[It's a course he's walked down a million times. Asking with a glance. Questioning with merely a stroke of a knuckle. Mello has the notes keyed into his very fingers - the melody, the proverbial sheet, all but played back to him as smooth and egotistical as an apprentice, showing up the master. The former homunculus gives his mouth a sly test. The forks of his tongue dance briefly behind his sneer; the flicker of brimstone, the light of it, a hint of mere static to Mello's inquiry dragging him in, in, in. An inch, and the Sin hums. Another, and his teeth snag the other's lower lip. A devil's pricking kiss gentle, indulgent, and all-too familiar with suggestion.]
[For what were those words again? What was the phrase?]
["Just one bite, sweetheart. And I promise, it'll all be worth it."]
[One of the Sin's hands guides Mello by the dip of his back while the other makes short work of the nightstand. It flattens on top of it (over mounds of rolled up coins, through strands of last night's company) with a resounding thunk. What's there doesn't matter. What's in the way doesn't count. Instead, it all too-quickly goes belly-up; the cache, the collections, swiped away and over the side to the tune of a window, smashing under a brick. The former homunculus slurs something in the back of his throat and while a pulse of quick-fire melts behind his scales, the hooks of his fingers suggest at the inside of Mello's knee; motioning it up, wide, and atop the pedestal he so, so craves.]
["I want your attention," he says. The answer?]
[So be it.]
[Greed nudges his hips forward - his body, all but forcing itself between the other's thighs.] Do you now. Pretty bold, friend. But I'm glad to hear you can finally admit it. Just remember - [His thumb swipes Mello's jawline while he talks. He traces it out from one point to the other; the sharp angles, the jagged lines, the uneven skin as much as a defining characteristic as his stubborn disposition. To Sin, they're one in the same. Something to be admired and put to memory, inch by every, terrible inch. The former homunculus plucks his lips away with a satisfied smile and as his eyes focus under a toxic fume, he gingerly grazes his nose under the shelf of the other's chin. Leaving his smile, his voice, to plant at the skin of his throat.] - no regrets, hmn? If you decide you really don't want it, you need to tell me. After all, I may not be good, but I have some standards.
Now - [Two of his claws touch the sweep of Mello's thigh. They run across his leather in a skirt; the sound, more similar to loose muffler, scratching the pavement. No, he's sure Mello's plotted this entire thing out. He's weighed his options, counted the positives, the negatives. Sure, he's at a disadvantage. Being human, even for a second, is dangerous in Ryslig's terms. Though, then again; since when has he ever shied away from the idea? Since when has he hesitated? Even when they first crossed paths - M has always been the sort to cross the line. To dip his toes and challenge anyone, everyone, who dared to give him a run for his money.]
[And here? Here.]
[It's really no different.]
[The Sin's shoulders shallowly dip and as the fur along his neck peels off, the rest of his vest catches loosely at his elbows. It causes the lines across his body to steal at the air; their red color, bleeding to a bright, alleyway pink. A thin exhale of ash shakes free, then. A veil of another definition, tooling about, wrapping them, and ah, ah, ah.]
[Is it truly a shame when a saint marries the devil.]
[Greed's nails swipe the top of Mello's knee. Shrrnk.] You've got my attention, lovely. But having it all - [Purred, are his words. The way he whispers against the other's skin - it's like he has a secret. Like he has a thousand of them. And maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Either way, the Sin creases his teeth close to Mello's pulse - their tips, a blade's delicate caress.] - I think that's asking a lot, don't you?
[Not that he won't give him what he wants. Far from it. However, avarice - it's a disease, isn't it? A vice without a cure. A cancer without a remedy. And as his thumb pulls away to nip at the zipper of Mello's pants, Greed arches his torso forward. His hips press, his bones grind. His own want creeping in, constricting, as if he could drain every inch of Mello dry, dry, dry. Because, in the end?]
[Sin's exposure will always, always, leave but a husk behind.]
no subject
[For what were those words again? What was the phrase?]
["Just one bite, sweetheart. And I promise, it'll all be worth it."]
[One of the Sin's hands guides Mello by the dip of his back while the other makes short work of the nightstand. It flattens on top of it (over mounds of rolled up coins, through strands of last night's company) with a resounding thunk. What's there doesn't matter. What's in the way doesn't count. Instead, it all too-quickly goes belly-up; the cache, the collections, swiped away and over the side to the tune of a window, smashing under a brick. The former homunculus slurs something in the back of his throat and while a pulse of quick-fire melts behind his scales, the hooks of his fingers suggest at the inside of Mello's knee; motioning it up, wide, and atop the pedestal he so, so craves.]
["I want your attention," he says. The answer?]
[So be it.]
[Greed nudges his hips forward - his body, all but forcing itself between the other's thighs.] Do you now. Pretty bold, friend. But I'm glad to hear you can finally admit it. Just remember - [His thumb swipes Mello's jawline while he talks. He traces it out from one point to the other; the sharp angles, the jagged lines, the uneven skin as much as a defining characteristic as his stubborn disposition. To Sin, they're one in the same. Something to be admired and put to memory, inch by every, terrible inch. The former homunculus plucks his lips away with a satisfied smile and as his eyes focus under a toxic fume, he gingerly grazes his nose under the shelf of the other's chin. Leaving his smile, his voice, to plant at the skin of his throat.] - no regrets, hmn? If you decide you really don't want it, you need to tell me. After all, I may not be good, but I have some standards.
Now - [Two of his claws touch the sweep of Mello's thigh. They run across his leather in a skirt; the sound, more similar to loose muffler, scratching the pavement. No, he's sure Mello's plotted this entire thing out. He's weighed his options, counted the positives, the negatives. Sure, he's at a disadvantage. Being human, even for a second, is dangerous in Ryslig's terms. Though, then again; since when has he ever shied away from the idea? Since when has he hesitated? Even when they first crossed paths - M has always been the sort to cross the line. To dip his toes and challenge anyone, everyone, who dared to give him a run for his money.]
[And here? Here.]
[It's really no different.]
[The Sin's shoulders shallowly dip and as the fur along his neck peels off, the rest of his vest catches loosely at his elbows. It causes the lines across his body to steal at the air; their red color, bleeding to a bright, alleyway pink. A thin exhale of ash shakes free, then. A veil of another definition, tooling about, wrapping them, and ah, ah, ah.]
[Is it truly a shame when a saint marries the devil.]
[Greed's nails swipe the top of Mello's knee. Shrrnk.] You've got my attention, lovely. But having it all - [Purred, are his words. The way he whispers against the other's skin - it's like he has a secret. Like he has a thousand of them. And maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Either way, the Sin creases his teeth close to Mello's pulse - their tips, a blade's delicate caress.] - I think that's asking a lot, don't you?
[Not that he won't give him what he wants. Far from it. However, avarice - it's a disease, isn't it? A vice without a cure. A cancer without a remedy. And as his thumb pulls away to nip at the zipper of Mello's pants, Greed arches his torso forward. His hips press, his bones grind. His own want creeping in, constricting, as if he could drain every inch of Mello dry, dry, dry. Because, in the end?]
[Sin's exposure will always, always, leave but a husk behind.]