[Stocke watches Greed pull back, soft huffs of slightly colder air slipping between his teeth into the blanketing furnace of the Sin's room. For a moment he doesn't move; then he unwinds his fingers, letting the demon pull away without protest, though his free tendrils lash with held-in energy. Even the faint prick of the Sin's teeth brushing over his cock, the sharp-edged almost-warning: that's nothing to deter him. The tip leaks, slowly, a dark smoke - barely a shade or two lighter than Stocke's shadowy blood.]
['Turn around' - the shade's eyes flicker, and for a moment he hesitates. His tendrils have tangled themselves well and good about Greed's limbs, and though they start to slowly unwind, he watches the demon with an odd glint to his expression. One last time, before his limbs retreat: he leans forward to taste the Sin's mouth again. Less tense than the first attempt, more heated, if not quite slow; with a charge like contained lightning. Tendrils run over Greed's shoulders, his sides. The one below his belt snakes away haltingly, as if reluctant.]
[Finally Stocke draws back and turns, eyes half-lidded - orders are orders, after all.]
[The shade braces upper arms against the wall, stretching into the spread of the Sin's knuckles; a quiet hum runs up and down his throat as Greed presses a grin against the back of his head. One errant tendril takes the chance to curve again over the demon's shoulders. It's almost proprietary; Stocke can't say he's not started to learn some habits from the one standing behind him.]
[Despite everything, Stocke goes momentarily stiff at the first press of a finger inside him - a soft, static hiss pushing past his tongue at the sensation. He reins in his breathing, steady and controlled, and relaxes very deliberately; the Sin's unhurried and careful, oil making it easy instead of rough, and the feeling's.... not quite comfortable, but not quite unpleasant. As the seconds tick by, the shade starts to go slack by reaction instead of calculated choice.]
[Then the Sin's fingers push against a spot that makes Stocke jolt full-bodied, knees buckling against the wall. He pulls in a startled mouthful of air, eyes wide and bright.]
no subject
['Turn around' - the shade's eyes flicker, and for a moment he hesitates. His tendrils have tangled themselves well and good about Greed's limbs, and though they start to slowly unwind, he watches the demon with an odd glint to his expression. One last time, before his limbs retreat: he leans forward to taste the Sin's mouth again. Less tense than the first attempt, more heated, if not quite slow; with a charge like contained lightning. Tendrils run over Greed's shoulders, his sides. The one below his belt snakes away haltingly, as if reluctant.]
[Finally Stocke draws back and turns, eyes half-lidded - orders are orders, after all.]
[The shade braces upper arms against the wall, stretching into the spread of the Sin's knuckles; a quiet hum runs up and down his throat as Greed presses a grin against the back of his head. One errant tendril takes the chance to curve again over the demon's shoulders. It's almost proprietary; Stocke can't say he's not started to learn some habits from the one standing behind him.]
[Despite everything, Stocke goes momentarily stiff at the first press of a finger inside him - a soft, static hiss pushing past his tongue at the sensation. He reins in his breathing, steady and controlled, and relaxes very deliberately; the Sin's unhurried and careful, oil making it easy instead of rough, and the feeling's.... not quite comfortable, but not quite unpleasant. As the seconds tick by, the shade starts to go slack by reaction instead of calculated choice.]
[Then the Sin's fingers push against a spot that makes Stocke jolt full-bodied, knees buckling against the wall. He pulls in a startled mouthful of air, eyes wide and bright.]