[Lips against his, a curl of shadow along his shoulder; they bring about a wicked smile. A press of razors to the electric charge - stealing from it, inhaling it, as sweetly as a Siren's kiss. A soul's cost in a devil's transaction. Not tangibly per his nature, but still the idea of it. As if he could swallow everything Stocke is, everything he could ever be, in a parade of grins and a striking touch. The very embodiment of sin itself tracing him from end to end with nothing more than a sharp inhale along the points of his teeth. Greed leans forward and with a flick, his free hand opens wide. The tips of his tails shrilling a low, industrial whine.]
Easy - [He starts. The curls of his fingers go slack as he talks; something a touch ginger, more relaxed. A hum vibrates at the back of his jaws and while his wrist bends, while his hand forms between Stocke's legs, he follows him through. Pushing just one knuckle deeper, one length further, until there's no more to give. Greed's mouth purses to a line, his breath fingering into the shell of the other's ear with a heated temptation.] - no need to hurt yourself, hmn?
[Under a smokey haze, his fingers tentatively pat down the other's hip. Claw after claw, nail after nail, he counts his skin; pressing the pads of his fingers along the thin of Stocke's torso like that of blind man tracing his surroundings. For as much as he's seen the other, this is something different. It's a moment to convey to memory. Each of his scars a tally; every intake of breath, a piece to count. The former homunculus spreads his fingers one, last time - pressing his pinkie and thumb along the other's rear before he pushes past the last knuckle. Steadying himself, closing the gap, and it's there, that he holds.]
[For, if nothing else, he's at least going to make it count.]
[Where the wall gives, Greed motions his palm along Stocke's stomach. Fragments and pieces, static and shadow; they play between his fingers as he goes. His curved nails draw along muscle, their edges following the other's bend like that of a surgeon's knife hovering at a starting point. But instead of cutting, he merely trails. Until he finds just what he's looking for and with an underhanded grab, he wraps his palm around the base of the other's cock. A daunting move done one finger at a time.]
[Relentless, egotistical, and oh, isn't it just him.]
[Greed's mouth opens behind Stocke's head. His nose back against the crook of the other's neck, he slowly glides his fingers out. A touch of a noise tickles at his jaws, then; a smile, perhaps. An expression a little more sincere, a hint of appreciation. The Sin runs the back of his knuckles around the other's curves. They're subtle in parts, sharper in others, and when he grazes a hipbone, his hand makes a grab for it. Coaxing, leading, the other back, back, back.]
[When they meet, he's already ready. Greed spreads his knees. His stomach hitches, his hips roll. Until the two of them are merely skin to skin, allowing the tip of his cock to press between Stocke's legs. The movement is easy, slow - like he's savoring the moment. Letting it simmer on baited breath, holding it out one second at a time. The Sin's jaws open wide and as he threatens it along Stocke's shoulder, he finally gives in. Sinking himself deep in one, gliding arch.]
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Easy - [He starts. The curls of his fingers go slack as he talks; something a touch ginger, more relaxed. A hum vibrates at the back of his jaws and while his wrist bends, while his hand forms between Stocke's legs, he follows him through. Pushing just one knuckle deeper, one length further, until there's no more to give. Greed's mouth purses to a line, his breath fingering into the shell of the other's ear with a heated temptation.] - no need to hurt yourself, hmn?
[Under a smokey haze, his fingers tentatively pat down the other's hip. Claw after claw, nail after nail, he counts his skin; pressing the pads of his fingers along the thin of Stocke's torso like that of blind man tracing his surroundings. For as much as he's seen the other, this is something different. It's a moment to convey to memory. Each of his scars a tally; every intake of breath, a piece to count. The former homunculus spreads his fingers one, last time - pressing his pinkie and thumb along the other's rear before he pushes past the last knuckle. Steadying himself, closing the gap, and it's there, that he holds.]
[For, if nothing else, he's at least going to make it count.]
[Where the wall gives, Greed motions his palm along Stocke's stomach. Fragments and pieces, static and shadow; they play between his fingers as he goes. His curved nails draw along muscle, their edges following the other's bend like that of a surgeon's knife hovering at a starting point. But instead of cutting, he merely trails. Until he finds just what he's looking for and with an underhanded grab, he wraps his palm around the base of the other's cock. A daunting move done one finger at a time.]
[Relentless, egotistical, and oh, isn't it just him.]
[Greed's mouth opens behind Stocke's head. His nose back against the crook of the other's neck, he slowly glides his fingers out. A touch of a noise tickles at his jaws, then; a smile, perhaps. An expression a little more sincere, a hint of appreciation. The Sin runs the back of his knuckles around the other's curves. They're subtle in parts, sharper in others, and when he grazes a hipbone, his hand makes a grab for it. Coaxing, leading, the other back, back, back.]
[When they meet, he's already ready. Greed spreads his knees. His stomach hitches, his hips roll. Until the two of them are merely skin to skin, allowing the tip of his cock to press between Stocke's legs. The movement is easy, slow - like he's savoring the moment. Letting it simmer on baited breath, holding it out one second at a time. The Sin's jaws open wide and as he threatens it along Stocke's shoulder, he finally gives in. Sinking himself deep in one, gliding arch.]