Tybalt could nearly always pin the point when Bran's attitude shifted, and he purred against the fae's lips. He let his fingers press into skin and tug Bran's hips forward against his, rocking into them.
It was always harder to focus after a battle. His blood pounding in his head and set on fire with adrenaline. Only burning hotter with the other body so close to his. Bran drove him just a bit crazy, and he was never completely sure why.
His lips moved to Bran's neck and turned to sharp nips of his teeth as he slid one hand up his torso.
This was the only thing beyond fighting that made Tybalt feel alive. It wasn't the same, perhaps, for him, as it was for Bran. But it was similar. At least he liked to think it was. That he could understand a bit why Bran needed this fire after the battle left him cold and hollow.
perfect purple prose?
It was always harder to focus after a battle. His blood pounding in his head and set on fire with adrenaline. Only burning hotter with the other body so close to his. Bran drove him just a bit crazy, and he was never completely sure why.
His lips moved to Bran's neck and turned to sharp nips of his teeth as he slid one hand up his torso.
This was the only thing beyond fighting that made Tybalt feel alive. It wasn't the same, perhaps, for him, as it was for Bran. But it was similar. At least he liked to think it was. That he could understand a bit why Bran needed this fire after the battle left him cold and hollow.