[Takasugi would rather Solomon transform into his monstrous form and tear his neck out completely than... whatever this is. Confidence, a coy response taking the place of what he'd expected to be a complaint. The smirk against his neck robs him of his own.
His hand begins to fall, not in surrender but frustration, muscles aching to flex in and out of a fist.
He's moments from slamming knuckles against the blonde's jaw when fingers wrap around his wrist and steady it. As if his outburst has been predicted. Wide eyes meet that nuzzle - a taunt that makes his jaw and the tendons in his neck tense with anger - and he thinks to pull away.
But teeth sink in, and he's rendered incapable of even that much. Tearing away would ruin the tendons, a danger to the years he's dedicated to the sword. It's below the belt, biting there; Takasugi's fingers curl, nails digging crescents into his palm.]
What are you doing? [Blood flows more freely than usual, every shred of flesh in his arm burning in protest, in a response pinned between fight and flight.]
no subject
His hand begins to fall, not in surrender but frustration, muscles aching to flex in and out of a fist.
He's moments from slamming knuckles against the blonde's jaw when fingers wrap around his wrist and steady it. As if his outburst has been predicted. Wide eyes meet that nuzzle - a taunt that makes his jaw and the tendons in his neck tense with anger - and he thinks to pull away.
But teeth sink in, and he's rendered incapable of even that much. Tearing away would ruin the tendons, a danger to the years he's dedicated to the sword. It's below the belt, biting there; Takasugi's fingers curl, nails digging crescents into his palm.]
What are you doing? [Blood flows more freely than usual, every shred of flesh in his arm burning in protest, in a response pinned between fight and flight.]