Indulging - whether it was merely himself or the both of them - Opium settled his weight slightly against the god beneath him. Fingertips scratched cool dirt as skin touched skin and his lips found the curve of Tracer's jaw again. A knee drew up for balance, pressed against the other god's thigh and nudged it up a little while his hands broke free and traced sharp nails down skinny arms, along his ribcage, over his stomach, while his mouth worked down his brother's neck and to his shoulder. Slowly, the hunger seeped from him, the heated desire so natural to his drug, an aphrodisiac in the ancient days. There were no inhibitions with him, no reasons not to do anything he wanted to. And right now what he wanted was Trace, out of his clothes, with dirty clinging to his pale skin.