Cerulean Cape is anything but safe

severin watches with slow burning ardor as vonn comes closer, closer, closer until they are so close that their breath mingles. all it would take would be a slight shift of his muzzle and they'd be touching and though it was tempting there was a certain anticipation that creeps along his spine in slow, delighted shivers that is addicting and intoxicating. that anticipation stokes the low fire that has settled due south of severin's belly. the season of the year does not escape his notice and while he's too young to be producing any mini severins ( decidedly a good thing ) he's not too young to be inadvertently affected by it; but it's hard to tell if his desires are just heightened by the perfume that lingers in the air despite that there are no females around or if it's just because he's a hedonist.

so consumed by vonn and the tantalizing suggestions that the pale man has spoken is severin that the strong gusts of wind and chill go thoroughly unnoticed. vonn's question is low and husky and something rumbles, pleased and hungry in the fiend's chest. i do believe heaven for a few hours was promised by a hot embrace, a pause is given, a soft breath drawn in. impress me and i'll gladly sing you praises at altars. severin teases, coquettish and impish.

and i want to know if it is truly impossible to say vonnaruil, severin purls his full name, opulent and throaty because he likes saying it, because he wants to see how it affects the pale man. severin's muzzle shifts then, lips brushing feather-light against the pale man's velveteen ear. pull me into your embrace and bring me salvation. a plea? a command? perhaps both.