[He doesn't mind it; he's gotten used to Takasugi's flavor, scent -- all of him. His lips have grazed far-less appealing things even in recent times. Like dragon's blood, for example.]
I'm not. [Softly, even through his impatience. Like he's up to something, cus best believe a motherfucker is. He'd elaborate further, talk about preparing him but his mouth's being manipulated; rather than teeth, a smirk smears his sweet spot, temptation beating against it.
It goes neglected overall. Instead, he'll catch Takasugi's hand with his own, pry it from his jaw. A succeeding nuzzle finds the heart of his palm, but the samurai's not interested in such tenderness. His mouth protests down the center of it to his wrist...
Only for his teeth to prick into the tendons of it. Something different.]
no subject
I'm not. [Softly, even through his impatience. Like he's up to something, cus best believe a motherfucker is. He'd elaborate further, talk about preparing him but his mouth's being manipulated; rather than teeth, a smirk smears his sweet spot, temptation beating against it.
It goes neglected overall. Instead, he'll catch Takasugi's hand with his own, pry it from his jaw. A succeeding nuzzle finds the heart of his palm, but the samurai's not interested in such tenderness. His mouth protests down the center of it to his wrist...
Only for his teeth to prick into the tendons of it. Something different.]