Put his clothing back o - son of a presumptuous... shooting Keeler an incredulous glance, he bites into the especially tender spot on the upper inside of his man's thigh, where the leg nearly joins its groin and neighbours Keeler's length, now prominent. A play nip, toothy and light and a shallow warning. Just you go on and dare get any of that clothing back on, Keeler. You do that.
But then Keeler's rambling, which would conscript Encke to an orgy for moans, groans and eye-rolling on the average day, but now inevitably ends up feeling - ...cute. Here he is, the prettiest, brightest, most accomplished piece in a ship of prodigies, and Keeler's falling undone before the (high) prospect of a bedroom tumble.
Briefly sentencing his navi with holding himself upright, Encke pulls back, efficiently undoing the buttons and collars and additional straps of his jacket, then advancing to his undershirt. Orders were orders, after all, and Keeler's done with the blues. Keeler's done with anything remotely resembling patience, he can tell, his kneeling spot offering just the right vantage to his lover's interest-piqued arousal.
"I was thinking of sucking you off dry," he begins causally, more to tease Keeler into his traditional fluster, than anything, "or bending you over that table -" A nod towards the rightmost corner, where a desk's on display, "and giving it to you raw, or just going back to our friend, the wall. Course, I've got a bed right here too... how's that sound? How do you want it, baby?"
no subject
But then Keeler's rambling, which would conscript Encke to an orgy for moans, groans and eye-rolling on the average day, but now inevitably ends up feeling - ...cute. Here he is, the prettiest, brightest, most accomplished piece in a ship of prodigies, and Keeler's falling undone before the (high) prospect of a bedroom tumble.
Briefly sentencing his navi with holding himself upright, Encke pulls back, efficiently undoing the buttons and collars and additional straps of his jacket, then advancing to his undershirt. Orders were orders, after all, and Keeler's done with the blues. Keeler's done with anything remotely resembling patience, he can tell, his kneeling spot offering just the right vantage to his lover's interest-piqued arousal.
"I was thinking of sucking you off dry," he begins causally, more to tease Keeler into his traditional fluster, than anything, "or bending you over that table -" A nod towards the rightmost corner, where a desk's on display, "and giving it to you raw, or just going back to our friend, the wall. Course, I've got a bed right here too... how's that sound? How do you want it, baby?"