"Any preferences?" he has the cheek to ask, as though Loghain has had ample opportunity to develop any--hardly with women, and none at all with men. Under his touch Loghain requires very little encouragement to grow hard; his lover for the night has his complete and undivided attention, which Loghain's intense grey eyes communicate as clearly than his arousal does.

(Is mutual attraction, the desire to give pleasure as well as to receive it, synchronicity enough? It's what Loghain can give him, here and now; whatever hurt he receives, he's withstood--and likely deserves--worse than a few awkward bruises acquired during sex.)

He takes a breath and, "None," he answers belatedly, winded, and allows himself the freedom to warm his hands against Kostos' skin again; one follows the curve of his spine between the planes of his shoulder blades, drawing the heat of his body closer. The other settles on the outside of his thigh, palming the muscle there appreciatively. He leans close enough to press his mouth against Kostos' chest, and a shiver runs the length of him at the taste of salt on his skin. "What do you like? Perhaps I'll oblige you."