(Is Feitan rubbing off on Squalo? All this talk about explicit, delectable torture. It lures the corners of his lips to curve into a smile, and Feitan bites his lower lip to keep it from getting too large.
Sap.
The hand that clenches around the neck finds its way down the other's chest, the aforementioned claws delicately making their presence known, as to remind Squalo that if Feitan so wished, he most definitely could do the same. Digits only stop their journey when they reach the man's belt, pulling it up as to encourage him to thrust up.)
[ Just a little bit. But he's been talking about cutting people into ribbons and stabbing their eyeballs since before he came to Hell, so maybe he already had some predisposition to it. ]
[ Feitan could, and he would probably actually fit there. Alas. Squalo gradually relaxes his hold, allowing the other to move his hands as he pleases, and pushes the fallen chair away with his foot. ]
Not what I was going for, but I'll take it.
[ And you have the galls to get offended about people being into you torturing them, Fei? For real. ]
[ He goes with the pull, biting his lip a little in anticipation for something damn nice, but he's having a hard time focusing. He feels achey and sick, and the blood rush makes his head throb worse. He grumbles and gently tries to squirm out from under Feitan. ]
Yeah, think the other Squalo's still dead [ yes he's talking about his dick ], so I'm gonna head to bed.
(Lame. It's just death Squalo. You should be over it already. Fei simply rolls his eyes, coming to his feet and offering his hand to help the other up.
While Squalo is gonna go to bed, Feitan is probably gonna "read" some, do a line or two, and go get lost in the city. Probably make his boner someone else's problem in that torture chair. He's Not Happy TM. So, magnificent as always, the boy walks to where his dress is to exchange the shirt for something more... Feitan.)
[ Hey, fuck you, you're not the one who died! Also honestly he would be, but this is like, his sixth death in Hell and apparently the powers that be are trying to gently suggest that they're getting sick of bringing him back. Maybe. ]
[ The hand is hilariously snubbed while Squalo rolls over and gets to his fours before pushing himself up. Help is unacceptable to him in most forms. ]
'S fine. I got it.
[ He doesn't got it. He staggers and has to catch himself on the table. What a sad display. ]
[ While he feels a suspicious amount of Unhappy about being ditched while Feitan goes out to, no doubt, have fun without him, he's a bit too sick to actually try and stop him. He'll be heading for bed and passing out, dead to the world for the rest of the day probably. ]
[ Torture boy better be there when he wakes up, though.]
(After that pathetic round of God knows what the fuck that was, Squalo is off to bed, and Feitan is off to cut some lines against ivory, and out the door he is.
Goddamnit.
Better give him a good reason to be there when Squalo wakes up. Just saying. He's not going to be happy.)
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no subject
Sap.
The hand that clenches around the neck finds its way down the other's chest, the aforementioned claws delicately making their presence known, as to remind Squalo that if Feitan so wished, he most definitely could do the same. Digits only stop their journey when they reach the man's belt, pulling it up as to encourage him to thrust up.)
Romantic. Can't wait.
no subject
[ Feitan could, and he would probably actually fit there. Alas. Squalo gradually relaxes his hold, allowing the other to move his hands as he pleases, and pushes the fallen chair away with his foot. ]
Not what I was going for, but I'll take it.
[ And you have the galls to get offended about people being into you torturing them, Fei? For real. ]
[ He goes with the pull, biting his lip a little in anticipation for something damn nice, but he's having a hard time focusing. He feels achey and sick, and the blood rush makes his head throb worse. He grumbles and gently tries to squirm out from under Feitan. ]
Yeah, think the other Squalo's still dead [ yes he's talking about his dick ], so I'm gonna head to bed.
no subject
While Squalo is gonna go to bed, Feitan is probably gonna "read" some, do a line or two, and go get lost in the city. Probably make his boner someone else's problem in that torture chair. He's Not Happy TM. So, magnificent as always, the boy walks to where his dress is to exchange the shirt for something more... Feitan.)
no subject
[ The hand is hilariously snubbed while Squalo rolls over and gets to his fours before pushing himself up. Help is unacceptable to him in most forms. ]
'S fine. I got it.
[ He doesn't got it. He staggers and has to catch himself on the table. What a sad display. ]
[ While he feels a suspicious amount of Unhappy about being ditched while Feitan goes out to, no doubt, have fun without him, he's a bit too sick to actually try and stop him. He'll be heading for bed and passing out, dead to the world for the rest of the day probably. ]
[ Torture boy better be there when he wakes up, though.]
wrap
Goddamnit.
Better give him a good reason to be there when Squalo wakes up. Just saying. He's not going to be happy.)