True point. It will need to be considered, especially when Villiers happens to go into the eventual paranoid "we're having a lot of sex" sort of confusion that any relatively quiet and reserved twenty-first century Brit may go through in such cases.
But not yet. Right now, he'll catch his breath and be contented by the fact that there's an Imriel, pressing his lips against a shoulder.
A fully clothed shoulder.
It brings about a small laugh, because, really, wasn't that expected?
"Mmmhmm, exactly," he murmurs, unbuttoning trousers.
And once that's taken care of, he's pressing a warm, gentle, submissive kiss to Imriel's lips, soft and affectionate, even as one hand slips down to start returning that favour.
Affirmative, demanding, teeth rising to nip at his throat, hips rising to thrust into his hand-- careless and heedless and wantwantwant, yes, that, that's good, more.
And there's that hitch of breath again, although Villiers does his best to shove it to the back of his awareness as he continues his slow pace, teasing in its casual, almost careless nature.
He wonders, vaguely, if he looks like that to Imriel. Wanton and needy, albeit probably less forceful.
Villiers stops -- allows Imriel's hips to do the work -- with a slightly wicked smile touching his lips. Then kisses him, lips tongue teeth, within an inch of his life, lewd and suggestive, because he can.
Okay, bed.
And fumbling to get Villiers' shirt off.
And seeking out exactly the right spots with his fingernails.
And... there's the bed!
Pouncetacklenuzzlebitemmmmmmm.
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Love isn't about the sex, no. But when the sex is this awesomme, who's counting?
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But not yet. Right now, he'll catch his breath and be contented by the fact that there's an Imriel, pressing his lips against a shoulder.
A fully clothed shoulder.
It brings about a small laugh, because, really, wasn't that expected?
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Yes, it does always seem to fall out this way, doesn't it.
Idly, his fingers trace through Vill's hair.
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"You keep doing this for me," he murmurs, amused as his hand traces down along Imriel's waist. "I should return the favour."
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And once that's taken care of, he's pressing a warm, gentle, submissive kiss to Imriel's lips, soft and affectionate, even as one hand slips down to start returning that favour.
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--ohh, mmmmm--
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He pulls back from that kiss just long enough to press another one to Imriel's forehead, free hand settling at the small of his back.
"Like?" he asks innocently, smiling against skin as he hand moves against his cock with slow, casual strokes.
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Affirmative, demanding, teeth rising to nip at his throat, hips rising to thrust into his hand-- careless and heedless and wantwantwant, yes, that, that's good, more.
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He wonders, vaguely, if he looks like that to Imriel. Wanton and needy, albeit probably less forceful.
He can see why Imriel likes him so.
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Somewhere.
Probably.
When he really needs it.
At the moment what he has is half-lidded eyes and a commanding snarl, and his fingernails dragging across Villiers' ribs.
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The trail the nails leave behind burns, and Villiers has no choice but to oblige.
With a kiss.
Sudden sharp movements of his hands, one going faster, the other digging nails into Imriel's back in delighted retribution.
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You could say Imriel doesn't take well to being teased.
Or you could say he takes to it very well indeed.
All depends on your point of view.
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