[Static jumps between his teeth. Touches of energy, the sting of a radio signal without a clear destination. They flip in his mouth to the beat of changing channels: going, going, going. But there's nothing on, nothing but him and his and as he flattens the other along the backside wall, the rest of the world tunes out.]
[Somewhere else might have the rights to Stocke, but here? That's not the case.]
[Greed's mouth pulls back when he feels those fingers his hair. It's desperation; a need to claim a surface when all else is null and void. Everything about it is in contrast to Stocke's definition. The solider, the operative; the cold-snap beating at him like a drawn-cracked whip. The Sin twists his heel, forcing it up and around the growing pile of disused armor and weaponry. Belts, knives, sheaths - they're just a mounting tab of Stocke's release. Silently counted, internally memorized, and as he pries the tip of his boot between the other's legs, he steals it all. Forcing them all aside in a careless sideswipe.]
[Stocke's paid his dues over and over again. Time to cough up.]
[A low laugh catches in his jaws. It ghosts along the side of the other's throat - a hot mix of steamy coal and well-kept fire.] Oh-? Should I now. [Hardly a question, hardly an apology. Greed's voice sounds pleased - a note as slurred and sultry as a jackal's salesman pitch. He shifts his thumb when Stocke exposes his throat, the smooth side of his talon retracing his steps up, up, up.] Didn't think you'd really hold it against me.
[The edge of his claw gives a light tick to the bob of the other's throat. A nip, a taste. He knows Stocke's flying blind. Where he'd usually be collected and calm, there's now an utter lack of it. Control lost to the wind: just as wispy and fleeting as a shadow.]
[And really, isn't that just fitting.]
[Greed presses his nose to the dip of the shade's collar. His smile is more clear, then; a touch of the demon through the devil. Stocke's persistent tug on his vest just adds to it and with a compliant shrug, the Sin's arms lace loosely at his back. Fur pulls back from his neck, leather drops away. A bit of give and take and here, there's no exception.]
[Equivalent exchange: the purest form of a trade.]
Guess that wasn't very fair, was it? [The former homunculus talks along the dip of Stocke's neck, his own body slinking down further and further. His knees bend as he does; causing the wall behind them to give a soft shiver of protest. He ignores it, though. A sound on deaf ears and as soft skin turns to rough scars, Greed lets his vest drop from his wrists. It meets the rest of their hoard: a mixed pile of Stocke, of him, tangled together in a fitting kind of poetry.]
[But it's those scars that really have his interest.]
[He's never had the luxury - least, not before now. Wounds had been nothing but a passing breeze - an inconvenience easily erased. And while even Ryslig's left a few of its marks, they're not the same. Greed's eyes open in a glow. Red and purple bleed together as he learns each one. A knot here, a mix of flesh and steel there. They reflect in a broil - as if somehow, they were a personal offense. As if somehow - ]
Tch - [Faint, barely above a whisper. The Sin's teeth lightly touch one another. The snarl is short lived, but still present; like a flash of static itself, the expression is raw. His own, vicious nature coming through. Hurting him is one thing. But one of his?]
[That's a theft he won't so easily ignore.]
[Greed touches his tongue to the back of his teeth. Instantly, his mouth whirls again. A pursed smile sways to one half of his face.] You really are more trouble than you're worth sometimes. [He hums. One of his hands snares the edge of Stocke's shirt, peeling it away with the ease of a hot-knife to butter. Stocke might be learning as he goes, but it's too clear that this is something expected. That he's done this before. Similar canvas, different subject, but the same, age-old result.]
[Nothing ever really changes.]
[Greed's legs bow out. Ten and two they go, allowing him to sink, sink, sink. He's half hovering over the floor by the time he's done, both of his hands slipped behind Stocke's back in interim . They fan out there; the motion covetous, ensnaring. And it's then, that he starts. The Sin leans in. Kiss by kiss, tooth for tooth, he draws his grin down the other's stomach. A marking, a signal.]
[Avarice incarnate written out in faint smoke.]
[Because oh, does he want it. Everything Stocke has, everything that he'll ever be. The Sin pauses when he reaches the jut of the other's hip. Nothing about Stocke is ever entirely there. An image of shadow and mirrors, a creature in half formation. Solid, wispy. But there - there's a point and as he wraps his mouth around bone, the devil finally shows off his teeth.]
[Greed lets the points them hover. A razor's edge hinting at skin. Again, he can feel the protest of static. Like blue electric, it flicks at him. A warning, a challenge. The Sin springs one claw out as he waits; his index merely snaking around the back of Stocke's thigh.]
no subject
[Static jumps between his teeth. Touches of energy, the sting of a radio signal without a clear destination. They flip in his mouth to the beat of changing channels: going, going, going. But there's nothing on, nothing but him and his and as he flattens the other along the backside wall, the rest of the world tunes out.]
