[ even though his participation wasn't in any way tactile to himself the grasp of anderson's hand very nearly makes him shiver--he's overwhelmed easily by small things like this, any granted touch that isn't abject punishment.
the laugh surprises him, but perhaps it shouldn't: it's just as absurd for him to be so held back, to carefully navigate this mine field in order to get permission where if they were fighting he could just rip out his throat with no remorse. things are... different like this, here in this place, and there's really no turning away from that.
at the comment, he smiles. ]
You're a fool, Alexander Anderson.
[ but there's a fondness here too, an idle sort of tease, like he's poking fun that anderson said it at all--they both know they're both fools for acting like this. and so: ]
So am I.
[ he doesn't bite. his teeth don't clip, or scrape, but he mouths over where blood has spilled, smearing it messily before his tongue darts out to lap it up between his shoulder blades. it burns and he lets out a rough groan against the skin, eager for both the taste and the pain as his grip at the priest's waist tightens somewhat.
he's waited so long, wanting, aching, that surely it can't be held against him that a little shudder wracks him as he runs his tongue slowly across each of the places he'd marked so briefly, like he can trace the marks that are no longer there. ]
no subject
the laugh surprises him, but perhaps it shouldn't: it's just as absurd for him to be so held back, to carefully navigate this mine field in order to get permission where if they were fighting he could just rip out his throat with no remorse. things are... different like this, here in this place, and there's really no turning away from that.
at the comment, he smiles. ]
You're a fool, Alexander Anderson.
[ but there's a fondness here too, an idle sort of tease, like he's poking fun that anderson said it at all--they both know they're both fools for acting like this. and so: ]
So am I.
[ he doesn't bite. his teeth don't clip, or scrape, but he mouths over where blood has spilled, smearing it messily before his tongue darts out to lap it up between his shoulder blades. it burns and he lets out a rough groan against the skin, eager for both the taste and the pain as his grip at the priest's waist tightens somewhat.
he's waited so long, wanting, aching, that surely it can't be held against him that a little shudder wracks him as he runs his tongue slowly across each of the places he'd marked so briefly, like he can trace the marks that are no longer there. ]