(Fuck Squalo for being this goddamn tall. At least Feitan doesn't have any problems supporting his weight by wrapping arms around the other's neck until his thighs are secured and properly wrapped around his waist.
The bite is more than welcome, there's nothing early about it, and in retaliation, Squalo's long strands receive a pull before Feitan attacks once again, tongue chasing the other's as a groan escape reddened lips. They taste like blood, smell like it, everywhere their skin touches sticky with the freshness of it.
He wants it. Feitan'll trust Squalo to keep him from falling as he gets rid of his shirt, nails (not claws, for the time being, at least) sliding down the chest hard enough to draw blood until he finds the edges of his dress. Well. That can fuck off too, for now.)
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The bite is more than welcome, there's nothing early about it, and in retaliation, Squalo's long strands receive a pull before Feitan attacks once again, tongue chasing the other's as a groan escape reddened lips. They taste like blood, smell like it, everywhere their skin touches sticky with the freshness of it.
He wants it. Feitan'll trust Squalo to keep him from falling as he gets rid of his shirt, nails (not claws, for the time being, at least) sliding down the chest hard enough to draw blood until he finds the edges of his dress. Well. That can fuck off too, for now.)