[ a hunter he is not, but he tracks those movements all the same, the lacquered orange of his gaze syrupy-slow; it catches on a flash of wet pink, a drag of sharp ivory, the unfurling of sly words that make his blood thrum and sing in a reminder that he's always forgotten who's supposed to be predator and who's supposed to be prey here. it comes to the surface of his cheeks, builds at the tips of his ears, dusting him with an innocent pink for all of the filth on his skin and in his mind when they really get to playing around. ]
[ he's never tried fooling daemons, and he doesn't intend to start. drawing close enough to feel his breath against his lips, there's tension in the space between them, a pull between bodies that are comfortable stacked together that he refuses to bow to no matter how it shudders, knows resistance makes it all that much sweeter — ]
[ but sequestered between them, Guanshan's slender fingers run over draped purple fabric, feel lower still for where the sunset shade of that yukata drapes open, press up and in where the hakama hang loose, and cup purposefully — route memorization navigating him through swaths of clothing. against a shape that's soft and malleable for the moment, his grip isn't gentle but it isn't painful either, not the way the teeth he sets into Rokurou's bottom lip are, biting and swelling it up purposefully, meant to split the hurricane of his pulse both north and south. ]
Promise I will.
[ well, it's been a while since Guanshan's done coy. it's like he noticed: he's grown, some of which he owes to Rokurou himself. can't really call a thing yours until you've had some hand in shaping it, can you. ]
no subject
[ he's never tried fooling daemons, and he doesn't intend to start. drawing close enough to feel his breath against his lips, there's tension in the space between them, a pull between bodies that are comfortable stacked together that he refuses to bow to no matter how it shudders, knows resistance makes it all that much sweeter — ]
[ but sequestered between them, Guanshan's slender fingers run over draped purple fabric, feel lower still for where the sunset shade of that yukata drapes open, press up and in where the hakama hang loose, and cup purposefully — route memorization navigating him through swaths of clothing. against a shape that's soft and malleable for the moment, his grip isn't gentle but it isn't painful either, not the way the teeth he sets into Rokurou's bottom lip are, biting and swelling it up purposefully, meant to split the hurricane of his pulse both north and south. ]
Promise I will.
[ well, it's been a while since Guanshan's done coy. it's like he noticed: he's grown, some of which he owes to Rokurou himself. can't really call a thing yours until you've had some hand in shaping it, can you. ]