nysalogs | . all you have's your axe to grind . closed

[All of this over a little water in the face. Solomon's exaggerated duress only strengthens the temptation to hold his face under the water. Maybe, with the man sputtering for breath and writhing under him, Takasugi's thoughts would grow as lewd as his host thinks they've become.

There are way too many layers to being a contradictory shitheel - acting against expectations has its breaking point.

A time when simply doing as he pleases is all he can manage, everything else be damned.

Takasugi's hand splats against Solomon's face, shoving him out of the water's trajectory. Not really mercy, given how much weight he bears down on him with in the process, but soon he's drawing back, hair plastered over his face.

He wipes it aside with his bicep, and leans back onto his haunches.] Haa?

[Takasugi spits out some water, before climbing off of the man entirely.] Want to wash it all?

[Make sure he doesn't smell bad. Or whatever-

Takasugi's not planning on making this an option.]

[There's a second utterance of his name in the way of having a hand -- wet and unpleasant, directing his face out of the trajectory, supposedly. He doesn't wike it. Fortunately, the Chinese water torture comes to and end and Solomon's scrambling back up, flailing with enough accuracy to turn the hot water off.]

What-?!

[A demand-i-question; it's not like the question's incomprehensible or something they hadn't already gone over to some extent, he's just offened over the fact that Takasugi would be hung up on such a thing even now, after very nearly drowning him. He hasn't caught his breath from it.]

I won't. [Let him overreact for the next ten minutes, so he can feel bad and go back on his word.] You aren't an invalid, clearly.

[For someone who wants 2 die..................catch him dramatically leaning out of the tub to tab at his face with the nearest towel.]

[Heat quickly dissipates in the rest of the bath, growing tepid - in equilibrium with the steam beginning to fill the bathroom. Solomon's left simmering alone in the thick atmosphere. It's draining to flail around with so much humidity.

~~As if Takasugi doesn't take every opportunity to drag Solomon around in Wyver.~~

Clearly incredulous, Solomon's ire is...

encouraging.

'Generously', Takasugi allows Solomon the time to lean aside and wipe himself clean. There's no feeling dry, the effort is futile - and that's why it's allowed.]

What time to we need to leave?

[Make him do it himself, and he'll ensure a late arrival.

With that, he sinks down into the bath, claiming all of the space Solomon abandoned to lean out of the tub. Head leaned against the wall, he disengages entirely. Relaxing, or something - anything but washing himself.]

Don't worry about that.

[With more bite then necessary, but he's cross, having been nearly drowned. He'll sit up as soon as he's able, regard him with dissipating anger...]

We'll leave once you've finished.

[Amends to a still-shitty response. He's testing his hair in the meantime, slightly (A LOT) bothered by the way it plasters to his head. Having it cling to his scalp in the shower is one thing...

Moreover: Takasugi's a bit like s giant dog in this case. Completely helpeless. He'd never harbored any faith in him washing himself, but it wouldn't have been so bad to be proven wrong. Once he's finished primping his hair to Wet n Wavy, he'll glare off to the side.]

I'll wash you if you sit properly.

[There it is, the concession we've all been waiting for.]

[The effect of only opening one eye to spare a glance to someone's fussing is somewhat dampened by only having one eye to open. Keening his head into the cool wall, Takasugi casts the man a narrow glance, watching fingers curl in wavy hair.

Delicate.

White bathroom, the bathtub filled with bubbles that crackle in the silence, surrounding a pale man and his flaxen hair. It's not a gentle scene, the irritation on Solomon's face disrupts the potential tranquility.

But, for once, Takasugi doesn't imagine the entire thing splattered in blood.

He's simply watching.

Appreciating the scene for the strange, mundane beauty it possesses.

His blood settles, heat dispelled along with the warmth of the water. Tepid...

Calm?] Take your time. [Said in a sigh, as he peels himself away from the wall and settles in the middle of the tub. He takes his own advice, moving languorously, and occupying no less space than he had when sprawled against the back of the basin.

Poised as Solomon so petulantly requested, Takasugi meets his eye with a salacious flick of tongue, meaningless but for plucking the strings of the man's patience.]

[Through all of his observing, Solomon's semi-unaware. He's just busy fixing himself, but to claim he wasn't mindful of that eye appreciating him -- the scene, would be a lie. He does wait to question it, and by the time his jaw slackens up to do so, Takasugi's speaking instead.

