[ the look of knowing he flashes isn't cutting so much as it is molten, eyes that burn with the refraction of that glowing red pot of pigment, a hot poker to jab them both right in the guts. paired with that oh so soft uptick of a lip just before his close over Rokurou's, the rush of Synchrony is quick and torrid, channeled into this single spot of connection like a gushing volcano trying to follow great channels of earth to stymy it out to sea and instead fills, threatens to overflow. ]
[ seam of his lips bitten as he separates, the rough replaced with the soft, all those sweet contrasts Rokurou likes. upon his kiss-bitten lips, the soft and wet bristles of a paintbrush, dotting his mouth in color that spiral up, crimson filling the gaps of human skin between the black tendrils of his blight. ]
[ and down from there. following the curves and angles of a memory, he paints out half of the man's body in spreading, greedy red threads — chest and ribs, taut core. tendrils of color that mimic something they had shared together once, on a space station that feels like a lifetime ago, when the thighs that had bracketed his on uncomfortable maintenance shaft grating were just as daemonic as his face. ]
[ tickling sensation of the brush drawn right to the waist of his pants, and Guanshan eyes hover with interest. an always present one, of course, but this time — saturated in a drunken nostalgia bordering on déjà vu. like that time before, he reaches out with his hand and pulls the elastic back, exposing him to a brisk rub of ocean breeze. ]
no subject
[ seam of his lips bitten as he separates, the rough replaced with the soft, all those sweet contrasts Rokurou likes. upon his kiss-bitten lips, the soft and wet bristles of a paintbrush, dotting his mouth in color that spiral up, crimson filling the gaps of human skin between the black tendrils of his blight. ]
[ and down from there. following the curves and angles of a memory, he paints out half of the man's body in spreading, greedy red threads — chest and ribs, taut core. tendrils of color that mimic something they had shared together once, on a space station that feels like a lifetime ago, when the thighs that had bracketed his on uncomfortable maintenance shaft grating were just as daemonic as his face. ]
[ tickling sensation of the brush drawn right to the waist of his pants, and Guanshan eyes hover with interest. an always present one, of course, but this time — saturated in a drunken nostalgia bordering on déjà vu. like that time before, he reaches out with his hand and pulls the elastic back, exposing him to a brisk rub of ocean breeze. ]