[Greed's fingers run down his torso like someone strumming an instrument, plucking strings, tracing over scars and skin. As if the Sin's trying to figure out how to tune the notes, play the scale. But it's the fingers inside Stocke that are really playing him, now that he's gotten used to the feeling - he groans into his arm, muffled, at the twist of them. Pushes backwards himself for the bit more sensation.]
[Greed's huff of breath on his ear has him turning his head to give the Sin a sideways, half-hearted glare - part dry, part pleading. He's been catapulted between too much and too little what feels like thirty, forty times; the roulette's stopped on the latter again, and he just wants Greed to move.]
[The tendril around Greed's shoulders pulls tighter, and Stocke reaches down to give himself a bit of friction, but the Sin gets there first. Stocke's hand pauses, catching on the seam between black scales and skin - he drops his head forward into the curve of his arm as Greed's fingers wrap around. Carbon-coating warmer than a shade's fingers, and a texture smooth like diamond in snake-skin patterns. Stocke's eyes shut a moment, a soft sound catching behind his tongue.]
[His free hand traces up the Sin's arm with slightly less urgency than before.]
[Stocke's head lifts again as the Sin eases his fingers out, another tendril lashing out to wrap around Greed's wrist, then loosening without a pull. He hardly needs any coaxing to move - just the cue. Shadowy limbs twist impatiently out of the way as Greed takes his time, then dissipate entirely into incorporeal shapes and smoke. Gone like they've never been to leave room for drawing closer.]
[There's another quiet shade's hiss when the Sin finally pushes in, tone and tinge and taste of it more pleased than anything. It's a faint burn and stretch, but also a pang of static like broken stars all through him - Stocke breathes, snagging at air heavy enough that he's nearly panting again. Clenching and relaxing, feels his pulse strum through with a shade's electric energy. Then, after a beat of maybe five - slow and careful, he rolls his hips forward and back again.]
no subject
[Greed's huff of breath on his ear has him turning his head to give the Sin a sideways, half-hearted glare - part dry, part pleading. He's been catapulted between too much and too little what feels like thirty, forty times; the roulette's stopped on the latter again, and he just wants Greed to move.]
[The tendril around Greed's shoulders pulls tighter, and Stocke reaches down to give himself a bit of friction, but the Sin gets there first. Stocke's hand pauses, catching on the seam between black scales and skin - he drops his head forward into the curve of his arm as Greed's fingers wrap around. Carbon-coating warmer than a shade's fingers, and a texture smooth like diamond in snake-skin patterns. Stocke's eyes shut a moment, a soft sound catching behind his tongue.]
[His free hand traces up the Sin's arm with slightly less urgency than before.]
[Stocke's head lifts again as the Sin eases his fingers out, another tendril lashing out to wrap around Greed's wrist, then loosening without a pull. He hardly needs any coaxing to move - just the cue. Shadowy limbs twist impatiently out of the way as Greed takes his time, then dissipate entirely into incorporeal shapes and smoke. Gone like they've never been to leave room for drawing closer.]
[There's another quiet shade's hiss when the Sin finally pushes in, tone and tinge and taste of it more pleased than anything. It's a faint burn and stretch, but also a pang of static like broken stars all through him - Stocke breathes, snagging at air heavy enough that he's nearly panting again. Clenching and relaxing, feels his pulse strum through with a shade's electric energy. Then, after a beat of maybe five - slow and careful, he rolls his hips forward and back again.]