[Over and over, Liem is surprised by just how human Set will seem in small, intimate moments, despite his agelessness and his divinity. He is divine, strange in ways that set him apart from mortals, yet as he drapes himself over Liem and laughs against his ear, he is also a man, full of pleasure and warmth at having the person he desires give himself to him. A familiar, mundane thing, and achingly attractive for its simplicity.
And for once, Liem may notice this all he likes, unburdened by the need to rein in his wanting. He is free to delight in the hot little shiver he feels when Set’s breath tickles his skin, and the hungry impatience roused by the slide of the god’s hands over his silk-covered chest. The noise he makes at the gentle pressure of teeth over his throat is a little wanton, in contrast with the deliberate slide of his hands down to Set’s waist. The gentle roll of his hips pressing up, into the god’s touch belies unspoken greed.]
I should be telling you that.
[He is always so desperate to be touched; even if he were to stay here with Set all night, he does not think he could possibly be sated. But his fingers splay over the other man’s flanks, one hand sliding around to the small of his back. The other finds its way back up to Set’s chest, his collarbone, up his neck and around to slide cool fingers into the hair at his nape. Carefully, still—and perhaps not quite to his heart’s content in reality, because even now he doesn’t let his fingers brush Set’s face, doesn’t let them trace his jaw or his cheeks or the shape of his mouth. Yet.]
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And for once, Liem may notice this all he likes, unburdened by the need to rein in his wanting. He is free to delight in the hot little shiver he feels when Set’s breath tickles his skin, and the hungry impatience roused by the slide of the god’s hands over his silk-covered chest. The noise he makes at the gentle pressure of teeth over his throat is a little wanton, in contrast with the deliberate slide of his hands down to Set’s waist. The gentle roll of his hips pressing up, into the god’s touch belies unspoken greed.]
I should be telling you that.
[He is always so desperate to be touched; even if he were to stay here with Set all night, he does not think he could possibly be sated. But his fingers splay over the other man’s flanks, one hand sliding around to the small of his back. The other finds its way back up to Set’s chest, his collarbone, up his neck and around to slide cool fingers into the hair at his nape. Carefully, still—and perhaps not quite to his heart’s content in reality, because even now he doesn’t let his fingers brush Set’s face, doesn’t let them trace his jaw or his cheeks or the shape of his mouth. Yet.]