would come in contact with. Upon becoming one, even through no fault of his own, he forfeited his right to such commodities.
Things are different here. They are different with Glacius. He wants to believe that so badly, but his own doubts always hold him back.
But in this moment, no uncertainty has a chance to cross his mind as Glacius presses against him, both of them on their hand and knees. He shudders in tandem with his partner as the alien's frontal spikes graze his spine, the sensation not painful, but incredible when associated with his lover. The hills and valleys of Glacius' muscles lay encouragingly across his own, pressed against his shoulder blades and hips, the alien's arm wrapped around his chest to hold him in place.
It's probably best that he's held there, as Carlisle begins to feel Glacius' arousal at his back, his own increasingly obvious: he struggles to answer, unable to find his voice for nearly a minute as Glacius' mandible drags across his neck, eliciting an anxious moan that he fails to silence. The alien's voice does his composure no favors, that shuddering timbre causing a quake that rattles through his chest and down into his limbs.
"Y- yes," he manages, one hand briefly joining Glacius' at his scars. He no longer worries about his hair or the cold, simply wanting more of that stimulating attention to his old wounds. He is almost certain he can feel a spark of his own magic emanate from them, reaching through him toward Glacius' fingertips, trying to reach whatever channels carry the alien's energy. Carlisle's fingers curl into the furs beneath his palms as he rocks with his lover, his heart racing as he groans heavily; he is sure his legs would give out if he weren't being supported.
And yet he wants more.
"Do- do you feel that?" he asks, his breaths coming faster now. He can barely keep his voice steady long enough to formulate a sentence; he will one day learn the merits of talking less and enjoying the moment more, but today clearly isn't that day as he swallows a breath and tries again.. "Do you feel my enereraaahhg- gies? They l- long to be close to- to you, as I am, it- uhn- it seems."
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Date: 2017-06-21 10:34 am (UTC)Carlisle hardly gets that question out before there's a flurry of movement: Glacius repositions them, wisely not giving the clergyman a chance to reconsider his reservations regarding his own intimate desires. He's spent so long living a solitary life not because of his profession, but because of his curse. People like him aren't allowed relationships; he has been told his entire life that the twice-cursed breed misfortune wherever they go, ebbing it into communities, bleeding it into anyone they would come in contact with. Upon becoming one, even through no fault of his own, he forfeited his right to such commodities.
Things are different here. They are different with Glacius. He wants to believe that so badly, but his own doubts always hold him back.
But in this moment, no uncertainty has a chance to cross his mind as Glacius presses against him, both of them on their hand and knees. He shudders in tandem with his partner as the alien's frontal spikes graze his spine, the sensation not painful, but incredible when associated with his lover. The hills and valleys of Glacius' muscles lay encouragingly across his own, pressed against his shoulder blades and hips, the alien's arm wrapped around his chest to hold him in place.
It's probably best that he's held there, as Carlisle begins to feel Glacius' arousal at his back, his own increasingly obvious: he struggles to answer, unable to find his voice for nearly a minute as Glacius' mandible drags across his neck, eliciting an anxious moan that he fails to silence. The alien's voice does his composure no favors, that shuddering timbre causing a quake that rattles through his chest and down into his limbs.
"Y- yes," he manages, one hand briefly joining Glacius' at his scars. He no longer worries about his hair or the cold, simply wanting more of that stimulating attention to his old wounds. He is almost certain he can feel a spark of his own magic emanate from them, reaching through him toward Glacius' fingertips, trying to reach whatever channels carry the alien's energy. Carlisle's fingers curl into the furs beneath his palms as he rocks with his lover, his heart racing as he groans heavily; he is sure his legs would give out if he weren't being supported.
And yet he wants more.
"Do- do you feel that?" he asks, his breaths coming faster now. He can barely keep his voice steady long enough to formulate a sentence; he will one day learn the merits of talking less and enjoying the moment more, but today clearly isn't that day as he swallows a breath and tries again.. "Do you feel my enereraaahhg- gies? They l- long to be close to- to you, as I am, it- uhn- it seems."