Laguna looks over at you, and smiles, the faintest of light bulbs finally going on in his addled brain. "Yes, that would be my office..." he smiles. "After you... since you are the guest," he says moving alongside you near the door way, and waiting for you to open it.

Sigurd has been waiting on it to click, see. Far be it from him to have read those signs wrong. Even an empath has its disadvantages, especially when one refrains from using it. Normally, this is something that he wouldn't even do. But there was a chord struck.... not looking for heavy romance, but instead the physical side of the act, and that's what gets the man to open the door and step within. "Considering you sleep on the couch.... it must be comfy...."

Laguna nods as he follows you into the office. He reaches a hand over your shoulder and with a few swipes of his hand, finds the light switch, and turns on the lights. "Yeah, here it is, home away from sweet home." he muses, following you past the racks of supplies and to the office area set up in the back.

Sigurd doesn't bother to look as your hand reaches over his shoulder -- that eye is blind, anyhow, so what's the point. The lights coming on, however, is a mild shock, but one that certainly doesn't last. "S'nice," he honestly gives, not worrying about the jacket he left outside -- doesn't have any money in it, and only a few people will identify the half-covering on sight. He continues back, toward the office that remains beyond the store room, and immediately flops back upon the couch. Silver against his skin can be seen, but it's s fleeting thing as he stops stretching long enough to note, "You're right... it is comfy.... show me just how comfy it can be?"

Laguna look at you with a lift of an eyebrow, and a slow smile crossing his lips. He cants his head to the side, and lets out a sigh before replying. Luckily for him there is enough beer in his system to alleviate MOST of his innate shyness and awkwardness in rare situations like this. Walking slowly towards you and the couch, he undoes his utility belt, and lets it fall to the floor with a "thump" next to the couch before leaning forward and slowly lowering himself down to lay on the couch beside you. It is long enough, but not quite wide enough for two, so he lays partially on top of your chest, a hand moving slowly across it, feeling the muscle beneath the taut material.

Just think... no leg cramps! That's always a good thing, isn't it? At least in this situation. The only white left on his person is those long boots; the rest of Sigurd's outfit -- if one can even call it that -- is a dark indigo, an odd contrast against dark skin. That belt falls with a thump, but he barely notices, not when you're stretching out next to him. Partially above, as well, though right now his hands are a touch busy moving through dark strands of hair. His body only moves slightly as your hand slips across his chest -- underneath the material can be seen the indentation for rings. It makes one wonder just how much he keeps himself hidden. "Yes... you're right... this is comfortable," is finally murred out.

Laguna closes his eyes, and as your hands slip through his long hair, he sighs with long pent up desire. His hand moves back and forth along the ridges of your chest, feeling every rise and rift, then finding the rings, he brushes them with his fingers, enjoying the sensation it gives to his fingers, and and he wonders what it is doing for you.

Those fingers continue to claw through coffee hued strands, but it's only when your hands brush across those rings does he respond. His body does in predictable fashion, nipples straining against that tight shirt, but his back arches as well, lifting you slightly as well, though his hands move to your waist, to keep you from sliding off. How long has it been? Too long, he's afraid, though now his head lifts, to brush against your throat absently, still not willing to move your hands from their ministrations.

Laguna leans back, exposing his throat, and a soft moan escapes as your lips even hint at touching his skin. His heart is already pounding, and a heated throb has long since started lower as well. "Oh.... God..." he moans softly, slipping his hand around until he finds access to bare belly skin, and toys with the rings with delicate flicks of his finger tips. His other hand slides down your side, feeling for your hip, then tracing inward.

That's all Sigurd needed, really. For you just to lean back so, to expose the throat that he had been trying to lip earlier. His tongue brushes across warm skin, to suckle at times and bite in others, but that pauses when you play with those rings. It brings a soft gasp to escape, though his hips buck slightly as your hand drifts inward. It causes his own hands to slide down your back, to brush across your rear glancingly before giving a squeeze. This... is becoming a very good idea, indeed.

