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Summary
The muscles of his thighs burn from the effort of keeping himself propped open, bent elbow nearly slipping on the scattered remnants atop Dion's desk. But he relishes the pain, seeks it out; it reminds him that he is alive, that he could be afforded the opportunity to live and breathe and feel in this moment of respite, pinned beneath the claw-tipped hands of Dion's carnality.
He is Phoenix. Fire and light thrum through his blood and bones; never would his intrinsic bond with his Eikon ever allow even a lick of pale flame to harm his achingly human flesh.
or: in which Joshua gets thoroughly debauched by semiprimed Dion