Again, his breath is beaten from him, this time taken along with the sharp pain of his teeth clamping down on his tongue. The blonde winces and seethes in his accent of discomfort. Both hands take up the mans wrist, purely for support. He really doesn't feel like flopping sideways like Miss Magdalen, who's known for her dramatic fainting spells.
"Shite, m--ate." Thin brows stitch, soon bucking back to allow him to become the very picture of helpless innocence. Why did you do that, Mister? Why did you hurt lil'ol'me? The thin man becomes boneless and frail, slipping from his seat until his butt has completely left the bench. His legs shuffle slightly, probably to try and keep himself from falling to the ground. Half true. It's mostly a ruse to be able to slip the blade of his skates to the mans ankle. "Oh, d-dammit. That -hurt-. Why you gotta be so violent? Now, how 'bout you do as I asked and tell me your bloody name."
The blade presses to skin and the curve of the other mans foot. "Maybe we can even discuss a way for you to get paid more than just a few pounds."
His senses come roaring to an alertness he hadn't put to use in longer than he's truly accustomed to. Weeks, maybe. Days. Whatever the case, the mortal edge tears through the surface at the corner of his mouth, slitting his lips out into a sadistic smile. He can hear the vessels swelling at the points where bloodflow had been stopped, swelling out and moaning in agony before bursting all together. He can hear every individual fiber severing straight through to the marrow and joining the stomach-turning chorus of snapping bone. He can smell the cupric red flooding out of where his foot had come down to stomp directly through the angled leg, once threatening and now twisted. All at once he can feel, taste, smell, hear, see it.
Yet his ankle is locked to the concrete and coaxed only slightly by the eager tense of a calf muscle.
"Taega." He's half-willing now, but the blade has far less to do with that than the fox might think. "I ain't a rent-a-fag, either."
"Ta, Taega." It's all he wanted. The blade retreats to stamp into the icy sidewalk so he can return to his seat on the bench and take off his skate. It was merely being used to aid in lessening the speed of which someone might pursue him. Now that that wasn't going to be the case...
Fingers tuck into his shirt, rubbing the sore spot on his chest that would have a new bruise on that flawless skin by the morning. "It's a good thing, too. You'd make a -terrible- prostitute. We're too sweet, anyways," he mentions, fluttering a playful smile at the still standing figure. "Come. Sit with me, Taega."
He pats the bench next to him, setting the earned money in the seat. "Let's discuss how you might be able to eat like a king for the rest of your life. That is, if you're man enough to stand spending an hour with a queer."
Cameron shifts on the mans side, nose nuzzling the muscle bound breast of his dearest friend. The skating hand slows to lay flat against the beating rise of Taega's chest, warmed by the thmpthmpthmping skin. Voluminous lips press softly to a pair of ribs, investing a sweetened salute to the stippled skin. "Glad you're with me," he breathes against the kiss, offering one more before resting ear and temple to Taega's shoulder.
Taega's face elongates as he smugly chews his tongue, finding a faceless reason for feeling as though he'd won this battle. He'd never be the type to settle with or for anyone. Maybe take a partner shortrun. One or two small scores, a big take, and a body before the cash is split. Ruthlessness is all he needs to know to get by, but some cooperation couldn't hurt. Not for now.
They stand opposite eachother like far ends of a human spectrum. One light and flirty, making particularly gorgeous eyes up at the other, harsh and animal with eyes a total perversion of that cunning beauty. Black as sin and equally troubling. He sighs thoughtfully through his nose and turns, bending at the waist until his hands find the flat of the bench and ease him down to his seat. "Speak..."
Wave after wave of cool air laps over their melded bodies, warmed near to a point of insentience. It's irrelevant. All of it. Taega's hand splays against the bare floor, arm hung over the edge of the couch to accomodate the fox. The sound of the first kiss sets his heart to a second beat, speeding it until the rhythm changes entirely. The second paints a smile on his muzzle so soft that it juxtaposes not his appearance but, essentially, his self. The killer. The wolf. "To the end."
"Shite, m--ate." Thin brows stitch, soon bucking back to allow him to become the very picture of helpless innocence. Why did you do that, Mister? Why did you hurt lil'ol'me? The thin man becomes boneless and frail, slipping from his seat until his butt has completely left the bench. His legs shuffle slightly, probably to try and keep himself from falling to the ground. Half true. It's mostly a ruse to be able to slip the blade of his skates to the mans ankle. "Oh, d-dammit. That -hurt-. Why you gotta be so violent? Now, how 'bout you do as I asked and tell me your bloody name."
The blade presses to skin and the curve of the other mans foot. "Maybe we can even discuss a way for you to get paid more than just a few pounds."
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Yet his ankle is locked to the concrete and coaxed only slightly by the eager tense of a calf muscle.
"Taega." He's half-willing now, but the blade has far less to do with that than the fox might think. "I ain't a rent-a-fag, either."
Reply
Fingers tuck into his shirt, rubbing the sore spot on his chest that would have a new bruise on that flawless skin by the morning. "It's a good thing, too. You'd make a -terrible- prostitute. We're too sweet, anyways," he mentions, fluttering a playful smile at the still standing figure. "Come. Sit with me, Taega."
He pats the bench next to him, setting the earned money in the seat. "Let's discuss how you might be able to eat like a king for the rest of your life. That is, if you're man enough to stand spending an hour with a queer."
Cameron shifts on the mans side, nose nuzzling the muscle bound breast of his dearest friend. The skating hand slows to lay flat against the beating rise of Taega's chest, warmed by the thmpthmpthmping skin. Voluminous lips press softly to a pair of ribs, investing a sweetened salute to the stippled skin. "Glad you're with me," he breathes against the kiss, offering one more before resting ear and temple to Taega's shoulder.
Reply
They stand opposite eachother like far ends of a human spectrum. One light and flirty, making particularly gorgeous eyes up at the other, harsh and animal with eyes a total perversion of that cunning beauty. Black as sin and equally troubling. He sighs thoughtfully through his nose and turns, bending at the waist until his hands find the flat of the bench and ease him down to his seat. "Speak..."
Wave after wave of cool air laps over their melded bodies, warmed near to a point of insentience. It's irrelevant. All of it. Taega's hand splays against the bare floor, arm hung over the edge of the couch to accomodate the fox. The sound of the first kiss sets his heart to a second beat, speeding it until the rhythm changes entirely. The second paints a smile on his muzzle so soft that it juxtaposes not his appearance but, essentially, his self. The killer. The wolf. "To the end."
Reply
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