Laguna opens his eyes briefly, everything swimming before him now. He winces slightly as you grasp his ass, and a low moan escapes his lips as you hold and kiss him. "Oh Sigurd... I..." he starts to say, as his breath begins to quicken. He hooks his pinkie in a ring and pulls softly as he finishes, "I'm not ... experienced with men. Really..." he says, almost apologetically. "But... I'm not afraid... I want it." he sighs, leaning into your kisses, "I want it so badly..." he says, blinking his eyes closed as wetness gathers at the corners.

Sigurd continues to nuzzle that part of your throat, the one that gets you to gasp out in spite of yourself. He likes how it comes out, breathless and panicked, wanting in spite of.... not having any experience? That gets him to stop, along with the tug on that navel ring, before he gives you a faint smile. "It's okay... you're not going to get any if I stop, now are you..?" And his hands haven't stopped, fingers tugging at fatigues, trying to at least pull that belt open. "I'll show you.... don't worry about it."

Laguna shakes his head, and lifts his hips to aid you in tugging down his fatigues, the belt being long gone. "No. I don't want you to stop..." he pants, leaning his forehead down on your chest, and inhaling the scent of your skin beneath. "Just tell me what to do... I'll do it..." he whispers, a tremble in his voice. "I'll do it all." he says looking up at last, his eyes locking with the one observing him.

Sigurd notes, "We'll take it bit by bit.... but let's get these things off first," is noted softly, even as Sigurd tugs once more on those fatigues. A good pull gets them loose, though in the end Sigurd forgets about them once they're out of the way. Instead his hands glide over bared skin, glad that he left his jacket behind elsewhere. It doesn't stop him, however, from leaning forward, sitting up somewhat, even though he keeps an arm around you. "C'mon.... lie back." Someone has something in store, if his gentle nudges to push you back to the couch are any indication.

Ragnarok lets a soft moan escape as you pull his fatigues down. As you coax him to lean back, he kicks off the pants, and can't help but blush a bit, dropping his pants for a near stranger here in his loft. "H- How's this?" he asks as he slowly reclines. The tell tale bulge in his tighty whities give away any chance off hiding the fact he is aroused by all of this

Sigurd gives a faint smile at the moan, but he doesn't stop just there. Instead, he watches as you lean back, shoving fatigues aside even as you recline on the couch. That bulge is evident, even as he leans forward, taking only a moment to kick off those long boots. It leaves him only in indigo shorts and top, but even the latter is being removed with an errant gesture, leaving nothing left but the former. "Completely perfect, you know." There's a smile then, even as he leans forward, to let the brunt of his waist rest on one arm, even has his lips move back to your throat, suckling idly. "It's the same as any other lover, you know..." is given softly. Feel free to touch, explore... he certainly doesn't seem to mind.

Ragnarok closes his eyes and arches into your kisses, he parts his lips as the need to breathe quicker comes over him along with the pounding of his heart. He lifts his hands up slowly, sliding them down your slender, muscular sides. The skin covering the muscles is velvety soft, and the muscles underneath, firm and taunt. As his hands take inventory of your sides, they glide slowly downward to drift over the rounds of your backside. "This... is so ... nice..." he says. He winces slightly as a vagrant leg cramp strikes him in his left leg.

Sigurd's head dips further, moving along the length of your throat, biting gently in some places, not so in others. Leaving his mark? Perhaps. But they have always said it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Not that he's quiet now, a drawn hiss escaping nearly clenched teeth as your hands explore his sides. That backside clenches, even as his free hand pushes up your shirt, fingers gliding over the exposed skin underneath. "I should hope so....." is given softly, not chiding. It's been far too long... one would feel out of practice, but it doesn't seem to be that way, even as his kisses continue their downward trail, now moving across the pains of your chest.

Ragnarok goes from moaning to whimpers as your teeth pick along his fevered skin, leaving a varying array of red marks on his neck and throat. He digs his nails into your ass as you bite him, his body arching up as you kisses move farther south and his chest and belly are bared and touched next. "I... I... Oh... " is all he can manage to say, his mind spinning and his body doing into overdrive.

