[A fleeting thought offers the pondering that perhaps, some wayward soul will happen upon them like this. One man almost bare yet dark in this nighttime air, the other illuminating the darkness like a light at the end of the tunnel. Another fleeting thought answers. Let them see. As if he cares at the moment, when his eyes are fixed on Kaspar and Kaspar alone, groaning a little with wanton pleasure as the other's hands dip and trace over touch-starved skin. He may have been spent already, but he knows himself, his own stamina. To walk away from this without feeling like he's been broken and put together anew, as if he's a pot of clay to reconstruct with one's desires, would be simply unfair.]
[The cup of his ass makes him hiss. He meets those hips with a slow, determined roll of his own, before the moment moves on. His back meets the softness of the blanket below. Something about it makes him feel a spark of amusement - if Kaspar had placed him directly against the ground, it would somehow be fitting. Part of their responsibility is this place is to farm, after all. Here he can be planted, tilled, dug into, filled.]
[Steinbeck looks up with eyes lidded. Gone is the boyish charm, sometimes exaggerated to the point of nausea. Left is pure want of a man, drunken with admiration. He sees that smile. but feels the intent behind it, and he doesn't mind. He allows Kaspar to undress him as his own hands tickle over every vertebrae of the man's spine. A smattering of scars are even on his legs, too. He has had his share of wounds from fights, but the majority are self-afflicted. A price to pay for ability-led growth.]
[The unfamiliar words tickle his ears. He gazes up curiously, but somehow, the tone says all it needs to say. Steinbeck doesn't answer just yet, fixated on the show Kaspar has to give as fabric is peeled away from gorgeous skin. The light is a blessing. He can see every inch of him, from his muscles to the curve of his ribs to the edges of his chest. His mouth feels dry. He's been fed before, now he wants to feed again, to sear his lips over every inch of him, revere it like a forest worships rays of sunlight.]
You're gorgeous.
[He says, quietly. Steinbeck finally gives in a little to his urge, pushing his own head up to press kisses against the other's neck, one after the other, down in a line. His fingers slide down towards his hips, cupping, sliding, covetous as one squeezes over the other's ass.]
Scars and all.
[A mirror of what Kaspar said, even if he's unknowing of it.
no subject
[The cup of his ass makes him hiss. He meets those hips with a slow, determined roll of his own, before the moment moves on. His back meets the softness of the blanket below. Something about it makes him feel a spark of amusement - if Kaspar had placed him directly against the ground, it would somehow be fitting. Part of their responsibility is this place is to farm, after all. Here he can be planted, tilled, dug into, filled.]
[Steinbeck looks up with eyes lidded. Gone is the boyish charm, sometimes exaggerated to the point of nausea. Left is pure want of a man, drunken with admiration. He sees that smile. but feels the intent behind it, and he doesn't mind. He allows Kaspar to undress him as his own hands tickle over every vertebrae of the man's spine. A smattering of scars are even on his legs, too. He has had his share of wounds from fights, but the majority are self-afflicted. A price to pay for ability-led growth.]
[The unfamiliar words tickle his ears. He gazes up curiously, but somehow, the tone says all it needs to say. Steinbeck doesn't answer just yet, fixated on the show Kaspar has to give as fabric is peeled away from gorgeous skin. The light is a blessing. He can see every inch of him, from his muscles to the curve of his ribs to the edges of his chest. His mouth feels dry. He's been fed before, now he wants to feed again, to sear his lips over every inch of him, revere it like a forest worships rays of sunlight.]
You're gorgeous.
[He says, quietly. Steinbeck finally gives in a little to his urge, pushing his own head up to press kisses against the other's neck, one after the other, down in a line. His fingers slide down towards his hips, cupping, sliding, covetous as one squeezes over the other's ass.]
Scars and all.
[A mirror of what Kaspar said, even if he's unknowing of it.