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Byron Wickes (onthefence) wrote in cirque_rp,

Byron nearly peeked merely by Duncan's obvious abandon. The circle of biting and being bitten one of the greater things about bedding vampires and Byron could be very vocal when he wished. The idea of a silent quicky on an empty stage was far less appealing than rose faced blushes leaning in to hear what lay beyond. Ever the performer, Byron liked an audience whether seen or not.

Licking Duncan's blood off his lips and wiping it down his dimpled chin, a demonic smile tugged the corners of his mouth. The harder Duncan rammed into him the more appeased his dark predatory soul was over it. Even with the savage Scot having the upper hand in a war focused mind, Byron had gotten what he wanted from him.

The faster Duncan moved the more Byron played into it, rotating his hips to feed the pace and keep him deep. Where Duncan had centuries of build up, Byron had never pushed away that side of him. "Fuck," he groaned out. The leather strap bindings started to tear in Byron's hands. Byron liked the pain of it all, the heightened sensation negation added an unintentional bonus to the delirious passions that fueled on the man behind him.

Byron tore the knife out of his side and slammed it into one of Duncan's hands, stapling it to his own side.