"Aren't you the poet?" he returns drolly, even if Cassidy's raunchy rhyme might be closer to a limerick, which Eccarius hardly would consider poetry needless to say. Clearly Cassidy needs to get him stoned and teach him all the nasty little ditties.
He lifts his hips enough to give Cass some room to work, tilting his head in consideration. "Well, since we are already in position for the latter, why waste it?"
With that decision made, Cass moves to kick his own jeans from off his ankles, squirming under Eccarius to finally free himself of them. And once that zipper is open his hand slips in and cups, the inactivity a light tease.
"Just don't expect me own lad to be up to much, alright? I got puncture marks to be contendin' with." Ones that won't be healing until he gets a pint or two of blood inside himself. He's fairly certain he's lost more than that thanks to his blood thirsty boyfriend, and therefore any lack of responsiveness or usual bursts of activity can be excused, he thinks.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He lifts his hips enough to give Cass some room to work, tilting his head in consideration. "Well, since we are already in position for the latter, why waste it?"
no subject
"Just don't expect me own lad to be up to much, alright? I got puncture marks to be contendin' with." Ones that won't be healing until he gets a pint or two of blood inside himself. He's fairly certain he's lost more than that thanks to his blood thirsty boyfriend, and therefore any lack of responsiveness or usual bursts of activity can be excused, he thinks.