[this, despite all of its foreign elements, is much more natural to Guanshan: to pepper his affection with discomfort, to let pleasure ebb into pain and flow back, driving both higher]
[he could want as many good things for Hasebe as his mind can contain, but at the end of the day, he's a harmful person who does harmful things and wants -- needs -- for harmful things to be returned before he can feel, before he can trust]
[and the swordsman won't shoulder it alone, those words pouring over in his mind as, awkwardly as he holds it, he draws the blade to its end and lets his mouth settle near the very tip]
[thoughtfulness palpable, there's a beat of hesitation before his tongue dips and sweeps its mercury curve, hanging onto the flat but razing that slickness across the edge, bleeding here as he had his fingers]
[a half-turn points him towards the man more, weapon lowering as his hold becomes one-handed, freed palm grasping his jaw to tilt it to a preferred angle]
Then hang on t'me.
[he bleeds more as he speaks, but his crimson-coated tongue tangles with Hasebe's, fervor unchecked as he ravishes his mouth, desperation to respond spurring him into too much roughness, too much passion, always carefully masked behind apathy and anger -- behind things that are easier]
[but if Hasebe doesn't want easy, then neither does he]
[Heshikiri is not a dull sword in the least. It is a killer, a weapon, kept in the finest condition even here, and the world shifts into slow motion when he sees what's about to happen.]
Be care--
[More than foolish. Ridiculous. And he'll feel that for a while. Shuddering, Hasebe reaches to pull the blade away from Guanshan's grip, stopped short with wide, concerned eyes as he's commanded to do nothing further.
Mo Guanshan is to be protected from things like this, but the side of him that pulls away from the sweetness he's always shown and gravitates toward injury confuses Hasebe. The confusion doesn't have a lot of time to take hold. There's blood on his lips and tongue again, more abundant now, and when Guanshan escalates, Hasebe meekly follows. If it were someone else, a fellow sword perhaps, he might not bat an eyelash at this. But it's... a person. A normal person, someone who only a short while ago wanted to be far enough away from the blade itself.
If he's opening up to Hasebe, if he's offering, Hasebe will take, and he closes his eyes with a soft groan. This kiss is unlike anything he's ever experienced. Maybe this is how it feels to care about someone on a deep, instinct-driven level, without thought of propriety. All he can do now is hold Guanshan close and let himself be taken over.]
[not many people do understand this about him -- hell, he's one of them]
[what it is about the malignant side of life that makes him feel bonded, why he needs bruises and blood and physical proof of a connection before he can acknowledge it's really there]
[he's bled plenty of times for things that weren't... but Hasebe caving to him, the texture of the hilt in his hand, the way blood turns pink mixed with spit and swallowed -- these things he can feel, believe]
[the silver in his finger he pets harmlessly in the middle of that kiss and the breath it makes this man draw; the stiffening erection against his hip he has to make myself not touch, wanting each part of him at mercy beneath his fingers]
[his lips are strained red when he finally gives him air, molten amber eyes searching mauve ones]
What else?
[does he want? that's the reason he's here, after all]
[Hasebe... wants to share everything with Guanshan, but he doesn't want to hurt him. Yet he did. And he is. He's kissing him deeply and with no notion of propriety, lapping at his lips and tasting the blood on his tongue. It's new and different, different from it simply running down him and drenching his blade. This is intimate. This is... good.
He gasps when his hardness brushes the younger man's hip, distracted, and shudders when he tries to come back to his senses. An apology is ready to be given, but it never comes out, because the fierce hunger and dull ache of need must show in the light purple of his eyes. Why bother being formal?]
This has... gone beyond my intentions.
[Leaning in, he kisses Guanshan again, then sighs against his lips.]
Now I... [He swallows, boldness there, ready, his body screaming...] ...I'm afraid I'm thinking impure thoughts. Perhaps it is best if we part, before I beg to act on them.
[that this wasn't a part of what Hasebe had planned, whatever that might've been, that the electricity between them right now is something he had a hand in crafting -- that was charged by what he himself chose to do]
[he doesn't know if that makes it better, but he does know the swordsman's mouth against his own and the power he can exert over him just by touching something like this feels really damn good]
[those words almost make him laugh, instead curling with a lopsided smirk]
You don't gotta beg for my attention. Not you.
[his head tilts to suck at the soft line of his throat, following its natural groove to his collarbone -- and his free hand presses at the arousal making slacks tight without much warning, cupping him through fabric]
Can I suck your dick? ["why bother being formal" indeed]
[Nothing like this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be innocent sharing and maybe a kiss but not... not this. And he's red-cheeked and he wonders how much of that blood lingers near his lips. He wonders is Mo Guanshan is going to always make him feel so weak. It's fine, of course. He's smiling and tilting his head a little to leave his neck exposed.]
