[ It feels strange. Infinitely more gentle than what he's used to, but far preferable to the impatient and hurried hands of a meaningless tavern dalliance. The sweet sound of Iorveth's voice soothes him into further relaxation until he's almost entirely without tension, save for the knots he's carried in his shoulders for the past two centuries. Those don't go away quite as easily.
Iorveth's lovely long fingers, bow-callused and perfect, brush against him in just the right way, and he squirms at the flash of pleasure. ] Oh, [ he says, strangled and surprised, fingernails digging into the soft upholstery of the couch—chaise—before releasing it.
In this position, it's challenging to move the way he needs to, but he tries regardless, chasing that fleeting feeling of pleasure with the angling of his hips until finally: ] Yes. [ It's as much to himself as it is to Iorveth, almost a sigh of relief at feeling, for once, good. ]
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Iorveth's lovely long fingers, bow-callused and perfect, brush against him in just the right way, and he squirms at the flash of pleasure. ] Oh, [ he says, strangled and surprised, fingernails digging into the soft upholstery of the couch—chaise—before releasing it.
In this position, it's challenging to move the way he needs to, but he tries regardless, chasing that fleeting feeling of pleasure with the angling of his hips until finally: ] Yes. [ It's as much to himself as it is to Iorveth, almost a sigh of relief at feeling, for once, good. ]