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There were many things that struck Tavros Nitram about Doc Scratch - his politeness tempered with a severe streak of smug assurance, his confidence that somehow never became bravado, and of course, his formidable hosting skills. But the thing that always seemed to strike him first, and most forcefully, was his posture. Scratch's posture was always flawlessly perfect, completely straight without seeming rigid, and even though he was shorter than Tavros even when the brown-blooded troll was in his wheelchair, the way the good doctor carried himself always made him seem much, much taller.
Like many things about Doc Scratch, his perfect posture was a universal constant in Tavros' world, a rock for him to lean upon, a rock that never moved.
Well, at least almost never.
As his fingers furiously worked at the darkly alluring puppet man currently straddling his lap, Tavros considered how it used to bug him that Scratch didn't seem to react much to his attempts to pleasure his lover. Despite tenderly whispered assurances later, Tavros at first had blamed himself for not being good enough. But he now knew that he was wrong - though Doc's absolutely perfect poker face (or lack thereof) never faltered, over time, Tavros had learned to read the minute changes in his lover's moods. A slight twitch of a pinky here, a barely audible hiss there, and Tavros knew that he was doing a good job. However, he thought as he started pumping his hand harder and harder, the true proof would come later, and he would hasten its arrival as quickly as possible.
Sometimes Tavros manuevered his hands in such a way that he could also brush against his own straining genitalia as he passionately worked at Scratch's, but today, he was focused solely and purely on the pleasure of his partner. In some ways, Tavros enjoyed this next part even more than when Doc Scratch ran deliciously smooth felt hands across his body, and he could tell that Scratch was almost there. Brown beads of sweat starting to appear at his brow, Tavros worked his hands harder and harder, sensing Doc's impending climax. Almost... almost...
And then it happened.
There was no better word to describe Doc Scratch's orgasms than "flop". Because that is what, in every sense of the word, he did. Tavros savored it, sucking in the image like a rainbow drinker would blood, as his lover's perfect posture completely evaporated, and he writhed and flopped in Tavros' lap, bucking against the troll's body and the sides of the wheelchair. It usually lasted only a few seconds, and then his posture was completely regained, but it was as intimate an act as if he had laid against Tavros' chest gasping with release.
Despite himself, Tavros beamed at a job well done, in a way that only a 4-foot tall immortal puppet man could find not hopelessly childish, but hopelessly endearing.