[The accusation of being possessive earns Wriothesley a low noise that could be the start of another, deeper growl. It's a soft rumble that comes from Nanami's chest as he drags his palm up Wriothesley's length and over the edge of his hip, fingers curling to hook his pants and waistband, tugging them away. He lets his claws cut through the fabric, returning the teasing with that bit of rebellion as he pulls back to shrug off his shirt, tossing it aside on the floor.]
Understood.
[If that's the challenge, then he'll have to take it. He barely gives the boxer enough time to get his pants open before he grabs his wrists, holding them tightly and pulling Wriothesley's arms up above his head as his other arm scoops behind his back and lifts him up, pulling him into Nanami's body. He drags him to the edge of the counter, tilting him back so he can kiss down the exposed parts of his neck and chest, nipping at the line of his collarbone and running is tongue along the scratches his fangs leave.
When he lets Wriothesley's arms go, it's so he can slip further down and tug his pants down his thighs, ripping his way through the clothes to cover the boxer's erection with his mouth. There's no patience or hesitation this time, but the focused, steady wash of his tongue around the head right before he sinks down on him, taking him all the way in as he braces himself against the countertop. If Wriothesley's going to make noise, he wants it to be a noise he likes.]
no subject
Understood.
[If that's the challenge, then he'll have to take it. He barely gives the boxer enough time to get his pants open before he grabs his wrists, holding them tightly and pulling Wriothesley's arms up above his head as his other arm scoops behind his back and lifts him up, pulling him into Nanami's body. He drags him to the edge of the counter, tilting him back so he can kiss down the exposed parts of his neck and chest, nipping at the line of his collarbone and running is tongue along the scratches his fangs leave.
When he lets Wriothesley's arms go, it's so he can slip further down and tug his pants down his thighs, ripping his way through the clothes to cover the boxer's erection with his mouth. There's no patience or hesitation this time, but the focused, steady wash of his tongue around the head right before he sinks down on him, taking him all the way in as he braces himself against the countertop. If Wriothesley's going to make noise, he wants it to be a noise he likes.]