At least those bites are soothed with kisses soon afterwards. At least, that' the idea. Right now, however, he goes from leaving his marks upon your throat to exploring the skin that was once hidden under that shirt. He doesn't even bother removing it, letting his tongue brush across muscled pecs, though he pauses at one ridged piece of flesh there. That nipple is given lavish attention, lapped and suckled upon, even as Sigurd's weight begins to rest upon you. There's a lot more to do, even though his free hand moves toward that cramped leg, fingers brushing against taunt skin, trying to relax it. "Calm down.... this only gets better."

Ragnarok pants near your ear, as he stares up at the ceiling, "Better?" he asks, voice coming out as a nervous squeak. o O ( Damn leg!) As your body rest more on his, he closes his eyes again, his hands making circular motions on your backside, then one slides up to caress the muscles of your smooth and defined back. "How... how many times have you done this?" he whispers in your ear. As your tongue and mouth find his nipple, he cries out, hips thrusting upward against the soft steel of your belly. "Oh God..." he sighs.

Much better, as far as Sigurd's concerned. Well enough for the man's fingers to grip that cramped leg.... to massage it despite his attention being solely focused on that nipple. It doesn't remain there, as he moves his head to the other side, to give the other just as much as fond caress, even as he growls softly in the back of his throat. He can feel your hands moving against his back, muscles shifting underneath questing fingers, but it's only after he settles your leg to the side, pulling it just over his hip, that he answers you. "Enough." It's the safest answer he can truly give, given the circumstances, but considering your hips and hardness remind him of his goal, he gets back to his work. Well, not exactly work, more like pleasure, taking his sweet time, if nothing else. His body shifts, moving lower still, even as his kisses decide to move along the length of your abdomen. There's only one course left, and he'll be reaching it soon enough.

Ragnarok feels the need to confess for some reason, and when he finds the breath to speak, he says, "I... I've... only done it... once before..." he manages to get out before you switch nipples, and then lap at his belly. "Oh... Oh... That's nice..." he moans. As you lift his leg up over your hip, he slides down farther under you, and the butterflies in his belly become bats. For just a second, he feels like he is drowning. o O (Air? Where's the air?) When you answer him, "Enough" he ponders what that means for a moment. Well, never afraid to try to learn something new, why stop now? Besides everything feels so nice so far. "Oh... Sigurd..." he sighs, giving in to what ever comes next.

Sigurd only gives a smile when you give that confession. Just once? That's okay. No, really, it is. It's hard to believe this now mellow man was a wild child in his younger years.... but it's all too true. "Don't worry.... I'll take care of you." Surprisingly, it isn't a lusty statement, given haphazardly in the throes of passion.... he means it, a sincere statement. Still, there is a musky smell that arouses him, shown in the tightness of those shorts, even as he moves down to white underwear. Should've taken it off earlier, but he's not complaining. Besides, the chase is as good as the goal. Especially when it allows his hands to move down your hips, fingers snagging those briefs before he tugs them down, just enough to free you. He doesn't stop there, however, pulling them completely off and away, to toss them with your fatigues as he spreads your legs open. Much better, even as his chest glances against your hardness, before one hand entraps it. He doesn't say anything this time, however, rough palm caressing hardened flesh -- instead, he watches for your reaction.

Ragnarok watches you with large anxious eyes as you move down his body like a squad on recon. Instinct takes over, and with a graceful arch and wave of his body, he aids you in removing his underwear. His ample amount of manhood rises to full attention once freed, and Ragnarok sucks in a shuddering breath as you part his legs and cradle yourself between them. When your hand grips hold of his shaft, he tosses his head back against the bed, and moans, hips again hitching upward seeking a target. Hell the crack of dawn has been the closest thing to sex he has gotten for a very long time. He scrunches his eyes closed, and mentally tries to calm something down before he implodes. Heart rate, breathing, that urge to thrust like a fiend. He bites down on his lower lip rather than trust anything he might say at this point. He lays there, body as tense as a tripwire.

