the lost boy (alcuin) wrote in 4bidden, @ 2015-01-31 13:38:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | #week: 12, &day: saturday, *character: alcuin no delaunay, *character: scott mccall, @location: scott mccall's apartment, ~thread: in progress |
WHO: Alcuin no Delaunay and Scott McCall.
WHAT: Sometimes, his heart is filled to bursting with love for his kindhearted wolf – and sometimes it doesn't even hurt.
WHEN: Week 12; Saturday morning, December 19th.
WHERE: Joe's Scott McCall's Apartment.
WARNINGS: Fluff, distant sound of raptor noises, dangerous levels of unresolved sexual tension.
STATUS: Pending | Closed.
Fingertips trailed delicately along the apple of his master's cheek – barely more than a mere suggestion of touch – to the rumpled tuft of hair at his ear. Alcuin traced the hard outer shell of his ear, round the soft globe of his earlobe, and back down the asymmetrical slope of his jawline with the very tip of his index finger. Facial hair his master had yet to shave rasped along the backs of his fingers on the return journey across the sharp topography of his face; he wondered, in spite of himself, if it would tickle between his thighs. Scott always looked peaceful and unburdened in his sleep; no flaring of his nostrils at a foreign and potentially unwelcome scent, no worry deepening the creases at the corners of his eyes, and perhaps most importantly of all, no tension drawing his lips tight. Alcuin chewed his lips pink for want of a kiss.
And so it was that he leaned forward, kneeling politely in front of their sofa, and drew his lips as near to his master's as he dared in the sleepy silence of their apartment. Scott's breath puffed out hot and moist against his lips and it was so much better than stolen mugs of coffee in the morning, his mouth questing after the phantom warmth of his master's lips along the rims. “Je t'adore...” Alcuin mouthed inaudibly, his thumb worrying gently at the beauty mark at the corner of his master's eye. After a beat, he settled back on his haunches and repeated it like a litany in his mind til it escaped once more, gliding out of him like a song only half remembered: “Je t'adore.”