[ He heads inside, the tell-tale sounds of James getting out of the tub registering as background noise, not an answer, not as such. He's left it up to the other man to make his own decision here, as well. Whether he wants more, whether he wants to indulge. Passing through his living room, he grabs James' half-drunken glass of whiskey on the way and empties it, just, there. No need to waste it, after all.
In his walk-in closet, the motion sensors in the ceiling activate as he passes through without pausing, the lights dim and warm against the wood panelling. He leaves the frosty glass door open behind him, still inviting, still open to all likely outcomes, and goes straight for the shower. Naturally, he's got a claw-foot tub as well because why wouldn't he, but post-anal sex routines tend to call for running water and so, he steps inside the big shower cabin and hits the wall panel, the waterfall showerhead unleashing a soft but dense cascade of hot water from above.
Shutting his eyes, he soaps up blindly and leans his head back, his hair sticking to the back of his neck. The remnants of orgasm still linger in his muscles and his movements are slower than usual, a little more languid. Sex is... well, he's known since the dawn of man, hasn't he. It's bloody fantastic. He thinks about James and the look on his face, the change from flatness to pure, unadulterated passion. His cock gives an interested little jump, too.
From what he can tell, the man's coming to join him in a moment. He probably shouldn't be feeling all hopeful about it but fact remains, he's invited him up here for a reason and he doesn't feel quite done.
Then again, he's the Devil so that might also be par for the bloody course. ]
no subject
In his walk-in closet, the motion sensors in the ceiling activate as he passes through without pausing, the lights dim and warm against the wood panelling. He leaves the frosty glass door open behind him, still inviting, still open to all likely outcomes, and goes straight for the shower. Naturally, he's got a claw-foot tub as well because why wouldn't he, but post-anal sex routines tend to call for running water and so, he steps inside the big shower cabin and hits the wall panel, the waterfall showerhead unleashing a soft but dense cascade of hot water from above.
Shutting his eyes, he soaps up blindly and leans his head back, his hair sticking to the back of his neck. The remnants of orgasm still linger in his muscles and his movements are slower than usual, a little more languid. Sex is... well, he's known since the dawn of man, hasn't he. It's bloody fantastic. He thinks about James and the look on his face, the change from flatness to pure, unadulterated passion. His cock gives an interested little jump, too.
From what he can tell, the man's coming to join him in a moment. He probably shouldn't be feeling all hopeful about it but fact remains, he's invited him up here for a reason and he doesn't feel quite done.
Then again, he's the Devil so that might also be par for the bloody course. ]