[Liem can't deny the thrill that flutters through him, quickening in his belly and rippling out, when Set shifts his hold on him and moves him back, dipping him down onto the bed as if he weighed no more than a kitten. He has ever coveted the feel of strong, steady hands on him, of being moved and manhandled and pinned down by the weight of a warm and unyielding body; somehow the potential risk involved, to be at another's mercy, only ever makes his wanting flare more eagerly inside him. He shivers with it, fingers clutching at the fabric over Set's chest as his wandering mouth trails along the line of his jaw.
Still, he cannot help that he remains a little reserved. Even as his hands wander to Set's unclothed back, even as he lets out a soft sigh and tips his head back to accommodate the passage of the warm mouth over his throat, he is so aware, always, of everything he does and every sound that passes his lips. He is not wanton in his acquiescence to Set's advances, but deliberate, even caught up in that soft-edged desire. He cannot truly believe that what he is is what the other man wants. It is what he does, always — which leaves, as ever, the possibility of doing something wrong.
Liem does not think he will. He does not suspect Set of being false. But still, there is restraint in the way he arches beneath Set's body, and in the way his fingers prize the fastenings free at the back of the god's collar, so he can slip his touch beneath fabric and slide the robes further down. His movements are deliberate, considered, just as much as they drip with closeted longing.]
I am in your hands tonight.
[Because Set was the one who came for him; the one who swooped upon him in his solitude and his melancholy; the one who brought him here to share something intimate with him, despite everything.]
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Still, he cannot help that he remains a little reserved. Even as his hands wander to Set's unclothed back, even as he lets out a soft sigh and tips his head back to accommodate the passage of the warm mouth over his throat, he is so aware, always, of everything he does and every sound that passes his lips. He is not wanton in his acquiescence to Set's advances, but deliberate, even caught up in that soft-edged desire. He cannot truly believe that what he is is what the other man wants. It is what he does, always — which leaves, as ever, the possibility of doing something wrong.
Liem does not think he will. He does not suspect Set of being false. But still, there is restraint in the way he arches beneath Set's body, and in the way his fingers prize the fastenings free at the back of the god's collar, so he can slip his touch beneath fabric and slide the robes further down. His movements are deliberate, considered, just as much as they drip with closeted longing.]
I am in your hands tonight.
[Because Set was the one who came for him; the one who swooped upon him in his solitude and his melancholy; the one who brought him here to share something intimate with him, despite everything.]