[he laughs, still keeping close - - and it's obvious with that roll of his hips Absinthe is getting aroused from this, cock half-hard in his pants already.
he takes the new access to Emet-Selch's shirt to get it unbuttoned, fully spread it open so his fingers can rest on the bare scar. ]
[His only reply to his comment is a chortled chuckle.
Resting fingers will give him a small and welcomed respite. He'll take the opportunity to find a more lazy position as he falls back on the bed arms flung wide.]
[ but there's that same thrill as before at being given the access -- he scoots up further to get his hands back against his scar, more specifically his nails, one pressing in to leave an angry red mark in its wake ]
[Well that gets a keening sound out of him, almost a whine as he squirms under him. And, oh, is he embarrassed, the tips of his ears dusting red. He doesn't even have a witty comeback!]
his smile sharpens again and he rocks down against him, seeking friction, his cock fully hard at this point and his breath hitching as he drags his nails down, leaving longer, angrier marks of red against the scar. ]
[That does increase the frequency and intensity of the distressed noises coming from him. Eyes widen slightly as the marks drag down his stomach. He digs his fingers into Absinthe's biceps. Not clawing, but pressing and pinching through layers of fabric. Though he still manages to spit out a curse through clenched teeth.]
Absinthe!
[It is the grinding that actually grounds him. The reminder of where he is that prevents him from simply trying to throw the other man off him. He doesn't share his partner's vigor as this is so, so very not his kink.]
[ he laughs,low and husky and undeniably pleased at the reaction. he can guess Emet-Selch isn't exactly enjoying this but that doesn't bother him, of course it doesn't, when this was something meant for Absinthe in the first place.
his nails relent but he still leans his weight forward, hands against the scar. ]
[Arms and body shake as he gently tries to nudge his hands away --- anywhere preferable! Emotions are a tangled mix of embarrassment, distress edging on fear, and self beratement for letting this bother him so. Though he hasn't gone as far as admitting this a mistake to himself yet.]
[ so, essentially, when Emet-Selch admits his mistake. Absinthe doesn't let those hands deter him, running his own palms up the scar again before pinching at the delicate skin, grinding down into him in the same motion. ]
I wonder if anyone else here has seen you in such a compromised position.
He'll receive a less prominent hissed whine for his actions. This method more tolerable. And he's going to press his hands quite firmly on his chest then and push.]
Disrobe. You aren't the only one that would like to leave scratches.
[ he chuckles but does lean back, working at undoing his vest - - carelessly tossing it to the side before he gets to work unbuttoning his shirt, giving Emet-Selch a brief reprieve. ]
[Had he abilities, he would have teleported away right then and there. But he does not, so instead he lowers his hand to kneed circles into Absinthe's hip thoughts a million miles away.]
[ he only takes off his shirt for now, leaving his pants on - - eager, obviously so, to get back to what he was doing, nails pressing into Emet-Selch's scar again. ]
You will let me know if it gets a bit too unpleasant for your tastes, hmm?
[ lightly, as he leans down over him - - then further still, aiming to kiss him while his nails curl further, harder than drag again, as if he's trying to draw blood now. ]
[Nope nope nope. Twisting his head away from the kiss and closing his eyes shut tightly when he draws blood, body jerking. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, but a miserable noise still escapes.
He digs in with his own nails though more unintentional but still trying to draw blood of his own.]
[ Absinthe shudders, but doesn't seem deterred by the nails in his own skin - - or Emet-Selch's evident distress. in fact that only seems to encourage him to claw harder, blood welling up under his nails, lips pressed against the man's jaw even if he can't find lips. ]
[He can't get much more out as Absinthe continues to draw blood and to bring the world to a pinpoint focusing on that scar. That wound. And while physically it is an unpleasant, painful, jarring sensation what it brings to mind is much worse. Unwelcome. Unbidden. Buried.
He died.
He failed.
Again he failed. Again and again.
He chokes back a sob.
Maybe he should have taken his own advice he gave Paloma about dealing with his own death.]
[ - - that's a sound he wasn't expecting to hear, and he pulls back enough to take a look at him. he still hasn't stopped smiling even now, and lifts one hand up to gently cup the side of Emet-Selch's face.
it's in sharp contrast to the way he drags another set of lines down his skin, again. ]
[Tucking his legs under himself and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand careful of the smear of black on his fingertips. He did manage to draw a little blood after all.]
I want to be able to trust you, as foolish as that may seem.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: Day 202
he takes the new access to Emet-Selch's shirt to get it unbuttoned, fully spread it open so his fingers can rest on the bare scar. ]
Does that truly surprise you?
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Resting fingers will give him a small and welcomed respite. He'll take the opportunity to find a more lazy position as he falls back on the bed arms flung wide.]
Your spoils.
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[ but there's that same thrill as before at being given the access -- he scoots up further to get his hands back against his scar, more specifically his nails, one pressing in to leave an angry red mark in its wake ]
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his smile sharpens again and he rocks down against him, seeking friction, his cock fully hard at this point and his breath hitching as he drags his nails down, leaving longer, angrier marks of red against the scar. ]
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Absinthe!
[It is the grinding that actually grounds him. The reminder of where he is that prevents him from simply trying to throw the other man off him. He doesn't share his partner's vigor as this is so, so very not his kink.]
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his nails relent but he still leans his weight forward, hands against the scar. ]
Is there an issue, my dear Emet-Selch?
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[Arms and body shake as he gently tries to nudge his hands away --- anywhere preferable! Emotions are a tangled mix of embarrassment, distress edging on fear, and self beratement for letting this bother him so. Though he hasn't gone as far as admitting this a mistake to himself yet.]
How far--- how far do you intend to take this?
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[ so, essentially, when Emet-Selch admits his mistake. Absinthe doesn't let those hands deter him, running his own palms up the scar again before pinching at the delicate skin, grinding down into him in the same motion. ]
I wonder if anyone else here has seen you in such a compromised position.
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Also, not answering that.
He'll receive a less prominent hissed whine for his actions. This method more tolerable. And he's going to press his hands quite firmly on his chest then and push.]
Disrobe. You aren't the only one that would like to leave scratches.
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You will let me know if it gets a bit too unpleasant for your tastes, hmm?
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[Rolling into his nails this time with a shudder and a breathless gasp. Fingers find his shoulders and dig in pulling down.]
Continue. Truthfully, I did not expect you to take such delight in this. Is it the control?
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[ lightly, as he leans down over him - - then further still, aiming to kiss him while his nails curl further, harder than drag again, as if he's trying to draw blood now. ]
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He digs in with his own nails though more unintentional but still trying to draw blood of his own.]
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What an - - entirely new sound from you...
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[He can't get much more out as Absinthe continues to draw blood and to bring the world to a pinpoint focusing on that scar. That wound. And while physically it is an unpleasant, painful, jarring sensation what it brings to mind is much worse. Unwelcome. Unbidden. Buried.
He died.
He failed.
Again he failed. Again and again.
He chokes back a sob.
Maybe he should have taken his own advice he gave Paloma about dealing with his own death.]
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it's in sharp contrast to the way he drags another set of lines down his skin, again. ]
Would you like for me to stop?
[ his tone is sickly sweet. ]
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With all of his strength he shoves Absinthe off him and levels him with a glare.]
Do not mock me with your insincerity.
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Ah, did I cross a line?
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Yes. And do not pretend you can't tell. If you can't, I have horribly misjudged you.
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And what, precisely, were you hoping for? My mercy? My consideration?
You did allow for me to indulge myself, and indulge I did.
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I want to be able to trust you, as foolish as that may seem.
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