[ It's still so surreal even when experiencing in motion; he's sure he's had his share of wet dreams he can no longer remember mixed in between nightmares and voids of nothingness in slumber. Never someone as beautiful as Gilgamesh (that would have been impossible to conjure up before meeting), but they always would posses mouth that could entice him to actively want the experience of a kiss simply because that was so sensual all on its own.
With the nudging, Masamune moves in the direction suggested, head tilting for exposing his neck to the other's lips and teeth. Even preparing himself for it, though, a short hitch of his breath escapes him at the touch. It isn't normal for him to openly expose his neck like that: even seemingly innocent brothels were a constant danger for those of influence; kunoichi well-hired to be the ultimate black widows they trained to become. For and between dragons, surrendering their neck to another is quite possibly the most trusting thing one can do.
(And it's so good, worry the risk and yet also so much better than that.)
It automatically reinforces him to not shy away but not to fall out of line, either. So, when he's offered the king's generous invitation, the young warlord slips into Gilgamesh's waiting lap without hesitation—as if it's the only place he was ever meant to be.
(But crawling into the arms of a tyrant is still what it is, no matter how beautiful and polite it is done when executed. Who cares, that damning temptation of a voice insists, would you really mind so much if you were taken and never let go? You'd actually like almost everything about it. )
Masamune immediately reaches to tangle his fingers in the golden hair of his partner that's softer than even silk strung between this fingertips. So many possibilities, but for now this dragon merely desires to experience the heat of the other's mouth once more: the feel of his tongue being able to brush over the king's is both shiver-inducing and self-inviting to continue wherever he's allowed. He's already completely forgotten any warning bells that had been driven into his head like a stake first encounter. Everything concerning Gilgamesh in this moment has his mind and body screaming in unison:
no subject
With the nudging, Masamune moves in the direction suggested, head tilting for exposing his neck to the other's lips and teeth. Even preparing himself for it, though, a short hitch of his breath escapes him at the touch. It isn't normal for him to openly expose his neck like that: even seemingly innocent brothels were a constant danger for those of influence; kunoichi well-hired to be the ultimate black widows they trained to become. For and between dragons, surrendering their neck to another is quite possibly the most trusting thing one can do.
(And it's so good, worry the risk and yet also so much better than that.)
It automatically reinforces him to not shy away but not to fall out of line, either. So, when he's offered the king's generous invitation, the young warlord slips into Gilgamesh's waiting lap without hesitation—as if it's the only place he was ever meant to be.
(But crawling into the arms of a tyrant is still what it is, no matter how beautiful and polite it is done when executed. Who cares, that damning temptation of a voice insists, would you really mind so much if you were taken and never let go? You'd actually like almost everything about it. )
Masamune immediately reaches to tangle his fingers in the golden hair of his partner that's softer than even silk strung between this fingertips. So many possibilities, but for now this dragon merely desires to experience the heat of the other's mouth once more: the feel of his tongue being able to brush over the king's is both shiver-inducing and self-inviting to continue wherever he's allowed. He's already completely forgotten any warning bells that had been driven into his head like a stake first encounter. Everything concerning Gilgamesh in this moment has his mind and body screaming in unison:
yes, good. now more. ]