[ His appetite is such a crazed, voracious thing. Stranded under the mania of it, desiring a closer touch or to be ripped apart or something between the two, he doesn't protest the fever-tight grip of He Xuan's hand, thinking a bit distantly on how it should be colder. If it were up to him, it'd be frigid enough to melt him all the way through. There's no way that Tartaglia can get rid of this insufferable warmth otherwise, mouth heavy with the taste of deep-throating him, sulking and roughed-up and still wanting more and more than could be feasibly given.
Mostly, those urges are violent. Inside, he's a filthy mess of contradictions, easy to bruise and easier to rile, much too vulgar and far too unsweet for his own good. Maybe he should've been better about showing that before, not waiting until his inhibitions were stripped back and pared down to reveal that he's completely insensible, that it isn't love that overrides all that could exist in his heart but this tendency to run his opponents through.
But He Xuan's hardly an adversary, and Tartaglia licking his lips, his stare so deep and dark. Fingers flexing a little, they crumple together and then hangs limp in someone else's clutches.
Righted, he's yanking off the dress so it drops the rest of the way with the hand that hasn't been caught, unashamed with the nudity. It's fine. It's not ideal, but even if it's ripped to shreds, he'll walk off the ship with his ego intact. Maybe he's a little bit of a masochist, given this proclivity toward harming others, harming himself. ]
At least take your clothes off, if nothing else. How am I supposed to touch you beneath all those layers?
[ Is He Xuan just going to finger him and fuck him out? That's a thought. Here's another, eyes gouging him through, face-to-face and so unbecoming for it. ]
If you're gonna do this to me, then I want you to watch.
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Mostly, those urges are violent. Inside, he's a filthy mess of contradictions, easy to bruise and easier to rile, much too vulgar and far too unsweet for his own good. Maybe he should've been better about showing that before, not waiting until his inhibitions were stripped back and pared down to reveal that he's completely insensible, that it isn't love that overrides all that could exist in his heart but this tendency to run his opponents through.
But He Xuan's hardly an adversary, and Tartaglia licking his lips, his stare so deep and dark. Fingers flexing a little, they crumple together and then hangs limp in someone else's clutches.
Righted, he's yanking off the dress so it drops the rest of the way with the hand that hasn't been caught, unashamed with the nudity. It's fine. It's not ideal, but even if it's ripped to shreds, he'll walk off the ship with his ego intact. Maybe he's a little bit of a masochist, given this proclivity toward harming others, harming himself. ]
At least take your clothes off, if nothing else. How am I supposed to touch you beneath all those layers?
[ Is He Xuan just going to finger him and fuck him out? That's a thought. Here's another, eyes gouging him through, face-to-face and so unbecoming for it. ]
If you're gonna do this to me, then I want you to watch.
[ No looking away. ]