Analyze.
The analyzation of a kiss was something that Havelock had always speculated on. He had chosen his victim, or as one could say, subject for experimentation, he'd put himself and said victim into a situation where he controlled what went on, what happened. Havelock's hands were gentle on the slender cheeks of the man whom he molded so expertly, tasting those parted lips beneath his.
The man's lips were soft yet still chapped from the winter's wind that blew outside. Havelock's eyes were accustomed to the low lighting enough to see that the paint on the walls was a pale orange, almost reminicent of peaches - the thought alone made him hungry, savoring the sweetness of the kisses he gave.
A nip here, a suckle there gave forth to little gasps that Havelock noted down in the journal of his mind, as his long fingers with their soft fingertips danced along a slowly bared torso as a tongue crept between his lips with little flicks of hesistancy. Tasting the other man this way sent thrills down his normally ram-rod straigth spine, the taste of the man soon analyzed and broken down : cigar smoke - the zests of oranges - peppermints.
Their lips moved quietly, seamlessly almost, broken by little grunts of pleasure from the other man with the messy raven hair. Streaks of grey at the temples, long enough to curl digits into smoothed back to give a distiguished look to a rather undistinguished man. Rough hands, calloused and worn gripped an exposed hip, causing a body to move closer.
Havelock's mind kept going where other's would have given up and given in to the sensations, to the situation as his body reacted so did his mouth, pushing more passion into the kiss, twisting it - forcing it into something passionate - skin tight and hot. But this would go no further, pressed against a desk that was suddenly to large - too...real.
Not in this room, it couldn't happen, and as Havelock listened and moved against the other man, his eyes shut but his ears alert he heard the reliable footsteps of the clerk bringing his morning files and papers. The kiss was released, diminished to nothing but a few hungry pants and a gaze that spoke of nighttime needs that would no longer be hidden, no longer secreted to the part of the mind that would be ignored.
The door opened and Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork sat behind his desk, staring at a file previously there as if with all intent of reading it. More files were placed down. A coffee cup was removed. The door shut, and a breath was expelled from aching lungs.
"That is all, Commander. You may go."
end