Dante freezes up then, eyes wide, hand still on Olivine’s chest as he processes this sudden reaction. Did it hurt? Had he touched somewhere he shouldn’t have?
There’s no escaping that bright red flush to his face now even when Olivine reveals that all is well with that invitation, and...what is Dante even supposed to do about it? He’s looking quite lost as he processes this, as Olivine gropes at his body—barely hidden behind the sheer drapery he’d been made to wear.
Those golden sun tattoos he’d been saddled with burn where Olivine touches them.
“You’re...” He swallows, his voice thick, unsure of what to do with these newfound sensations of...excitement? Fascination? Concern? He’s not sure what to call this feeling, save that it only reminds him that sex is far more complicated than he realizes, yet he’s too proud to ask for Olivine’s help even if he’s the nicest, most obliging lover he’s ever met.
“You’re really not hurt...”
It’s more a statement than a question at this point.
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There’s no escaping that bright red flush to his face now even when Olivine reveals that all is well with that invitation, and...what is Dante even supposed to do about it? He’s looking quite lost as he processes this, as Olivine gropes at his body—barely hidden behind the sheer drapery he’d been made to wear.
Those golden sun tattoos he’d been saddled with burn where Olivine touches them.
“You’re...” He swallows, his voice thick, unsure of what to do with these newfound sensations of...excitement? Fascination? Concern? He’s not sure what to call this feeling, save that it only reminds him that sex is far more complicated than he realizes, yet he’s too proud to ask for Olivine’s help even if he’s the nicest, most obliging lover he’s ever met.
“You’re really not hurt...”
It’s more a statement than a question at this point.