[IC/OOC] Contact

[mactears]

sending crystal | letters and notes | in-person visits
To contact Loghain IC: Leave a response to this entry, specifying the means of contact (e.g., sending crystal, letters, in person visit). To contact me OOC: Discord: middlemarching#9936 Plurk: ragweed NB:  I work 9-5pm EST Mon-Fri, have additional volunteer obligations, and write fiction in my free time.

Comments

[exequy]

"Perhaps," Kostos agrees. "If you can keep up."

Because what he likes is fast and firm, grasping hunger, teeth and nails and the difference between pain and hurt, staying on top and in charge unless someone convinces him otherwise via a solid wresting-away of control. If he has his way—if there's no sign of unhappiness at the prospect, no resistance, no excessive impatience to stop Kostos from retrieving his belt and its pouches and vial—he'll roll him over, and Loghain can have those awkward bruises on his hip bones, a bite mark on his back—

If he doesn't have his way, that's fine too. Sometimes it's better.

But Kostos doesn't mean it as a challenge, exactly, if you can keep up, any more than he means it as an insult. He doesn't mean it as anything. He isn't good at talking. He doesn't like talking—something he communicates, maybe, by abandoning the stroking to put his a firm, warm hand to Loghain's face, to his mouth, thumb curving under his chin, to press him to lie back on the bedroll.

[mactears]

If he can keep up? He's old, Kostos, not dead. Loghain's smile against the thumb that follows the curve of his mouth to his chin is wry, and he goes down onto the bedroll without complaint--and with growing confidence, now that the awkward Before moments have been dealt with, now that their hands have leave to touch and explore and grasp at each other's bodies.

It is with one hand gripping hold of Kostos' hip bone that he rolls them both so that it is Kostos who lays beneath him now, giving Loghain an unimpeded view of his face, his throat and chest. His fingers follow the path his eyes take across his skin, until he reaches between Kostos' legs to take him in hand; different, he decides, but good in a way he'd always suspected, on the rare occasions when he'd allowed himself to wonder what it would be like--

(If, for a moment, he thinks of Maric beneath him--or above him--just like this, surely he can be forgiven.)

His free hand finds its way into Kostos' head of dense black hair and gnarls there, coaxing his head back enough so that Loghain can lay a series of warm, rough kisses against the side of his neck.