[Somewhere else might have the rights to Stocke, but here? That's not the case.]
[Greed's mouth pulls back when he feels those fingers his hair. It's desperation; a need to claim a surface when all else is null and void. Everything about it is in contrast to Stocke's definition. The solider, the operative; the cold-snap beating at him like a drawn-cracked whip. The Sin twists his heel, forcing it up and around the growing pile of disused armor and weaponry. Belts, knives, sheaths - they're just a mounting tab of Stocke's release. Silently counted, internally memorized, and as he pries the tip of his boot between the other's legs, he steals it all. Forcing them all aside in a careless sideswipe.]
[Stocke's paid his dues over and over again. Time to cough up.]
[A low laugh catches in his jaws. It ghosts along the side of the other's throat - a hot mix of steamy coal and well-kept fire.] Oh-? Should I now. [Hardly a question, hardly an apology. Greed's voice sounds pleased - a note as slurred and sultry as a jackal's salesman pitch. He shifts his thumb when Stocke exposes his throat, the smooth side of his talon retracing his steps up, up, up.] Didn't think you'd really hold it against me.
[The edge of his claw gives a light tick to the bob of the other's throat. A nip, a taste. He knows Stocke's flying blind. Where he'd usually be collected and calm, there's now an utter lack of it. Control lost to the wind: just as wispy and fleeting as a shadow.]
[And really, isn't that just fitting.]
[Greed presses his nose to the dip of the shade's collar. His smile is more clear, then; a touch of the demon through the devil. Stocke's persistent tug on his vest just adds to it and with a compliant shrug, the Sin's arms lace loosely at his back. Fur pulls back from his neck, leather drops away. A bit of give and take and here, there's no exception.]
[Equivalent exchange: the purest form of a trade.]
Guess that wasn't very fair, was it? [The former homunculus talks along the dip of Stocke's neck, his own body slinking down further and further. His knees bend as he does; causing the wall behind them to give a soft shiver of protest. He ignores it, though. A sound on deaf ears and as soft skin turns to rough scars, Greed lets his vest drop from his wrists. It meets the rest of their hoard: a mixed pile of Stocke, of him, tangled together in a fitting kind of poetry.]
[But it's those scars that really have his interest.]
[He's never had the luxury - least, not before now. Wounds had been nothing but a passing breeze - an inconvenience easily erased. And while even Ryslig's left a few of its marks, they're not the same. Greed's eyes open in a glow. Red and purple bleed together as he learns each one. A knot here, a mix of flesh and steel there. They reflect in a broil - as if somehow, they were a personal offense. As if somehow - ]
Tch - [Faint, barely above a whisper. The Sin's teeth lightly touch one another. The snarl is short lived, but still present; like a flash of static itself, the expression is raw. His own, vicious nature coming through. Hurting him is one thing. But one of his?]
[That's a theft he won't so easily ignore.]
[Greed touches his tongue to the back of his teeth. Instantly, his mouth whirls again. A pursed smile sways to one half of his face.] You really are more trouble than you're worth sometimes. [He hums. One of his hands snares the edge of Stocke's shirt, peeling it away with the ease of a hot-knife to butter. Stocke might be learning as he goes, but it's too clear that this is something expected. That he's done this before. Similar canvas, different subject, but the same, age-old result.]
[Nothing ever really changes.]
[Greed's legs bow out. Ten and two they go, allowing him to sink, sink, sink. He's half hovering over the floor by the time he's done, both of his hands slipped behind Stocke's back in interim . They fan out there; the motion covetous, ensnaring. And it's then, that he starts. The Sin leans in. Kiss by kiss, tooth for tooth, he draws his grin down the other's stomach. A marking, a signal.]
[Avarice incarnate written out in faint smoke.]
[Because oh, does he want it. Everything Stocke has, everything that he'll ever be. The Sin pauses when he reaches the jut of the other's hip. Nothing about Stocke is ever entirely there. An image of shadow and mirrors, a creature in half formation. Solid, wispy. But there - there's a point and as he wraps his mouth around bone, the devil finally shows off his teeth.]
[Greed lets the points them hover. A razor's edge hinting at skin. Again, he can feel the protest of static. Like blue electric, it flicks at him. A warning, a challenge. The Sin springs one claw out as he waits; his index merely snaking around the back of Stocke's thigh.]
[A snap, a pinch, and his teeth sink in.]