["first"? why first? those words make him defensively curl towards it, drawing the blade a little away from him just in case he tries to reach, thumb kept pressing onto metal as the weight of the blade itself sags along his own jeans]
...I ain't done with it yet. [but it's said more like a request, like he's still tentative about holding it in the first place, that one word of disapproval would have him handing it back over like it burned him]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[he could want as many good things for Hasebe as his mind can contain, but at the end of the day, he's a harmful person who does harmful things and wants -- needs -- for harmful things to be returned before he can feel, before he can trust]
[and the swordsman won't shoulder it alone, those words pouring over in his mind as, awkwardly as he holds it, he draws the blade to its end and lets his mouth settle near the very tip]
[thoughtfulness palpable, there's a beat of hesitation before his tongue dips and sweeps its mercury curve, hanging onto the flat but razing that slickness across the edge, bleeding here as he had his fingers]
[a half-turn points him towards the man more, weapon lowering as his hold becomes one-handed, freed palm grasping his jaw to tilt it to a preferred angle]
Then hang on t'me.
[he bleeds more as he speaks, but his crimson-coated tongue tangles with Hasebe's, fervor unchecked as he ravishes his mouth, desperation to respond spurring him into too much roughness, too much passion, always carefully masked behind apathy and anger -- behind things that are easier]
[but if Hasebe doesn't want easy, then neither does he]
wrong journal A+
Be care--
[More than foolish. Ridiculous. And he'll feel that for a while. Shuddering, Hasebe reaches to pull the blade away from Guanshan's grip, stopped short with wide, concerned eyes as he's commanded to do nothing further.
Mo Guanshan is to be protected from things like this, but the side of him that pulls away from the sweetness he's always shown and gravitates toward injury confuses Hasebe. The confusion doesn't have a lot of time to take hold. There's blood on his lips and tongue again, more abundant now, and when Guanshan escalates, Hasebe meekly follows. If it were someone else, a fellow sword perhaps, he might not bat an eyelash at this. But it's... a person. A normal person, someone who only a short while ago wanted to be far enough away from the blade itself.
If he's opening up to Hasebe, if he's offering, Hasebe will take, and he closes his eyes with a soft groan. This kiss is unlike anything he's ever experienced. Maybe this is how it feels to care about someone on a deep, instinct-driven level, without thought of propriety. All he can do now is hold Guanshan close and let himself be taken over.]
I WAS SO CONFUSED
[what it is about the malignant side of life that makes him feel bonded, why he needs bruises and blood and physical proof of a connection before he can acknowledge it's really there]
[he's bled plenty of times for things that weren't... but Hasebe caving to him, the texture of the hilt in his hand, the way blood turns pink mixed with spit and swallowed -- these things he can feel, believe]
[the silver in his finger he pets harmlessly in the middle of that kiss and the breath it makes this man draw; the stiffening erection against his hip he has to make myself not touch, wanting each part of him at mercy beneath his fingers]
[his lips are strained red when he finally gives him air, molten amber eyes searching mauve ones]
What else?
[does he want? that's the reason he's here, after all]
SORRY
He gasps when his hardness brushes the younger man's hip, distracted, and shudders when he tries to come back to his senses. An apology is ready to be given, but it never comes out, because the fierce hunger and dull ache of need must show in the light purple of his eyes. Why bother being formal?]
This has... gone beyond my intentions.
[Leaning in, he kisses Guanshan again, then sighs against his lips.]
Now I... [He swallows, boldness there, ready, his body screaming...] ...I'm afraid I'm thinking impure thoughts. Perhaps it is best if we part, before I beg to act on them.
no subject
[that this wasn't a part of what Hasebe had planned, whatever that might've been, that the electricity between them right now is something he had a hand in crafting -- that was charged by what he himself chose to do]
[he doesn't know if that makes it better, but he does know the swordsman's mouth against his own and the power he can exert over him just by touching something like this feels really damn good]
[those words almost make him laugh, instead curling with a lopsided smirk]
You don't gotta beg for my attention. Not you.
[his head tilts to suck at the soft line of his throat, following its natural groove to his collarbone -- and his free hand presses at the arousal making slacks tight without much warning, cupping him through fabric]
Can I suck your dick? ["why bother being formal" indeed]
no subject
[Nothing like this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be innocent sharing and maybe a kiss but not... not this. And he's red-cheeked and he wonders how much of that blood lingers near his lips. He wonders is Mo Guanshan is going to always make him feel so weak. It's fine, of course. He's smiling and tilting his head a little to leave his neck exposed.]
Then.... ah... please?
no subject
...I ain't done with it yet. [but it's said more like a request, like he's still tentative about holding it in the first place, that one word of disapproval would have him handing it back over like it burned him]