[A skilled hunter, Baptiste has a keen sense of when he's snared something. In that moment of brief, expectant silence - the blonde catches just how Alan's body unwinds. Tentative as this repose may be, it is teased out by...
Hunger?
That is what he'd heard the other gods complain of as they lounged into their desperate hedonism. A discontent he'd loved to see amongst those who had been poised to receive anything they demanded. How could he not gloat and prolong their search for relief? The grip his suit had on him now is a price well worth paying-
However, when faced with the realization that this fellow deviant must've been gripped with the same ravenous need...
It would seem he isn't the only one in a spot of trouble. A trouble that he's far more sympathetic to than the plights of any of the other 'esteemed' guests. Perhaps it is the glimpse of a kindred soul. Or the firm, steady defiance of the role Alan had been assigned. Quite possibly, it could simply be those damn, distracting dark curls that remind him of his lover back home.
Whatever it is, it settles alongside the outside influence that continually wears him thin to the idea of obedience. A glimmer of desire to beat the inevitable by throwing himself in wholly, completely...
A slow inhale follows the other man's question. The chill in his body persists, yet the warmth of indulgent comfort settles as a tingling in his nose. He shifts his position to move past the glass that had been offered for him.
A steady, slow encroachment-
One that halts but a few inches from the other man's face. Close enough to smell the wine on Baptiste's breath or feel the heat from his flesh. Far enough to wait for his "lord's" blessing. His eyes glance downward toward the man's throat, as if to silently admit that he'd seen the swallow that had looked near-painful.]
A delightful reprieve... though dare I say that you may need help? [Baptiste's voice is low. Traces of breathlessness still cling to his words.]
no subject
Hunger?
That is what he'd heard the other gods complain of as they lounged into their desperate hedonism. A discontent he'd loved to see amongst those who had been poised to receive anything they demanded. How could he not gloat and prolong their search for relief? The grip his suit had on him now is a price well worth paying-
However, when faced with the realization that this fellow deviant must've been gripped with the same ravenous need...
It would seem he isn't the only one in a spot of trouble. A trouble that he's far more sympathetic to than the plights of any of the other 'esteemed' guests. Perhaps it is the glimpse of a kindred soul. Or the firm, steady defiance of the role Alan had been assigned. Quite possibly, it could simply be those damn, distracting dark curls that remind him of his lover back home.
Whatever it is, it settles alongside the outside influence that continually wears him thin to the idea of obedience. A glimmer of desire to beat the inevitable by throwing himself in wholly, completely...
A slow inhale follows the other man's question. The chill in his body persists, yet the warmth of indulgent comfort settles as a tingling in his nose. He shifts his position to move past the glass that had been offered for him.
A steady, slow encroachment-
One that halts but a few inches from the other man's face. Close enough to smell the wine on Baptiste's breath or feel the heat from his flesh. Far enough to wait for his "lord's" blessing. His eyes glance downward toward the man's throat, as if to silently admit that he'd seen the swallow that had looked near-painful.]
A delightful reprieve... though dare I say that you may need help? [Baptiste's voice is low. Traces of breathlessness still cling to his words.]