[The possessive phrase sweeps through Red Wine like a giddy rush, and though he had been self-consciously adjusting his crumpled cravat before Dohalim had grabbed his hand he doesn't resist the hard tug that has him immediately stepping after the other man.
This magic is--...
Well, Red Wine usually dislikes a loss of control. He has spent two centuries very finely honing his. But he can trust Dohalim, can't he? Even like this, he doesn't think the man would do anything to endanger either of them. It seems that this is simply the way things are between them. That pushing of boundaries, limits, even so far as to press the other to what almost feels like madness.
Gods, why does it feel so exciting?
He isn't sure, only that he's growing increasingly eager the longer they're close to each other.
So he follows, buzzing with the anticipation of what Dohalim might have in store.]
no subject
This magic is--...
Well, Red Wine usually dislikes a loss of control. He has spent two centuries very finely honing his. But he can trust Dohalim, can't he? Even like this, he doesn't think the man would do anything to endanger either of them. It seems that this is simply the way things are between them. That pushing of boundaries, limits, even so far as to press the other to what almost feels like madness.
Gods, why does it feel so exciting?
He isn't sure, only that he's growing increasingly eager the longer they're close to each other.
So he follows, buzzing with the anticipation of what Dohalim might have in store.]