I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
Oh, but Jack does see it, in his mind's eye if nothing else. But what's inside his head and what's without is rapidly beginning to blur, and the captain hisses in a breath of fevered impatience, of mounting pleasure, as the bottles rattle, as Raza reaches between her legs to play with herself. It crackles through him like it's happening to them both, and he echoes her sentiment in a barely audible sigh - oh fuck, indeed.
He's following the tunes of their bodies now in their entirety, barely hearing the bottles on the bar, the slap of skin on skin. There's a pressure starting to build at the base of Jack's spine, but it's borne of Raza's own needs - such is the intricacy of his sort of magic. So he drives himself deeper still, hips pounding a rhythm that promises everything they're both missing. Everything they both want.
He's following the tunes of their bodies now in their entirety, barely hearing the bottles on the bar, the slap of skin on skin. There's a pressure starting to build at the base of Jack's spine, but it's borne of Raza's own needs - such is the intricacy of his sort of magic. So he drives himself deeper still, hips pounding a rhythm that promises everything they're both missing. Everything they both want.
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
