[Alas, Jacob was born far too late to enjoy the hedonistic desires of Ancient Greece and Rome, and too late for the Grand Tour when all things neoclassical was once more en vogue. While Lord Byron as his set might have declared their love for many beautiful young men of the Mediterranean, Jacob Frye would never be amongst them, nor be a muse for their romantic poetry, nor be the Adonis left broken-hearted when their lover returned home. For the best no doubt, considering how much he dislikes high society.
This is better. There are no dreams of grandeur here, only lust, base and unashamed. He wants everything Hellboy's kisses promise him, wants to feel every inch of him. He doesn't want to be a cold and unfeeling marble statue, he wants to be a real, warm body with desires and needs, looking for another warm body to complete him.
He presses up against the red-hot skin when those fingers slide over him, and then begin to slide within. He's glad of the hand at his back, keeping him close, almost holding him up as he fights to keep his breath slow and steady, and it means he can focus just on that feeling. It's good, even with the momentary resistance his body offers, his head tilting forwards to rest against Hellboy's own, forehead to forehead- or as best as he can with the base of those horns in the way.]
You decided how you want me? In the chair? Over the table?
[He asks as his hands smooth down, over Hellboy's chest again, to feel the steady thump of his heart. It's wonderful, the slow press of his fingers, his attention, and Hellboy's reaction to his words. He's not yet losing his mind, even if his toes curl, but he can tell that at some point tonight he won't even know who he is anymore. ]
and here we see a tag written by a historian
This is better. There are no dreams of grandeur here, only lust, base and unashamed. He wants everything Hellboy's kisses promise him, wants to feel every inch of him. He doesn't want to be a cold and unfeeling marble statue, he wants to be a real, warm body with desires and needs, looking for another warm body to complete him.
He presses up against the red-hot skin when those fingers slide over him, and then begin to slide within. He's glad of the hand at his back, keeping him close, almost holding him up as he fights to keep his breath slow and steady, and it means he can focus just on that feeling. It's good, even with the momentary resistance his body offers, his head tilting forwards to rest against Hellboy's own, forehead to forehead- or as best as he can with the base of those horns in the way.]
You decided how you want me? In the chair? Over the table?
[He asks as his hands smooth down, over Hellboy's chest again, to feel the steady thump of his heart. It's wonderful, the slow press of his fingers, his attention, and Hellboy's reaction to his words. He's not yet losing his mind, even if his toes curl, but he can tell that at some point tonight he won't even know who he is anymore. ]