[ Trahearne, funnily enough, can't think past his own arousal in the moment. Syrlya is a shadow in his mind, one he could not focus on right now, not even if he wanted to.
Mishka, however, is right here. Straddling him. The warmth of his body faintly radiating to warm his own, to give the sylvari the illusion of deep heat, one he could mistake for his own. His body is--familiar to Trahearne, contours he remembers vaguely from their tryst, from the beach. He wants Mishka to ease his want. He wants Mishka to offer himself to Trahearne again, to fold under him as he has him as he pleases. He wants Mishka to be there when he inevitably comes down and starts thinking of Syrlya again. He wants Mishka.
The hand, the grinding elicits a deep groan from Trahearne's mouth and into Mishka's. It staves the need, just for a bit, and in place leaves him blank-minded and light-headed. He leans forward, dizzy, trying to find support; in the process, he pushes his chest flush against the other's.
His own hand kneads firmly into flesh, fingers occasionally ghosting along the inner curve of Mishka's rear. He wants Mishka. Why can't he say that? ]
...But I am here.
[ His cognitive abilities can't bring him lower than surface-level meaning. His voice is low, gravelly; lips skimming the other's as he speaks, never daring to break the kiss. If Mishka wants him, he's here for the taking. ]
no subject
Mishka, however, is right here. Straddling him. The warmth of his body faintly radiating to warm his own, to give the sylvari the illusion of deep heat, one he could mistake for his own. His body is--familiar to Trahearne, contours he remembers vaguely from their tryst, from the beach. He wants Mishka to ease his want. He wants Mishka to offer himself to Trahearne again, to fold under him as he has him as he pleases. He wants Mishka to be there when he inevitably comes down and starts thinking of Syrlya again. He wants Mishka.
The hand, the grinding elicits a deep groan from Trahearne's mouth and into Mishka's. It staves the need, just for a bit, and in place leaves him blank-minded and light-headed. He leans forward, dizzy, trying to find support; in the process, he pushes his chest flush against the other's.
His own hand kneads firmly into flesh, fingers occasionally ghosting along the inner curve of Mishka's rear. He wants Mishka. Why can't he say that? ]
...But I am here.
[ His cognitive abilities can't bring him lower than surface-level meaning. His voice is low, gravelly; lips skimming the other's as he speaks, never daring to break the kiss. If Mishka wants him, he's here for the taking. ]