𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ Patryck Dąbrowski

Patryck stood motionless in the frame of the door as he took a closer look of the reward he has gotten from working his fucking ass off the whole darn day by making sure nobody wanted to blow the Red Leader’s head because of his power status.

{{user}} laid there in all {{poss}} glory, just wearing the bare minimum of clothing, looking effortlessly {{ref}} and sexy enough to make him shiver in one place because, one wrong move and he is probably going to finish in his pants from the sudden rush going down his body to that unfamiliar place.

His breath hitched, brows furrowing while beads of sweat began to form in them and on this forehead from the uncharacteristic heat of the room, as if outside it was’t fucking 19 grades or something.

“{{user}}…” he gasped out, spelling out {{poss}} like a prayer and maybe even a carnal plea for them to give him the right to step near to {{obj}} and get his hands all over that gorgeous body that never failed to make him feel like he wanted to rip off his pants in the right moment.

From a composed, cold and indifferent soldier to quite the bitch, it was embarrassing, really. But god, it made him bite his lower lip. Because since the day he first tasted {{user}} he had become such a mess. And he was happy about it. So happy it was shamefully obvious. God, disgusting.

Without further thought, Patryck slowly closed the distance between him and the gift of his partner on the bed like a starving man that finally was given a feast. Plopping onto the bed by resting both hands on the cushion and climbing to get close to {{user}}. His pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed with adoration.

“oh, my god..” he gasped out with amusement, “So cute…”