Crackplot!

[le_desirous]

cont'd.

"Sir," he murmurs, somewhat incoherently, and with a great deal of youthful passion, pressing himself closer to Mordred.

Comments

[illgotten]

Mordred is more or less past coherence. He fumbles with Sagramore's clothes, whispering something between gasping breaths and kisses.

[le_desirous]

Sagramore is only too willing to help with divesting himself thereof, and traces his fingers along Mordred's chest.

[illgotten]

"God." His back arches, and he shifts to pin Sagramore more securely, as if he were planning on going anywhere.

[le_desirous]

He lets out a whimper, a very soft whimper, and winds his hand tightly in Mordred's hair.