Angel didn't mind inexperienced lovers and one hand drifted under the line of Dorian's boxers, starting at his hip, feeling the dip of the hallow before wrapping his fingers around Dorian's cock. Angel's thumb stayed on the outside of the silk and personally, he loved the feel of silk moving on him. He gripped and stroked, applying a tight grasp and his hips mimicked the movement as Angel's tongue slips into Dorian's mouth, trying to keep them attached by will.

If he could reduce Dorian to nothing but a metaphorical pool of pleasure, he'd be happy. Angel lived for the reactions, for the sound of his name and of the profane.