[ Mr. Morningstar's only response is to get to his feet, leaving the towel behind and thus, revealing what's... wow, okay, a big cock, not even half-hard, so there's potential for good work there. His own cock jerks a little bit at the sight, just a pitiful call for attention. The other man steps around the piano and moves, prowls, it's the predatory attitude again, closer until he's about a foot away. James follows him with his eyes the entire way, appreciating every inch of skin that the light hits, the way the shadows soften up his lines a bit, his facial features standing out all the starker for it. He's beautiful. Just, it's the best way to put it. Fuckable, sure, but beautiful.
Did you get that, he asks and brushes his fingertips over the tattoo, so James' skin breaks out in goosebumps and his nipples go stiff from it. He breathes in once, hard, quickly reaching up to grab the other man by the wrist. Not holding him back, no, just feeling him out, the heaviness of his limbs, his big hands. You know.
James was right in the end. One thing implies the other.
Tilting his head upwards, because the man is towering over him by a head, he looks directly into his eyes, blinking a couple of times. Dark brown. He's so dark throughout, to be honest. Like shadows. Like the taste of good whiskey. Like all temporary things which is maybe a bit on the symbolic side, but no less true for it. ]
What difference does it make?
[ It's not that he won't necessarily answer, it's just that for someone whom these preliminary maneuvers don't do anything for? Mr. Morningstar is certainly asking the kind of questions that don't bring them onwards in the script. ]
no subject
Did you get that, he asks and brushes his fingertips over the tattoo, so James' skin breaks out in goosebumps and his nipples go stiff from it. He breathes in once, hard, quickly reaching up to grab the other man by the wrist. Not holding him back, no, just feeling him out, the heaviness of his limbs, his big hands. You know.
James was right in the end. One thing implies the other.
Tilting his head upwards, because the man is towering over him by a head, he looks directly into his eyes, blinking a couple of times. Dark brown. He's so dark throughout, to be honest. Like shadows. Like the taste of good whiskey. Like all temporary things which is maybe a bit on the symbolic side, but no less true for it. ]
What difference does it make?
[ It's not that he won't necessarily answer, it's just that for someone whom these preliminary maneuvers don't do anything for? Mr. Morningstar is certainly asking the kind of questions that don't bring them onwards in the script. ]