Drakhariss



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    Their proximity brought a shameful expression to his face, even as he flushed pinker under the touch. “What’re… What’re you doing...” Came his whisper, his breathing growing more laboured as his need became apparent.
    Micah’s thumbs circled in place, almost massaging his skin, though his expression was too smug for it to have been intended for relaxation.
    The Reverend bit his lip, his hands gripping tighter, fingers squeaking against the glass of his Whiskey bottle. He inhaled once, held it in place; attempted to slowly exhale through the feeling. “Micah… Please.”

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    16 May 2026