And Sorin, Sorin loved the way Mickey filled him in such a smooth motion. It made the gypsy son's whole body react, back curving, fingers gripping, knees bracing on the bed, and even his toes pointing. His cry of pleasure was cut off, Sorin catching himself quickly to keep quiet, and he bit down on his lip.
"Da..." he breathed out. "Da, Mickey. So good." With each inhale that expanded his lungs, pushed his ribs out, and gave him more reason to move back against Mickey, he could feel the ifrit's heat, smell and taste him.