[It burns, deeply and corrosively, heat spreading down from his lips to his throat to the vulnerability of his neck. He should be sick of this by now, being knocked down and stripped away like he has anything left to lose, but he treats it just as he had before: with no small amount of violence and heat.
Tartaglia's trespass is allowed only long enough to retaliate, hissing under the pressure of his teeth to tear at the back of his shirt, promising to send him home in tatters if he survives this ordeal at all. His jacket is done away with by Tartaglia's hand, but he removes his gloves of his own volition to claw at his back, draw angry red lines down the skin where he's left it bare.
There's nothing passionate here, only anger and adrenaline and a desire to divest as much of Tartaglia as he's divested of him. An eye for an eye with hostility to spare. His breath his hot and rushing against the side of Tartaglia's neck, but there's nothing warm about it. Nothing inviting.]
no subject
Tartaglia's trespass is allowed only long enough to retaliate, hissing under the pressure of his teeth to tear at the back of his shirt, promising to send him home in tatters if he survives this ordeal at all. His jacket is done away with by Tartaglia's hand, but he removes his gloves of his own volition to claw at his back, draw angry red lines down the skin where he's left it bare.
There's nothing passionate here, only anger and adrenaline and a desire to divest as much of Tartaglia as he's divested of him. An eye for an eye with hostility to spare. His breath his hot and rushing against the side of Tartaglia's neck, but there's nothing warm about it. Nothing inviting.]