[It takes approximately seven seconds for Solomon to realize two things. The first: Takasugi isn't trying to close-quarters combat him and second: this is far more intimate than he'd like. Only because he does like it. It's -- got nothing to do with that, however, and his arms bend and lift all awkwardly to afford him enough space to work. Like an 18th century woman being fitted for a corset.
Even once he's finished, they remain lifted as he regards the knot from above (he hasn't a full length mirror to model in front of...sooo...), impressed. Cute. Ha ha. Takasugi's weirdly talented and nice, who would've thought. Nevermind that he's still standing far too close. For a creature that's only regarded intimacy as something clinical -- appealing only from a genetic standpoint, one may think it'd be easy for him to shrug it off, nudge Takasugi away so that he can press on with whatever it is he does after gallivanting in the shitty diarrhea swamp. It isn't, and he does not. Is this enough -- no. Of course not. How deliberate of him, or desperate of himself, to be seduced with a few simple touches in a fucking Motel 6.
He's gotta feed, that's all.
A hand settles over the thought-to-be-blind-spot-lol of Takasugi's face, outstretching enough to cup the side of his chin in a palm, fingertips bumping the edge of those bandages without disturbing them.]
You know I don't care for the Shaman, but they're capable of producing a pact with their witchcraft.
[Hey Takasugi you gave me a cool clothing item and you're good at tying fishermen knots do you maybe wanna get hitched. He tilts his head, deliberately dragging the bridge of his nose down the opposite side of his face, settling in the crook of his neck.]
You and I could share in this curse, in other words.
[Is that how it really works? Who knows. Factually, Solomon's parting his lips over a stretch of throat, canines boring in with little effort and little consideration.]
no subject
Even once he's finished, they remain lifted as he regards the knot from above (he hasn't a full length mirror to model in front of...sooo...), impressed. Cute. Ha ha. Takasugi's weirdly talented and nice, who would've thought. Nevermind that he's still standing far too close. For a creature that's only regarded intimacy as something clinical -- appealing only from a genetic standpoint, one may think it'd be easy for him to shrug it off, nudge Takasugi away so that he can press on with whatever it is he does after gallivanting in the shitty diarrhea swamp. It isn't, and he does not. Is this enough -- no. Of course not. How deliberate of him, or desperate of himself, to be seduced with a few simple touches in a fucking Motel 6.
He's gotta feed, that's all.
A hand settles over the thought-to-be-blind-spot-lol of Takasugi's face, outstretching enough to cup the side of his chin in a palm, fingertips bumping the edge of those bandages without disturbing them.]
You know I don't care for the Shaman, but they're capable of producing a pact with their witchcraft.
[Hey Takasugi you gave me a cool clothing item and you're good at tying fishermen knots do you maybe wanna get hitched. He tilts his head, deliberately dragging the bridge of his nose down the opposite side of his face, settling in the crook of his neck.]
You and I could share in this curse, in other words.
[Is that how it really works? Who knows. Factually, Solomon's parting his lips over a stretch of throat, canines boring in with little effort and little consideration.]