[ it strikes him that this is the most intimate touch he's shared with — anyone, maybe. surely willingly. he's never caressed another in this way before, even if it's not entirely a human appendage. it's warm, humming with life, and aspen is close, close enough that he can feel his presence in a very explicit way that he does not normally allow.
damen had come this close, taken liberties, and laurent had flared like a lantern, incandescent with an uncontrollable rage that had nearly killed the other man. just the thought of it brings the prickling of heat beneath his skin, at sudden odds with the warm, glowing thought of aspen wrapping his full, decadent wing around himself on cold nights. it's the sort of achingly gentle notion that laurent cannot place in his experiences, though he imagines it now, the lush feathers pressing to his skin, his slender hand nearly disappearing in the thick, downy depths.
and stops. something in him causes him to recoil, despite the softness and warmth, despite his desire for such fleetingly sweet sensations. a sharp breath seizes his throat; he just barely tempers it, sitting still and attempting to appear blank-faced despite the flurry of disquiet taking rapid flight in his chest. ]
I don't want to touch you. [ something dark and sinister threads its way along the lines of his throat, twisting his tongue. ] I don't require a slave or a pet or a winged whore.
no subject
damen had come this close, taken liberties, and laurent had flared like a lantern, incandescent with an uncontrollable rage that had nearly killed the other man. just the thought of it brings the prickling of heat beneath his skin, at sudden odds with the warm, glowing thought of aspen wrapping his full, decadent wing around himself on cold nights. it's the sort of achingly gentle notion that laurent cannot place in his experiences, though he imagines it now, the lush feathers pressing to his skin, his slender hand nearly disappearing in the thick, downy depths.
and stops. something in him causes him to recoil, despite the softness and warmth, despite his desire for such fleetingly sweet sensations. a sharp breath seizes his throat; he just barely tempers it, sitting still and attempting to appear blank-faced despite the flurry of disquiet taking rapid flight in his chest. ]
I don't want to touch you. [ something dark and sinister threads its way along the lines of his throat, twisting his tongue. ] I don't require a slave or a pet or a winged whore.