trueborn: (succinct.)
( TRAITOR PRINCE) ninurrтa. ([personal profile] trueborn) wrote in [community profile] calimport 2017-04-03 12:35 am (UTC)

[ His hands slip, momentarily. Feeling out the width of Sidon's waist and the heaviness of his thighs, fingers and thumb cupping the tops of his legs as Ninurrta shifts against him. Settles his weight properly, knees spread and spine angled softly - to catch the motion of Sidon's hips, as the other seeks out contact and pressure.

Ninurrta leans down, a shallow curve of his spine to keep his body in contact at that point, and his hands seek the tangles of red hair that spill across his bedsheets. Sidon is warm in palette and in body, and again, Ninurrta sighs - that pleased, half-needy sentiment he's voiced more than once tonight. He works on whatever clothes they have left, and sheds his own like water. Layers of fabric dripping off the edge of the bed, or cast to the floor without a care. He sets his hands to Sidon's hips, to wrestle with his pants, while his mouth finds the crook of the other's throat - teething and tonguing a single spot until he thinks better of littering Sidon's skin with marks.

Love me, until I forget, is what he wants to say. Instead, he says: ]

You said that you dreamed of this. Tell me.

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