[He'll need a high collar tomorrow, is the only thought that floods in whilst thin fingers slack around strong shoulders— using them as a brace for the rest of his body to slide down. His neck is throbbing with the ghost of every bite, and when he tips his head under the shadow of Fenris' just to see the floor once glossed oxfords reach it, the open air feels wet and cold in how it kisses at the place where scented brandy (and the tackier hint of sugar) lingers on his skin.
Straightening his back hides how he shivers when his cock jumps hard against the smothered junction between thigh and hip, already counting out the steps to where the valet might've parked; straightening his button down hides the fact that his composure's no more than a toothless paper tiger, confidence quaking at its seams.]
Ten minutes?
[Earns a curious tilt of his head over his shoulder, rigid (oh in every sense, thank the gods he's turned himself away by the time his palm rests against the door) yet his movements run smooth enough to be an invitation all their own: come on then, old wolf. If you're so hungry, follow me. I'll wet your throat; slake that parched, aching tongue. A purr is in his throat, his blinks run slow and heavy.
The door swings open wide to reveal the black maw of pavement under a pitch night sky, city lights a neon spackle linking the borders of his coat— and catching on the glint of an object clutched tightly in his fingers, tossed to Fenris just a half second later.
Think fast.
Car keys. His own, in fact, the high end logo likely hefty in Fenris' hand if he managed to pluck it out of thin air. Which means that either immediately or eventually, this time it's the noble holding the door for his bodyguard, smirking with a confidence that belies the sharp heat whetting the nape of his neck.
The low pit of his stomach.]
Well then, if you want to have me stripped down and gasping your name over leather that quick, darling you'd better get hunting....
[There's a flash of a grin as smug punctuation when he lifts his free arm, emulating the click of pushing down on the lock of the car's key fob.]
no subject
Straightening his back hides how he shivers when his cock jumps hard against the smothered junction between thigh and hip, already counting out the steps to where the valet might've parked; straightening his button down hides the fact that his composure's no more than a toothless paper tiger, confidence quaking at its seams.]
Ten minutes?
[Earns a curious tilt of his head over his shoulder, rigid (oh in every sense, thank the gods he's turned himself away by the time his palm rests against the door) yet his movements run smooth enough to be an invitation all their own: come on then, old wolf. If you're so hungry, follow me. I'll wet your throat; slake that parched, aching tongue. A purr is in his throat, his blinks run slow and heavy.
The door swings open wide to reveal the black maw of pavement under a pitch night sky, city lights a neon spackle linking the borders of his coat— and catching on the glint of an object clutched tightly in his fingers, tossed to Fenris just a half second later.
Think fast.
Car keys. His own, in fact, the high end logo likely hefty in Fenris' hand if he managed to pluck it out of thin air. Which means that either immediately or eventually, this time it's the noble holding the door for his bodyguard, smirking with a confidence that belies the sharp heat whetting the nape of his neck.
The low pit of his stomach.]
Well then, if you want to have me stripped down and gasping your name over leather that quick, darling you'd better get hunting....
[There's a flash of a grin as smug punctuation when he lifts his free arm, emulating the click of pushing down on the lock of the car's key fob.]