#mihai stroi

[indracit]

[indracit]

[indracit]

[indracit]

[indracit]

[asofterealdwic]

(Is that what you're wearing?)

[tiedmyselfinknots]

Asher: Fumbling. [18+ but this isn't erotic]

((Also known as "don't ever let me write anything, ever, EVER."))

They leave the Horned God with warm waves and farewells, and the moment they are out of the line of sight of their friends, they find the nearest shadows to stumble into.  Drunken, heated mouths meet; greedy, raking hands shove beneath fine clothing.  Decades, they tell people who ask how long they have known each other, and it’s true, but when it comes to this?  Sighs and teeth and lust indulged?

Half a year.  Half a year, and that interrupted by his coma, and then one night decades ago.

This is still new.  Raw.  Asher’s skin still breaks into goosebumps when Mihai touches him.  His breath still catches in his chest with want of finding the right words to say.  He is sometimes so very fierce with his lover but now, buried in shadows, he is groaning beneath those rough hands: “Here, dracul? How will I beg you for mercy? Someone will hear.  Someone will come to help me.”

“I’ll fucking gag you,” Mihai growls, his grip harsh and insistent about Asher’s cock, jerking as if he wants to bruise the man.  It would hurt more if they weren’t both too drunk to process pain.  “Whoever comes to save you will see only an angel in ecstasy.”

Asher rocks forward, intending to kiss, but his forehead bumps awkwardly off Mihai’s temple and instead he begs, “Take me home.  Please.  I am too drunk to be standing up.”