Silver's response, for once, isn't words--at least not right away. It's a hand that finally gets his top free and moves immediately down to cup at the other's cock through his breeches, squeezing through the fabric as his teeth graze the other's ear.
He silences the rest of Benedict's words with kisses, each more hungry than the last, allowing the friction of his clothes work against Benedict's needs.
"If I hadn't noticed you, I would be telling you to take your pants off," he murmurs, and after a bit of trouble shifting himself into a sitting position he begins taking off his own shirt. He's covered in scars--not as many as some of the others, not nearly as many as someone like Flint had been, but the battle of Nassau has done damage: a sword cut here, a bullet graze there. He's looking at Benedict expectantly as he loosens his own belt, keeping firm eye contact with the other.
no subject
He silences the rest of Benedict's words with kisses, each more hungry than the last, allowing the friction of his clothes work against Benedict's needs.
"If I hadn't noticed you, I would be telling you to take your pants off," he murmurs, and after a bit of trouble shifting himself into a sitting position he begins taking off his own shirt. He's covered in scars--not as many as some of the others, not nearly as many as someone like Flint had been, but the battle of Nassau has done damage: a sword cut here, a bullet graze there. He's looking at Benedict expectantly as he loosens his own belt, keeping firm eye contact with the other.