NERON
the hailstorm
He feels nothing but pressure from the claws that rake against him, but in the aftermath of the bite Neron can almost pretend he registers the touch as pain, phantom and thrilling in the sudden heat between them. There’s breath against his neck and a pressure against his hips that certainly can’t be coming from him; one of his hand is still buried in the back of Sunjata’s hair, and he lets out a dizzy sort of chuckle at a question that sounds frankly absurd in the moment.
”No,” he mutters, because it’s true - he’s never walked this walk before, setting foot into territories unknown. ”Are you?” Already he’s leaning in again, teeth just grazing the spot beneath the other man’s ear, the forbidden places he’s just been told not to touch. He doesn’t break the skin - of course he doesn’t - but pushing boundaries is a game he’s played his whole life.
”No,” he mutters, because it’s true - he’s never walked this walk before, setting foot into territories unknown. ”Are you?” Already he’s leaning in again, teeth just grazing the spot beneath the other man’s ear, the forbidden places he’s just been told not to touch. He doesn’t break the skin - of course he doesn’t - but pushing boundaries is a game he’s played his whole life.
