[Smirk widening as Ross shoves him, he can feel Ross’s fingers twist into his collar, pulling him close, demanding his attention. Sylus is momentarily surprised by the intensity, by the fire in Ross’s eyes—dark and wide, pupils blown. It’s a look he knows well, one that speaks of desperation and defiance, of a need so raw it borders on painful.
And one he vastly admires.
He feels Ross’s grip tighten around his collar, feels the heat of his breath against his skin, but Sylus doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t really like hands near his head—too many memories, too many risks—but he won’t share his idiosyncracies so easily with someone he just knew. He'll let Ross have this small victory.
Low and almost pleading words navigate with anger and make Sylus arch an eyebrow. To bite back, to fight for control, to push and be pushed in return. Sylus can’t help but chuckle, the sound a deep rumble in his chest.]
Why wouldn't I? [His hands move, wide and deliberate, splaying over Ross’s thighs, fingers slipping beneath the edges of the robes, feeling the heat of skin against his palms. Sylus’ touch is firm, thumbs brushing against the sensitive flesh as he grips Ross’s thighs, holding him in place.] But… here you are, practically begging for me to take control.
[A sudden, fluid motion; the grip on his thighs tightens, and he tugs hard, pulling him even closer to press their bodies flush. The heat between them is almost unbearable, a smoldering fire that threatens to consume them both.] Well? Show me your teeth.
no subject
And one he vastly admires.
He feels Ross’s grip tighten around his collar, feels the heat of his breath against his skin, but Sylus doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t really like hands near his head—too many memories, too many risks—but he won’t share his idiosyncracies so easily with someone he just knew. He'll let Ross have this small victory.
Low and almost pleading words navigate with anger and make Sylus arch an eyebrow. To bite back, to fight for control, to push and be pushed in return. Sylus can’t help but chuckle, the sound a deep rumble in his chest.]
Why wouldn't I? [His hands move, wide and deliberate, splaying over Ross’s thighs, fingers slipping beneath the edges of the robes, feeling the heat of skin against his palms. Sylus’ touch is firm, thumbs brushing against the sensitive flesh as he grips Ross’s thighs, holding him in place.] But… here you are, practically begging for me to take control.
[A sudden, fluid motion; the grip on his thighs tightens, and he tugs hard, pulling him even closer to press their bodies flush. The heat between them is almost unbearable, a smoldering fire that threatens to consume them both.] Well? Show me your teeth.