[The ribbons weren't terribly uncomfortable, Dorian had been left in less comfortable positions for longer, suspended from a frame as decoration, tied and trussed and packaged. Really, tied like this he was downright comfortable, letting his eyes roam and taking in the room he had been left in. It was gorgeously decorated, though he'd already figured out that whoever had purchased him had been rich, favorite he might not have been, but he had still been valued and favored. Gereon would not have given him up cheaply, he knew.]
[He'd taken to counting the patterns in the carpet, following the design with his eyes, but something else kept drawing his attention away, inexorably, like a magnet, making it hard to really do much of anything other than fidget and wait. It wasn't until he heard the door open and heard his new master speak that he realized what his brain, his instincts had been trying to tell him the whole time.]
[Oh. Oh. He couldn't help but jerk when he heard the voice, heart beating quicker as he remember Mavros last whispering shameful, enticing things into his ear. Teasing and licentious and only in play. None of it serious, which was the only reason why it had been permitted. But oh, it had intrigued and tempted him, and he knew that his own scent had likely goaded Mavros into more, into seeing what sort of reaction he could get from Dorian. It had taken every ounce of his willpower, every scrap of stubborn contrariness not to beg to be taken there at the party. Disgraceful as it would have been, more for him than for Mavros, it might have almost been worth it.]
[Each footfall on the deep carpet seemed to vibrate through him, it was a struggle to keep his eyes down on the carpet as he knew he had to, but finally he saw the tips of Mavros' perfectly polished shoes in his field of vision. He felt the muscles in his back and arms twitch as he anticipated the touch of Mavros' hand. The touch of the bow under his chin was a surprise, it made him shiver and he raised his chin, grey eyes meeting those of his new master. Daring, perhaps, but he wanted to see those eyes again, bright and intelligent and charming. Maker, he was as beautiful as Dorian had remembered him, as commanding, as charming. He wanted him with an ache that he rarely felt, and he swallowed, wanting his voice to be measured when he spoke. He was not a bitch in heat, he could and would control himself.]
[And so his voice was level, but low. There was no disguising how he felt, and Dorian did little to hide it, but oh in front of that grin, faced with the force of the sheer anticipation in Mavros' smile, in his eyes, was a thing to be reckoned with.]
I do.
[His arousal was already spiking, he wanted Mavros, wanted him as intensely as he had at the party, in the way that being denied something only made you want it more. He was a slave, and an omega at that, his desires were largely irrelevant and often unimportant. He had never expected this, but for once he was not unhappy with it.]
[The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile and he licked his lips carefully.]
Choo choooooo
[He'd taken to counting the patterns in the carpet, following the design with his eyes, but something else kept drawing his attention away, inexorably, like a magnet, making it hard to really do much of anything other than fidget and wait. It wasn't until he heard the door open and heard his new master speak that he realized what his brain, his instincts had been trying to tell him the whole time.]
[Oh. Oh. He couldn't help but jerk when he heard the voice, heart beating quicker as he remember Mavros last whispering shameful, enticing things into his ear. Teasing and licentious and only in play. None of it serious, which was the only reason why it had been permitted. But oh, it had intrigued and tempted him, and he knew that his own scent had likely goaded Mavros into more, into seeing what sort of reaction he could get from Dorian. It had taken every ounce of his willpower, every scrap of stubborn contrariness not to beg to be taken there at the party. Disgraceful as it would have been, more for him than for Mavros, it might have almost been worth it.]
[Each footfall on the deep carpet seemed to vibrate through him, it was a struggle to keep his eyes down on the carpet as he knew he had to, but finally he saw the tips of Mavros' perfectly polished shoes in his field of vision. He felt the muscles in his back and arms twitch as he anticipated the touch of Mavros' hand. The touch of the bow under his chin was a surprise, it made him shiver and he raised his chin, grey eyes meeting those of his new master. Daring, perhaps, but he wanted to see those eyes again, bright and intelligent and charming. Maker, he was as beautiful as Dorian had remembered him, as commanding, as charming. He wanted him with an ache that he rarely felt, and he swallowed, wanting his voice to be measured when he spoke. He was not a bitch in heat, he could and would control himself.]
[And so his voice was level, but low. There was no disguising how he felt, and Dorian did little to hide it, but oh in front of that grin, faced with the force of the sheer anticipation in Mavros' smile, in his eyes, was a thing to be reckoned with.]
I do.
[His arousal was already spiking, he wanted Mavros, wanted him as intensely as he had at the party, in the way that being denied something only made you want it more. He was a slave, and an omega at that, his desires were largely irrelevant and often unimportant. He had never expected this, but for once he was not unhappy with it.]
[The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile and he licked his lips carefully.]
Happy birthday.