ummm i want the k
get kissed, motherfucker. | not accepting.
This has turned into one helluva’ game of firetruck. Rourke hasn’t participated since high school so naturally, he’s feeling shades younger—CHILDISH, almost. Brandt hasn’t stopped him & there hasn’t been a word of complaint between the two; all signs seen as encouragement from Rourke’s end.
‘ You ain’t ever gonna’ say it, are you? ’ Not that he minds, just knows he needs to UP his game for a better reaction. With a smirk & a hearty chuckle, Rourke begins to direct his trail of touch southern. ( It’s not enough for him, ) something he figures about halfway—and so he replaces fingertips with mouth.
About three kisses in, they begin to grow firmer, more pronounced as the line of them stretches. Rourke pauses just below Brandt’s stomach, sparing a small glance up to determine where they stood. STILL — no firetruck. There is no guilt as the kingpin continues on but as he dips his head once more, time is taken sweetly, administering small nips & flicks of the tongue to graze his hips.
kiss along the hips. oo.
