[It's almost pathetic how easily he melts into Hythlodaeus' hands, large and strong that they are. Soft, though with the characteristic calluses he knows him to have. An artist, obvious to any with a lick of sense, but even after the passing of ages, he's never forgotten the feel of his hands upon his body. How could he, when they're the most natural thing in the world to him. Upon the same level of eating and breathing.
So lost is he to the sensation and familiarity that he very nearly misses the deadline, and even then his mind is enraptured in the burning heat in his groin, the prickle of bumps across his skin as those hands work him just right, and the sight of Hythlodaeus' arousal. It's a few good beats later that it clicks, and he visibly jolts, turning to look at his masseuse.]
no subject
So lost is he to the sensation and familiarity that he very nearly misses the deadline, and even then his mind is enraptured in the burning heat in his groin, the prickle of bumps across his skin as those hands work him just right, and the sight of Hythlodaeus' arousal. It's a few good beats later that it clicks, and he visibly jolts, turning to look at his masseuse.]
...a week is awful hasty, would you not agree?