[A kind of rough-edged passion is something they both crave, and the moment Larus settles into it, Dorian is ready for more. They've fucked once already, and he's watched Larus drag himself over the ground while practically skewered through with knife wounds. He's tough, and sometimes roughness is also the only way to penetrate beneath the surface of anything when the life you're used to has you acclimated to pain. The notion is something Dorian experiences, the truth of it resting deep and ever-present beneath his skin. With someone else he might be wantonly selfish in it though, and chase his pleasure at his partner's expense, but he's invested in this: in the man wrapped around him.
It's not something he's really conscious of, especially not now, but it's there.
Dorian grips harder at the top of the headboard as Larus nudges him with his knee, presses him for more in various little ways. It's nothing he can't already tell from the way he's being reacted to, but it is stirring. He doesn't need to be pushed any further.
The first drawing out of the other man is exquisite, immediately promising, but the feeling of driving back into Larus is even better. There's a pillow between them and the headboard, but from the hard way he's fucking into him now, it's good that the tall length of wood is there as a stopgap. In all of it Dorian retains a certain basic level of composure, but his breathing and heart rate give away an unfurling and unfettered desire.]
[ It's a different sort of pleasure when it's with someone he likes. Or tolerates, at the very least, but there's an unusual attraction between the two of them that unravels parts of his thoughts as they move together, shards of it slipping as he pushes into the forward thrust of Dorian's hips rather than flattening himself into the mattress to take the brunt of it. Whatever he's giving him, it sparks at the frenzy buried deep for connection, for an anchor in this moment, and Larus holds onto that, refusing to fight as the hand over Dorian's travels elsewhere.
He skims his side, the small of his back. A touch of sweat, and Larus shivers for some unknown reason, keeping his eyes focused rather sharply on the man over him and the way his body curves rather elegantly. Beautiful, he thinks, not for the first time, almost compelled to whisper it to him in some fashion. The words even form on his lips but become smothered by the overwhelming need to kiss him anywhere he can reach instead, smearing his mouth against the upper part of Dorian's arm, his shoulder.
Simply, without cue, he's drowning, and Larus holds onto him. Tight. Tighter.
It's probably enough to hurt.
His fingers dig into Dorian's thigh to drag him closer, rocking into him with a sort of desperation that's on the edge of snapping completely. The pleasure isn't even something he registers despite how hard he is between them, not so much interested in that as he is everything else. The taste of him on his tongue, the feel of his cock each and every time it finds its way back inside him. The ricochet of his heart beating like a drum in Larus' head, keeping him enthralled and centered and there. It doesn't leave much room to remember the monstrous severity of reality, the damage he's done and the mess he's left behind. It doesn't leave anything but Dorian as the axis of his world, and he grasps at it, squeezing harder and harder until he fears they'll both break. ]
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It's not something he's really conscious of, especially not now, but it's there.
Dorian grips harder at the top of the headboard as Larus nudges him with his knee, presses him for more in various little ways. It's nothing he can't already tell from the way he's being reacted to, but it is stirring. He doesn't need to be pushed any further.
The first drawing out of the other man is exquisite, immediately promising, but the feeling of driving back into Larus is even better. There's a pillow between them and the headboard, but from the hard way he's fucking into him now, it's good that the tall length of wood is there as a stopgap. In all of it Dorian retains a certain basic level of composure, but his breathing and heart rate give away an unfurling and unfettered desire.]
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He skims his side, the small of his back. A touch of sweat, and Larus shivers for some unknown reason, keeping his eyes focused rather sharply on the man over him and the way his body curves rather elegantly. Beautiful, he thinks, not for the first time, almost compelled to whisper it to him in some fashion. The words even form on his lips but become smothered by the overwhelming need to kiss him anywhere he can reach instead, smearing his mouth against the upper part of Dorian's arm, his shoulder.
Simply, without cue, he's drowning, and Larus holds onto him. Tight. Tighter.
It's probably enough to hurt.
His fingers dig into Dorian's thigh to drag him closer, rocking into him with a sort of desperation that's on the edge of snapping completely. The pleasure isn't even something he registers despite how hard he is between them, not so much interested in that as he is everything else. The taste of him on his tongue, the feel of his cock each and every time it finds its way back inside him. The ricochet of his heart beating like a drum in Larus' head, keeping him enthralled and centered and there. It doesn't leave much room to remember the monstrous severity of reality, the damage he's done and the mess he's left behind. It doesn't leave anything but Dorian as the axis of his world, and he grasps at it, squeezing harder and harder until he fears they'll both break. ]