Larksong Grotto evil is an act, not an appetite

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He traveled with the man, often bumping his shoulder into his. He enjoyed the company of the man. He felt he could loosen up a bit, be playful.

They had to tread carefully to get to their destination; it eased something in his mind. Barely.
There wouldn't be anybody looking for fun around here in the winter months, yet those who did come here didn't want to be found.
Such as himself and his accomplice. 
At last, they made it, eager to keep the contact; the fluttering, touch of desire. There wasn't the same desire as earlier, no. This was different. Soft, warm. Not burning hot. 
Derg looked about them, still alert whilst hyperaware of every touch -- every kiss -- laid across his neck and cheek.
He didn't want this to be spoiled.

He presses his own kiss to the cheek of the man before he is led further. He touches his nose along the back of the man, sometimes pressing up to his neck before falling back again, switching sides.
He was almost intoxicated on him, yet didn't have a name to put to him.
"What is your name?" He thought it better to ask now than later, it would probably break the mood.

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