[Hands on his hips are nice and encouraging. Hands on his ass, gripping him firmly and holding him in place have him snarling slightly against Regis' throat, back arching, body rolling in that grip to fight the restraint. Not that he wants the other man to let go but he can't help but move, arching and gasping and biting sharply at the tender skin behind his ear.]
Then I need to get my pants off.
[Breathless but much of the teasing is gone, replaced with need and the dramatic reactions to every bit of sensation he gets. The heat of Regis' mouth on his shoulder, the gentle scratch of beard against his skin, the spike of heat the words send through him. It all has him squirming, pressing purposefully down against Regis' groin but also trying to push up towards his mouth in the same breath. Breaths that come faster and harder.]
Sure your -Shit tha's good- guard won't be... worried?
[But even as he asks it he's surrendered the grip on Regis' throat, head falling back as he rocks down, hands splayed over the king's chest. His fingers press hard into the muscle there then slide down, blunt nails snagging at the ridges of scars, down to his sides where pain and disuse has softened the edges of what had once been a powerful build. His nails bite harder, a sharp sting against the softer skin of his sides, below his ribs, anchoring himself as he moves and offers the full span of his chest to Regis' mouth.]
no subject
Then I need to get my pants off.
[Breathless but much of the teasing is gone, replaced with need and the dramatic reactions to every bit of sensation he gets. The heat of Regis' mouth on his shoulder, the gentle scratch of beard against his skin, the spike of heat the words send through him. It all has him squirming, pressing purposefully down against Regis' groin but also trying to push up towards his mouth in the same breath. Breaths that come faster and harder.]
Sure your -Shit tha's good- guard won't be... worried?
[But even as he asks it he's surrendered the grip on Regis' throat, head falling back as he rocks down, hands splayed over the king's chest. His fingers press hard into the muscle there then slide down, blunt nails snagging at the ridges of scars, down to his sides where pain and disuse has softened the edges of what had once been a powerful build. His nails bite harder, a sharp sting against the softer skin of his sides, below his ribs, anchoring himself as he moves and offers the full span of his chest to Regis' mouth.]