[That frenzied, desperate pace is exactly what Orym wants. He wants to feel him, all of him, to be taken, claimed. And he'll stake his own claim too, in the marks that nails leave on soft blue skin as they drag down along his arms, his back, the way the fighter clings to him.
Orym is crying out, the sounds near sobs as he feels the way each thrust drives that pleasure higher in him, building and building.]
no subject
Orym is crying out, the sounds near sobs as he feels the way each thrust drives that pleasure higher in him, building and building.]