"Venti? Means twenty, my part of the world. Or winds, plural. Why?" he asks, not all that curious. The line of Alex's neck is far more intriguing, the greedy sharp bobbing line of his Adam's apple as he's downing the alcohol.
Cesare sets down his glass and puts an arm over the back of the sofa, to better anchor himself while crawling forward, to better hover near Alex's lips. Brandy and bitterness. Mh. "God's sense of humour doesn't extend that far," he purrs, then plants the softest of kisses on Alex's mouth.
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Date: 2008-12-31 06:00 am (UTC)Cesare sets down his glass and puts an arm over the back of the sofa, to better anchor himself while crawling forward, to better hover near Alex's lips. Brandy and bitterness. Mh. "God's sense of humour doesn't extend that far," he purrs, then plants the softest of kisses on Alex's mouth.