It's his turn to watch, admire. It's not even anything remarkable; Takasugi's being compliant in lieu of a new deal. It's still -- he's fascinating, charming with very little effort. It isn't often they spend time with one another in such a light -- existing without pretense. Mock dates that, like he adult version of how five year olds flirt. Though Takasugi very nearly drowned him three minutes ago and is fixed on treating him like a maidservant....

At least he's handsome. Must be all the grime that's washed off thus far.]

Ah. [There it is. A quick reminder of whom, exactly, he's dealing with. He needed that. He'd nearly become twitterpated there.] I can remove that muscle for you, if it's something you don't want anymore.

[He'll shift closer now, purposely press against him in reaching for the body wash. It does lie just behind Takasugi's form, but the entire process is willfully lewd.]

[He's been called handsome before - in tittering voices of women angling to be paid for their company. Compliments he'd enjoyed, if only out of a petty sense of superiority. Not all men in his unit had gained such favor among courtesans.

Solomon would make a good host in that manner. Pale, gentle features. A fruitless dedication to decorum, hollow gestures that aim to please.

And the lascivious associations he carries with bathing another. It could be nothing more than a chore, but Solomon has long since escalated the exchange. Intimate. A gesture of servitude.

Sensual.

Too bad Takasugi offers no compensation but his company.

His tongue doesn't recoil from the threat, deep red marring the scene for a moment longer before slipping slowly behind lips. All in all, a welcoming gesture - he'd enjoy feeling those sharp teeth drag against sensitive flesh.

Instead, he's levied with the man's weight. Forced to bear it, lest he sink out of comfort. Rather than glower, Takasugi arches his head into the man's chest. There should be no complaints of clean hair brushing against his skin, a nuzzle offered to encourage the physicality.

Of hands, roaming his body to clean it, and anything else.]

[The soap isn't smeared on a loofah, though plenty are hanging here and there. Assorted bath brushes lie out of reach -- maybe on purpose, most likely a coincidence. The body wash finds a palm and he's easing up, encouraging some weight against him as he smears some of that lather over his shoulders, down Takasugi's back. Prep Work. It comes ahead of a massage starting at his shoulders, kneading carefully, inching downward to work taught muscles between his thumbs in mostly circular motions. It's a pattern he won't stray far from, working the tissue with both hands right down to the waterline wherein he'll scoop some up, run it over his back and re-pave an upward path, rinsing as he goes. It's a willfully slow process -- ironic, considering how much he'd fought the concept.

A quick kiss finds the side of Takasugi's head, intentionally ruffling the spot with his nose. This is the part where he gets aroused for literally no reason. Bare minimum.]

How is it?

[Murmured, finally, while smoothing the spot between his shoulderblades. A second hand's fallen to a thigh -- outer, resting idle.]

[Waiting, shoulders hunched forward, Takasugi anticipates either a hurried cleanse - perhaps involving nails, to pry the supposed grime from him - or an indulgence. Solomon falls into the later, and the man under his hands sighs.

Stills.

Calmness settles over the water, the only ripples emanating from Solomon's thighs and what errant droplets fall back to the surface. Takasugi lets his body move in gentle sways, acquiescing to every nudge and grip. Muscles taut, and a back covered in scars, the massage is captivating.

The only improvement would be the taste of tobacco, smoke hanging heavy in the humid room.

He hasn't been made pliant, but his body is relaxed. When the kiss presses into his hair, Takasugi wants nothing more than to lean back into the man. Afflict Solomon with all of his weight, the heaviness he'd coaxed into his shoulders with his own hands.

He isn't one for restraint.

Back Takasugi sinks, head dragging down shoulder and chest until his shoulder bumps something - between hips - that stops him in his descent. He twists, disrupting the water suddenly enough to splash some over the side. Now on his stomach, he can run a finger up that unfortunate erection.]

You tell me.

Seems like you might have enjoyed it more.

[Focus dissipates; the goal was to clean him, but he falls into a rut of massaging him -- working his muscles with the butt of both palms, feeling out his scars like mini-maps. Like braille. He maintains an upright position, only slouching as Takasugi more...or less..inches his way out of that massage. Slips downward. He's frowning.]

Where are you going?

[A quiet demand -- questi-demand. Rhetorical, as he can't be going very far. His trajectory is pretty straight forward, at least.]

