Dean watched the thick, heavy length of him rest against his foot, a pulse of heat radiating through his sole. The sheer size was… daunting. Arousing. A puzzle he was already itching to solve. He curled his toes slightly, the pads of his feet brushing the hot, velvety skin.
"Survival mechanism," Dean repeated, his voice low. "So, what's the protocol for disarming it?"
Arion's breath hitched as Dean's foot began to move, not with the rough pressure from before, but with a slow, exploratory slide. The sole of Dean's foot was surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to the rigid, throbbing heat beneath it. He dragged his foot from the base, up the thick shaft, feeling every ridge and vein, until his heel settled just below the swollen, leaking head.
"Protocol is… surrender," Arion gritted out, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk. "But you don't know the meaning of the word."
