[Murmured, a little thoughtful, a little disdainful. But KuroMisa doesn't pull away from the brush of Kizuna's warmth against the veil, a mere whisper that separates them from diving too deeply, too irreparably into the abyss.] Mm. A promise like that is leaning closer towards gluttony, I think. If you're so hungry, then what manner of partner would I be not to indulge you?
[Fingertips laced between Kizuna's press in against the weak points between sinew and bones, a snare that promises to be inescapable. But this prey won't try. That has become abundantly clear: he would welcome even destruction with open arms, trying to find what he seeks. What he seeks is something Matoba understands only conceptually, too denying to acknowledge it in himself, but it's to the man's fortunes that the pride that drives Matoba's mistakes flares in the face of it, confident in his ability to press himself up against the mirror and refuse it his reflection.]
[As he has done. So he will, again.]
[Pressing against the mirror once more, silky fabrics fold against Kizuna's heat in an embrace that brings their dance to a taut crescendo. The hand that isn't a snare smooths down from his shoulder, tracing him, and coming to rest daintily over that too-precious heart.]
A date's not much without a meal, is it? I'll warn you: I have expensive taste.
no subject
[Murmured, a little thoughtful, a little disdainful. But KuroMisa doesn't pull away from the brush of Kizuna's warmth against the veil, a mere whisper that separates them from diving too deeply, too irreparably into the abyss.] Mm. A promise like that is leaning closer towards gluttony, I think. If you're so hungry, then what manner of partner would I be not to indulge you?
[Fingertips laced between Kizuna's press in against the weak points between sinew and bones, a snare that promises to be inescapable. But this prey won't try. That has become abundantly clear: he would welcome even destruction with open arms, trying to find what he seeks. What he seeks is something Matoba understands only conceptually, too denying to acknowledge it in himself, but it's to the man's fortunes that the pride that drives Matoba's mistakes flares in the face of it, confident in his ability to press himself up against the mirror and refuse it his reflection.]
[As he has done. So he will, again.]
[Pressing against the mirror once more, silky fabrics fold against Kizuna's heat in an embrace that brings their dance to a taut crescendo. The hand that isn't a snare smooths down from his shoulder, tracing him, and coming to rest daintily over that too-precious heart.]
A date's not much without a meal, is it? I'll warn you: I have expensive taste.