This isn't a pool, you know.

[Sick burn -- or whatever. He's about to shift his legs to accommodate whatever gymnastics he's trying to do, except...

Except that he's just being a shit disturber. There's a twitch, a bodily one in defiance of his intrusive fingers. His own are quick to grab at his wrists, try to peel him off. He'd slap those hands if the water wasn't acting as a buffer.]

Don't be vulgar.

[Even though he's the one sporting an erection, uh.]

It's a normal display, when were like this. Don't make it worse.

[(〃￣ω￣〃ゞ]

[Accepting arousal as an inevitable occurrence when they're... stripped down? Touching one another? Simply spending time together? is more vulgar than flushing and excusing oneself. Some find allure in innocence, in the taboo, but Takasugi's more attracted to Solomon's defiance.

The hands wrapped around his wrists meet subtle resistance; he twists his hand, skirting knuckles along bulge in a tentative test of the man's grip.] You took your time touching me...

[An accusation: That Solomon enjoyed the map of scars painted across Takasugi's back. Hands that had roamed his body still cling to him, rebuffing his redirection. Though, he'd made the approach with intent to get back on track.] Lean back.

[He'll leave Solomon's erection be, one hand anchoring on the man's thigh and the other spreading a wet trail up abdomen to press against sternum. Encouraging his host to recline, supine and bared - an indulgence waiting to be taken.

Should Solomon acquiesce, Takasugi's hands wander. Along sides, circling navel, brushing sensitive chest. All the way up to jawline, thumb brushing over chin in an aimless effort to tilt the man's head, before he abandons it to sink his attention lower. To hip, mouth joining his hands in kneading the flesh of waist and thigh.]

You were dirty.

[A fast rebuttal, glare settling on some tiny print on the nearest shampoo bottle. Pointed defiance all around, though additional contact makes his thighs twitch reactively, something made all the more noticeable when the water's disturbed by it. As much as he'd like to wrap this up, he's somehow found himself yielding to that command; a fast excuse about Takasugi being a complaint enough bath partner. What's more obvious, is his inability to fight the man and his own desires regarding him at the same time.

So he leans back, automatically rendering himself more vulnerable -- offering. Even were he nude, a fight would be nonexistent. He's holding a breath through that exploration, teeth nearly giving chase as fingers retreat from his chin, but his head ultimately tilts back against tile. It's natural that something like this would happen, that he'd find himself fighting the confines of his undies. Maybe that's why he'd taken the extra step to cling to whatever decency available, but there aren't any preemptive measures to take when dealing with Takasugi.

A leg rises, the bottom of his foot bracing against the tub's edge.]

We should be rinsing off.

[Far from renouncing him, a hand moves to trace a shoulder, kneading over lean muscle in appreciation -- something likely meant to be a form of rejection. A push thawed into exploratory touch, retracing healed skin.]

We'll prune.

[His gripes are mellowing out, at least.]

[Water-logged or not, Solomon's fingers press a enticing path into Takasugi's shoulder. He shrugs into it, offering nothing more than a glance - a glare - spared to the man's gripes. They're bullshit, and they both know it.

Still dripping, Takasugi's hair tickles pale skin, droplets of water running paths along the man's thighs as he moves along them, from hip to the water's edge. The leg framing his head isn't ignored - with more bared, there's more for him to sink his teeth into. Lips drag along sensitive underside until he clamps down.

A single ring of red marking the spot before he draws away, and jerks wet underwear down enough to reveal the arousal beneath. It's mostly underwater, only the tip rippling against the surface. An annoying position to give head from, but Takasugi's mouth hangs open anyway.

He brings his forearm across his face to smear his hair from his view, and takes Solomon's cock into his mouth. Sucking water and air in at once, he presses his tongue against the slit before pressing further down. His face submerges, a slow descent he doesn't dwell on before rising, water dripping from his chin.

Speeding up would just splash and make a mess, so he'll maintain this taunting pace.]

[While Solomon's resisted (or tried to) all things suggestive or otherwise explicit during their time in here, there's very little physical protest when Takasugi presses on; the bite to his thigh earns a twitch of disapproval -- surprise? A combination of both, though it's something he's earned for all those meals most probably. A grunt marks that exposure, feigned displeasure abundant.]

