On cue, Mo Ran glances down at his hands, eyeing the black gloves Tomoe's still wearing. There's a story there, Mo Ran is sure, and he's tempted to ask about it, wondering if Tomoe would actually tell him. But there are more pressing matters at hand. Namely, sex. And Mo Ran is but a simple man, driven by his desires. Put a plate of food in front of him and he'll eat; put a hot boy in front of him and he'll fuck.

So maybe later, if he can remember to ask. Get the story out of his while they're fucking, if possible; people can be surprisingly relaxed when they've gotten fucked relentlessly.

"Got it." His hand tightens around Tomoe's neck, squeezing briefly then relaxing, just a small display of what to expect later, and then he lets go, reaching for Tomoe's shirt. Button-down, easy enough to rip off, so he does, buttons flying across the room. It's impolite, but Mo Ran isn't here for polite; he never has been. He rakes nails down Tomoe's chest, hard enough to leave faint red marks behind. "On your knees."

Would it be better to strip him completely? Probably, especially if they don't want to stop to do something as awkward as removing clothes, but there's a fire burning in his veins and Mo Ran wants to see those lips stretched around his cock.