[It always seems near impossible, to touch as much as he yearns to; he is but one man and can hardly touch every inch of his knight at once, but the squeeze of his ass is met by a valiant effort on Gale's part, reaching and curling his fingers into flesh wherever he can grab as they kiss one another breathless. Godfrey's shirt has been cast aside into a careless heap on the floor, joined by his belt a moment later; that simple cantrip has left Gale's own hands free to roam further as Godfrey's trousers are loosened and he's able to palm at his ass, grabbing hold with one hand as the other takes the side of his face.
The taste of wine lingers on both their lips and tongues, and Gale has lost track of how much clothing actually remains between them; he is too lost in this newfound enthusiasm of Godfrey's, too easily drawn into that same hunger, but he blindly fumbles onward in discarding the rest of it, wanting far more of what has taken hold of his companion. He has no desire to take the lead, to wrest it away from Godfrey when he takes it so rarely, but he does take a step backwards, followed by another as he draws his partner along with him, easing their way down towards the pillows that have been left strewn across the floor of the tent since the night before.]
no subject
The taste of wine lingers on both their lips and tongues, and Gale has lost track of how much clothing actually remains between them; he is too lost in this newfound enthusiasm of Godfrey's, too easily drawn into that same hunger, but he blindly fumbles onward in discarding the rest of it, wanting far more of what has taken hold of his companion. He has no desire to take the lead, to wrest it away from Godfrey when he takes it so rarely, but he does take a step backwards, followed by another as he draws his partner along with him, easing their way down towards the pillows that have been left strewn across the floor of the tent since the night before.]
Come here, my heart.