[A quiet impact at the wood on either side, the press of leather encircling him - a vise, a trap. Stuck between a demon and a hard place, but it's the first Stocke curls toward; this is a trap he's not looking for a way out of. The bait's still reeling him in - it's there even as the Sin's tail snakes around him, even as Stocke takes in a sharp breath, eyes flickering a broken television pattern. His expression's hard to parse - a study in a pendulum, swinging back and forth.]
[The tug like rope's his prompt; he slips down the wall an inch as his legs slide further apart, re-braces himself. he air hangs heavy in the room, too warm, heat caught in soot and ash; a furnace behind a grate still makes itself known, and a Sin's presence isn't so easily forgotten. A symphony of brimstone dust.]
[The shade raises himself from the wall with a push of his elbows as Greed pulls away, his sound of protest snapped in half and dropped into silence. That same scale swinging up and down - on the one side, learned instinct beaten into him over the years (keep hold, keep control); on the other, everything else, conscious thought and want both telling him to give in. (By now, the Sin could hold it tipped with one finger).]
[He's still pinned in place; Greed's not leaving. A smear of purple and red through the smoke like a smirk worn in the eyes.]
[The Sin's fingers press in, and Stocke writhes, desperate noise strangled through his teeth - he's more than half-hard already, as Greed pulls the last bit of leather down. 'Remember - you can't really hurt me.' That's something you could near call an invitation; the shade curves forward, his claws digging into the Sin's back just above where his wings connect. His breath comes in soft, startled pants.]
[The shade just stays for length of two heartbeats, strung taut as a wire. Then his eyes flare bright with determination, claws sinking in just that little bit deeper; there's a whiplash of shadows from his back.]
[His tendrils reach around his back, winding. But this time they're just on the other edge of corporeal, a misty but physical touch - one snarls about one of the Sin's legs, another traces lightly up his arm. Stocke's head drops as a third runs down Greed's spine, between his shoulderblades, and the shade's grip loosens. He exhales, slow and ragged - he can feel all of them...]
no subject
[The tug like rope's his prompt; he slips down the wall an inch as his legs slide further apart, re-braces himself. he air hangs heavy in the room, too warm, heat caught in soot and ash; a furnace behind a grate still makes itself known, and a Sin's presence isn't so easily forgotten. A symphony of brimstone dust.]
[The shade raises himself from the wall with a push of his elbows as Greed pulls away, his sound of protest snapped in half and dropped into silence. That same scale swinging up and down - on the one side, learned instinct beaten into him over the years (keep hold, keep control); on the other, everything else, conscious thought and want both telling him to give in. (By now, the Sin could hold it tipped with one finger).]
[He's still pinned in place; Greed's not leaving. A smear of purple and red through the smoke like a smirk worn in the eyes.]
[The Sin's fingers press in, and Stocke writhes, desperate noise strangled through his teeth - he's more than half-hard already, as Greed pulls the last bit of leather down. 'Remember - you can't really hurt me.' That's something you could near call an invitation; the shade curves forward, his claws digging into the Sin's back just above where his wings connect. His breath comes in soft, startled pants.]
[The shade just stays for length of two heartbeats, strung taut as a wire. Then his eyes flare bright with determination, claws sinking in just that little bit deeper; there's a whiplash of shadows from his back.]
[His tendrils reach around his back, winding. But this time they're just on the other edge of corporeal, a misty but physical touch - one snarls about one of the Sin's legs, another traces lightly up his arm. Stocke's head drops as a third runs down Greed's spine, between his shoulderblades, and the shade's grip loosens. He exhales, slow and ragged - he can feel all of them...]