Unaware of Mo Ran's questioning, Tomoe doesn't explain the gloves. For someone who was so open about themselves and their motivations Tomoe's silence was telling in itself. But that was a story for a different hearth. The one before him now blazed hot - a fire to burn, not to soothe a cold heart.
The mix of Mo Ran's words and actions was perfect. He couldn't tell if he'd done it that way intentionally but Tomoe's breath hitched suddenly. He hadn't been as aroused as his new lover thus far but he was getting there. Mo Ran promised he wouldn't do the one thing Tomoe asked. At the same time, he squeezed his throat. His vocal cords. His voice. His music. His song. It was delicious and frightening, causing his hackles to rise up and his body to send adrenaline pumping through his body. Fight. Fight back. His breathing quickened - oxygen, his body responding autonomously exactly as it should.
Tomoe was in control. Not his body. He didn't fight. Not even when Mo Ran surprised him a little by snapping off his shirt's fastenings. He'd...sort of calling it in advanced, hence the brand-new clothes that were bought just to be destroyed. But, he hadn't known the degree of force that'd be used. That's what surprised him. It seemed so easy - even knowing Mo Ran must have done this countless times before Tomoe admired the grace behind that display of strength, the wanton destruction, the selfishness.
Startled by the pain, Tomoe's torso jerks slightly when he's treated to Mo Ran's nails. He's not unathletic and possessed an increased tolerance than average. The pressure on his throat had prepared him for one type of pain, and to have a new one replace it made the sensation sharper. Mo Ran didn't treat him like a kid... Tomoe was enjoying this. Being taken seriously. The mutual trust between a man permitted to hurt him without taking it too far, and Tomoe being trusted in return to be capable of taking it.
"Yes, Master."
It was cliche, wasn't it? Tomoe smirked, speaking without a hint of sarcasm or foolishness. They were only playing a game so why not play it up? Tomoe started by kicking off his shoes, taking off his socks, and spying the innocent buttons on the floor as he knelt to join them. Anticipation rising. Mo Ran would bruise his throat. Used and discarded, treated like trash. Just like the little buttons. Tomoe looked up at Mo Ran through long lashes, but did nothing else. There were no other orders to obey.
no subject
The mix of Mo Ran's words and actions was perfect. He couldn't tell if he'd done it that way intentionally but Tomoe's breath hitched suddenly. He hadn't been as aroused as his new lover thus far but he was getting there. Mo Ran promised he wouldn't do the one thing Tomoe asked. At the same time, he squeezed his throat. His vocal cords. His voice. His music. His song. It was delicious and frightening, causing his hackles to rise up and his body to send adrenaline pumping through his body. Fight. Fight back. His breathing quickened - oxygen, his body responding autonomously exactly as it should.
Tomoe was in control. Not his body. He didn't fight. Not even when Mo Ran surprised him a little by snapping off his shirt's fastenings. He'd...sort of calling it in advanced, hence the brand-new clothes that were bought just to be destroyed. But, he hadn't known the degree of force that'd be used. That's what surprised him. It seemed so easy - even knowing Mo Ran must have done this countless times before Tomoe admired the grace behind that display of strength, the wanton destruction, the selfishness.
Startled by the pain, Tomoe's torso jerks slightly when he's treated to Mo Ran's nails. He's not unathletic and possessed an increased tolerance than average. The pressure on his throat had prepared him for one type of pain, and to have a new one replace it made the sensation sharper. Mo Ran didn't treat him like a kid... Tomoe was enjoying this. Being taken seriously. The mutual trust between a man permitted to hurt him without taking it too far, and Tomoe being trusted in return to be capable of taking it.
"Yes, Master."
It was cliche, wasn't it? Tomoe smirked, speaking without a hint of sarcasm or foolishness. They were only playing a game so why not play it up? Tomoe started by kicking off his shoes, taking off his socks, and spying the innocent buttons on the floor as he knelt to join them. Anticipation rising. Mo Ran would bruise his throat. Used and discarded, treated like trash. Just like the little buttons. Tomoe looked up at Mo Ran through long lashes, but did nothing else. There were no other orders to obey.