Rosewater Oasis [m] i breathe dusk

his chin tilts, a languid offering, exposing the smooth expanse of his throat to the alay-basi’s careful ministrations. he allows it. indulges in it.

good. the word is breathy. as if air has been stolen from his lungs. long has it been since samirseti was on the receiving end of such affections.

there is restraint. there is tension. samirseti would seek to sever both and give fully to nectanebo; if poise did not conquer him. there is trouble in letting loose. in giving oneself entirely. but he does cast sultry eyes to the man, fingers at his throat, devoted, devouring.

tell me, he commands, whisper against the crown of dark fur. what is it you crave?