[The brush of wind against his neck is so light it's almost timid; Sorey doesn't know if Dezel's being gentle for his sake or if he really is hesitant (if there's a single person who worries more than him, Sorey can bet it's Dezel) so he decides that taking charge would be the most merciful thing to do. Not...that it's difficult, considering Dezel is pressed up against him, warm and welcoming, his mouth open and willing. Sorey's heart pounds as he runs his tongue over those blunt points of Dezel's teeth before allowing his hands to wander down his chest, slipping one inside the hem of his yukata.]
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