There is no rushing, no pushing you to your limits so soon -- only one dark blue eye is able to watch you, the rest hidden under eye patch and silver hair -- but that isn't what he's thinking on. That look is brief, fleeting, but he saw more there than words could ever give him. The flicker of emotions across your face.... whether or not you've done this before, it's something that you seem to be responding to, and well. It's enough for him to take the next step, even as your back arches. So many things that can be done, but he is going to do something that is most natural for you. After all... you did say you had a wife. That silver hair falls completely to cover his expression as his head dips; you can't see what he does next, but you can certainly feel it, as his lips move over the head of your shaft. One hand slides up to your chest, to brush at heaving flesh, even as his tongue lolls around that tip. It doesn't last though, even as his head bobbles, taking that length into his mouth, eventually moving far enough to slide you down his throat. He's come to a decision on something, but first, he has to get you ready.

Ragnarok cries out at the first touch of your mouth upon him, and bright lights go off in his brain. His body arches again, and a light sweat breaks out all over him. He gasps for air, and his hands fly from where the idly stroked and explored your sleek form to grip on your head. He stops your motions just for a minute. His breathing coming so fast now, perhaps that is why his head is swimming. "Oh please... wait.." he pleads, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Focus! Focus! He tells himself. Got to maintain some control here... It's not like he's a kid.... or is he?

Sigurd doesn't pause with that one touch, however, only slowing once you cry out that first time. To much too soon? Perhaps, but he doesn't stop, fingers continuing to glance across your chest in spite of his movements below your waist. It's not meant to last long; actually, it's meant to help for what's to come. Your hands upon his head only aid him, helping him get you deeper down his throat. No words, for he couldn't form them regardless right now. No, his concentration is on your body alone, how it reacts to what he's doing, and furthermore, your emotions. Being an empath is a lovely thing in this case, to be able to taste what is going on through your mind... and knowing when to stop. He does when you ask him to wait, lifting his head enough to turn his face, lips brushing against your fingers. "S'ok..." And it is. For what he has planned next... you've done before. Just not with him.... not this way. Another kiss, and soon he's crawling back atop you, legs now straddling your own waist. The thought had occurred to him to ask about this... but he doubts you're going to be upset, either way. Not when he's grasping your length once more, holding it still before he can position himself above you. "I... think you'll like this..." is finally given, softly.

Ragnarok shudders at every stroke of your mouth along his shaft, and seepage of salty pre cum tell you he is oh so close to going over the edge. "Sigurd..." he pants, moving his head from side, still looking for air. When you move your mouth from his cock then kiss him, he returns the kiss with savage intensity, he barely notices your shifting of positions until his cock is grasped with your hand again. Panting madly, he opens eyes, and a questioning look reads in them. His smooth chest is slick with sweat, and the hair at his temples is dampened as well. He looks into that beacon like eye of yours, lips slightly parted as he grasps what he believes is coming next. "Like it? As long as you are doing it to me Sigurd, I will... love it." he breathes softly watching you and waiting.

So close... but Sigurd doesn't want you to go that way. Tonight... he'll take the part of the uke. If you want to later on.... that's later on. Not now, even as he pulls back from that kiss, that savage intensity making him end it with a growl. The want to make love to you... the need to is palatable; it is something that allows him to make quick work of his own underwear and shorts, leaving him above you, to watch your expression with just a hint of ecstasy. "I'm.... I'm glad," comes at last, even as he leans over you, sitting down... and back. It's a bit pressured at first, even as he shifts you against his anus, but experience as taught him how to do this some time ago. Even the years could wane that feeling, as he rocks back and forth, taking a little of you in him each time. It doesn't stop until he's at the hilt, and by then, that sun darkened form is slick with sweat, chest panting for air as he comes to rest atop of you. "I... ah.... this should feel familiar...." He doesn't stop, though. It was only to allow those few words before he shifts his hips, dragging your length out of him, before sitting on it again.

Ragnarok meets your eye with his, and his serene expression rests between wonder and resolve. Inwardly he is relieved it is going to go this way, the first time with you. A quick drunken coupling between cadets is nothing like this, no way. He places his hands on your thighs, gripping then firmly as you rise and descend, rise and fall, slowly impaling yourself onto his aching shaft. Once your are fully sheathed around him. The pressure and tight heat causes him to toss his head back and cry out again. He doesn't cum, but the thunderous rush of blood in his ears tells him he won't be able to fight it off long. "Oh God.... Sigurd..." he moans, long and loud as he bites down on his lower lip. He doesn't realize how hard until he tastes his own blood, running his tongue over the cut with a leering grin. As you set the rhythm and pace, he braces his feet on the bed, and lifts his hips up and down again and again. His lithe form moves like a wave under your body with the grace of a dancer. He may be a klutz in the vertical world, but while horizontal, and making love, there are no cramps in the legs, no missteps, just grace and thrusting virile fury. "Sigurd...." he says again, softly pleading.