You're taking this too f--

[The combination of his mouth and the augmented sensation of a beejer with the bathwater special has him shutting up in a hurry -- audibly sucking in a breath and holding it, shifting his weight in place. An elbow has him braced against the side of the tub, his opposite hand finds a place atop Takasugi's head. The hair there's gripped, but there isn't a lot of weight to speak for. He's not trying to drown him, and Takasugi's doing a fine job of getting him riled up.]

Ha. [An audible release of breath. A leg shifts, hooking over his shoulder. Fingers rake down the back of his head, slicking his hair back and kneading the base of his skull.] You don't listen.

[While arching his back, trying to somehow offer more of himself in this awkward ass tub...]

[That the ring of swollen pink will have vanished by the time Takasugi draws away occurred to him the moment he'd felt the resistance of muscle under his teeth. Even if he'd torn skin, there wouldn't be a damn thing to show for it within moments.

So he'll leave his mark in another way.

A sweet memory of defiance, the pink that's faded from Solomon's thighs returning to his cheeks or his cock when it crosses his mind.

Maybe that's too ambitious for such a simple carnal act, but with pale hands winding in his hair and a leg levied upon his shoulder, Takasugi can feel every ripple of muscle his tongue spreads through that slender body.

He offers those reactions an answer - a groan, deep voice and a grind of teeth along the shaft of the cock in his mouth. Twisting his jaw brings Solomon's arousal deeper, his face submerging to take the entire thing. Purely for the image of it.

When he slides back up, his eye flicks upwards, fixed on Solomon's lips.

A loud slurp, breath and water swallowed all at once, emblazons the lewdness of his position. Water flecks the back of Takasugi's throat and he suppresses a cough, continuing a more shallow bob of his head. His tongue makes up for the lack of depth, swirling in consistent, languorous circles around the tip of the other man's cock.

He never listens - everything he ever offers is on his own terms, this act of servitude (possessiveness. dominance.) is no exception.]

[It isn't even like Takasugi's doing too much, he doesn't need to do much in this particular circumstance and it feels like overkill; his leg ceaselessly twitches, slipping between his upper-back and nape with a similar unending chorus of those pathetic mewling sounds. More vocal than usual, though that doesn't say much on principle of him always sounding off when things are going well...

But he'll sometimes fight it. Pointlessly.

The bathroom's echoey and Solomon's caved quickly. His fingers twist at damp locks, weighing Takasugi down as if he's not doing a well enough job all on his own. Of course he is, of course Solomon's just a greedy piece of shit. Their eyes lock for all of a moment (or at least he thinks they do) and he'll draw his fuller lip into his mouth, muting himself as color spreads from cheek to cheek.

Not that any of that fake modest shit lasts. His head tilts back and he'll release that breath, his lip with a groan, hips twisting slightly to accommodate his tongue, adjusting to suit him...something like that.

T-11 seconds till he ejaculates without warning...10 9 8 7 6 5 4...]

[Were the water calmer, Takasugi thinks he'd be able to see Solomon's voice reverberate in it. The dulcet tone seems caught in the steam filling the room - an echo that grows louder instead of fading away.

Because Solomon's making his approval known at a constant rate, an inverse of his typical onslaught of complaints.

Takasugi doesn't have a preference between the two. Sensual or dissatisfied, both are all for him. Solomon's not the only avaricious party - Takasugi wants their fleeting eye contact to endure. He's not the one who looks away, he doesn't falter even when Solomon's body twists and breaks their gaze.

A moment earlier, the weight on his head would have caused a rebuttal in the form of teeth. Now, it's just a part of how desperate Solomon's body is to slide into his mouth. Takasugi answers with tongue, circling the edge of his head.

Until he tastes something bitter. Cum spills along his tongue and teeth, slipping down his throat after mingling with the spit and water that slip through his lips. With a - intentional - slurp, he lets Solomon's cock slip from his mouth.

Jaw open wide, he licks his teeth clean before settling into a smug grin - wider, the ache on the corners of his lips earnest, than his typical derisive smirk. It's fleeting, fading into the usual haughtiness he wears as he palms the half-hard dick he left behind.]

I'm done.

[He says, intending to stand and step out of the bath. 'Clean enough,' or something. But he doesn't move. Post-coital without even coming, Takasugi idly caresses whatever manscaping Solomon's got going on down there. He's staring...

Trying to meet Solomon's eye again.]

. all you have's your axe to grind . closed

like a dandelion... cute...

SPLAT.

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