Cerulean Cape is anything but safe

at the height of it all, that moment when the anticipation has built until the point that everything feels like a dam with weakened integrity about to burst, severin is tugged back until the cradle of his hips are molded to vonnaruil's own. it is decadent and filthy and just the kind of sin that severin lived and breathed for. and then his pale lover stills and severin's eyes roll back in his head but not from the release he so desperately needs, wants to feel from the pale fallen angel draped over him. i feel you. i feel all of you, severin promises in a throaty rasp.

and then, i don't remember telling you to stop. it was not, admittedly, the time to argue over who was in charge. though predictably it should be the man on top such strict black and white lines of dominance in the bedroom after a murky grey at best and often unfollowed and left undefined by severin; but he's used to being in charge and has no qualms about making demands especially when his pleasure or lack thereof is on the line.

vonnaruil, a rumble made of poorly hidden frustration; a mixture of a warning ( because this was cruel and when it came to his own pleasure on the line the hedonist did not like to play games ), a plea ( because fuck it what was pride when pleasure was the high stake on the table? ), and a command ( because where the fiend comes from it was expected to finish what you started ).