Yes, he could understand that. Only having sex once before? It was probably years ago, a fumbling attempt at best.... there was no way he was going to hurt you in that regard. Instead, he'll take the brunt of it... and gladly, if the look on his face is any indication. He sets the pace, but even he can't keep it too long up here, not like this. Just watching you below him, feeling you shifting inside him... it's too much. It's enough for Sigurd to cry out, head dipping to brush against yours, licking at your abused lip. "Gods... take me... please...." It's almost pleading, how he tugs at you, pulling you atop him.... it's been far too long. He's spent so much time taking care of his brother, watching him grow.... how long has it been? Ten years? More? Far too long in his mind, even as his legs wrap about your waist.

Ragnarok opens his eyes wide. Wait! Wasn't He on the Bottom being the top a minute ago? Now he's on the top being the top? Oh God who cares?? He looks down at you, eyes half shaded with desire and a heady sense of power. His damp hair slides into his face as he bends down to kiss you eagerly, flexibility is not a problem for him. He is thrusting savagely almost as soon as the positions are reversed. It all comes natural at this point, grip, thrust, feel. He tosses his hair back with a whip of his head, and then returns the favor, applying teeth to neck and collarbone. Little growls stir in his throat as he clamps down on your collarbone, and his hands grip your flanks with steely fingers, lifting you slightly as he pistons his body in and out of yours. 10 seconds to love? Ha! He'll be lucky to get to 6. "Yes... yes... Oh... Sig..urd... God!" he grunts with each thrust until with the last, the world explodes around him. His vision tunnels and everything blurs. He holds your hips in a death grip, his fingernails digging into tanned flesh, and with a spasming of his hips, he pumps his seed into your body as everything goes white.

Was. Sigurd can only keep that up for so long -- someone, it seems, is quite used to being the uke. He certainly was as his relationship with Ramsus blossomed, despite a moment of dominance in the beginning. Experience only goes so far; once Ramsus gained it, it was clear someone was dominate, and someone loved being dominated. Enthusiastic submissive? It's as close as you're going to see right here. Sigurd just marvels as your hair slides forward, a moment of irritation making him pull off that eye patch. You can see the ruin underneath, how it's scared the skin around his eye, and the milky white that is the eye itself... but it really doesn't detract from his looks, nor the mask of pleasure that it is currently contorted in. his hands move to your shoulders, gripping tightly, legs hiking to settle tightly about your torso, allowing an easier access. It might last six seconds, but between your thrusts, your bites along his throat .... he certainly doesn't last for much longer after that. Only your name is strained out on his lips, choked and mangled as his body stiffens under yours. The white of his hair is now equaled by the seed on his belly, stomach clinching in spite of his wants, shifting a touch under your grip as he tries to regain his breath. "....." It takes several moments, really, even as a finger trails within the sweat of your chest, only to mingle with his own juices, before he brings it all to his lips. ".... I think that's what you were asking for."

Ragnarok remains with his hands planted alongside you and his head tossed back for what seems a lifetime. Slowly, slowly, he returns to his body, to this plane of existence, and lowering his head, he regards you with the most serene of expressions. A soul caged and stunted has broken free. Sure, it was just an orgasm, but for the first time in years, it wasn't self induced. This one was shared, and rocked out of him by this incredible... beautiful bronze man beneath him who is smiling up at him in the most wondrous of ways. "I... have never felt... anything like that before..." he says, breaths still coming rushed, but slowing. He leans forward, again with the flexibility of a cat, and runs his tongue up the center of your pecs, tasting sweat and seed, everything about you. He lifts his eyes to gaze into yours, and a smile creeps across his face. "Just what the doctor ordered I do believe..." he says, and with a slow motion of his hips, he withdraws his body from yours, reveling in the expression that crosses your face as he does so. The want is still there. Then as he begins to feel the stress of the exertion, he lowers himself down onto your from. The puddle of fluids sealing his body to yours. With a sigh, he strokes your shoulder and closes his eyes. "Oh yeah.... that's the stuff..." he mutters.

