He was acutely aware of Lasha, the clean, masculine scent of him, the texture of his voice, the possessiveness of Lasha's hand against the back of his head.
"Oh, da. I want it," he breathed, roughly.
Taras let Lasha pull him close, until he was leaning over the chair. His pulse was hot and thrumming.
He brought his lips to Lasha's but did not kiss him. Not yet. Instead, he grazed their mouths together, feeling the caress of Lasha's breath on his lips.
"There's nothing I want more, Lashka."
Taras felt Ilarion's lips part under his.
"Nothing," he repeated, then leaned the rest of the way, and kissed him hungrily.
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He was acutely aware of Lasha, the clean, masculine scent of him, the texture of his voice, the possessiveness of Lasha's hand against the back of his head.
"Oh, da. I want it," he breathed, roughly.
Taras let Lasha pull him close, until he was leaning over the chair. His pulse was hot and thrumming.
He brought his lips to Lasha's but did not kiss him. Not yet. Instead, he grazed their mouths together, feeling the caress of Lasha's breath on his lips.
"There's nothing I want more, Lashka."
Taras felt Ilarion's lips part under his.
"Nothing," he repeated, then leaned the rest of the way, and kissed him hungrily.