It takes a while for everything to calm down. Bit by bit his body begins to relax, the clinching of his anus about you slowly calming, to finally let you slip out if you like. To feel your emotions is almost as good as what happened physically... in fact, it's more so. One of these days, he's going to have to let you feel his emotions during the act. Ramsus always liked that.... and who wouldn't want to know just how their lover feels when they touch them? It's one of the reasons Sigurd enjoys being an empath, period. That smile remains, silver hair slicked back against pillows and sheets, though he gives a harsh sound at your comment of not feeling anything like that before. "I haven't.... in a long time. And never.... that good." Sorry Kahr.... this doesn't come close. You weren't as open, not as willing to take him to the end so easily. That muscle flexes under your touch, causing a bark of a laugh, though he legs shift; muscles ache from held so tightly for even those few seconds, they instead twine about yours to let you rest upon him now. You pull out, and he's unable to respond to your comment about what any doctor ordered -- the gasp and expression say it alone... wonderful. "I'm glad," is finally said as you pull close. "I never knew how good it could be...."

Ragnarok sighs, his body now letting him know how much that took out of him, 19 years old or not. He curls up next to you, one leg slid over your thighs, an arm under his head for a pillow and the other swirling around in the moisture on your chests. He closes his eyes, and just lets his mind go blank. It feels so good. No worries, no stress, no more of that horrid pressure within. "I will never be able to thank you enough... for sharing this.... yourself with me." he says, then places a kiss on your shoulder, followed by a long, slow grooming lap with his tongue. "Stay here tonight. I would die to wake up alone after sharing this with you.." he says with a slight hitch of emotion in his voice. He kisses your shoulder again, not trusting his voice.

Sigurd isn't doing much better at nearly thirty. There are some things that are just tiring, and this is one of them. You curl up against him, and instantly, he wraps his arms about you. No preamble, no need for one.... he just holds you, allowing the hazy feelings of this union swirl about a bit more in his mind. His hands are focused on your back, moving along muscle and sweat, massaging in spite of himself. "You don't have to.... otherwise, I'd have to thank you for letting me." Now... what? You said you were only looking for someone to screw your brains out. Should he stay? Go? You answer that for him, really, even as Sigurd listens to you, a smile coming to weary features even as his lips brush the top of your forehead. "Alright. I... didn't want to leave." And that's the truth of it, even as he tugs at the sheets, finally getting them wrapped about the pair of you. The nights get cool, especially after such exertion... and he wants to keep this feeling for a while longer.

Ragnarok leans into your kiss, then tilts his head up to press his lips against yours. When he breaks the kiss, the throb from his bite begins anew, and he licks his lips slowly. "I would love to know we could meet again." he starts to say, then after clearing his throat, starts again. "I would love to meet with you again, for more of this... and other things as well." he pauses, "I am told I have a great sense of humor. Perhaps next time, I can make you laugh." he grins, lifting up a bit so he can look you in the eye.

Sigurd winces as you lick your lips, knowing it was from the bite that he caused. There's a moment where he leans, to kiss at your lips again, a gentle touch not to bruise what had already been hurt before. Love... to meet him again? "......" It takes a while, especially when you start once more, and finish your statement, and it's only then that the man relaxes. "Thank you..... I was hoping this wouldn't be a one night thing." He did enough of those in his youth. As you were awkward in your teenage years, he was completely the opposite, and that's rather scary, when one thinks about it. Make him laugh? It comes now, actually, when you make that statement -- a soft chuckle, that makes his chest rumble more than anything. "I don't think you'll have a problem with that.... not at all."

Ragnarok nods, and after leaning for a soft kiss, sharing a bit of his tongue with yours, he snuggles down alongside your warm form. It won't be long before he is fast asleep. He will sleep better tonight that he has in months. For the first time in a long time, sleep comes naturally and well earned instead at the end of a bottle. "Goodnight Sigurd-san. Sleep well." he says softly, drowsiness evident.