[ there is much to watch. Toji in motion is a draw of the eye, irresistible in all the ways choso can't quite articulate. when Toji approaches, choso can only think of predators, the languid amble of tigers in the underbrush.
he does not move, this strange curse, doesn't budge an inch until Toji's grip on his hair firms into a fist and begins to pull.
Choso digs in his heels. This does nothing, of course; the hold is unyielding, drags him forward despite the strain of his muscles. Excitement is a surge of adrenaline, the clench of his teeth as the arms loosely folded over his chest unfurl to make a grab for Toji's offending wrist, fingers digging into the creases between the clenched fist with the distant idea of prising them open, dislodging the pull on hair. Immovable. Steel had lesser yield than this; Choso may as well have fought the tectonic shift of the continents themselves.
Superb.
Toji's voice is a dark snarl into his ear, his words as toothed as the crop; insult is a burning line down Choso's gullet, heavy enough to drop straight through like a stone to sit heavy in his gut, filthy fingers curling into him inexorably. It bares his teeth, pries his mouth open in the start of a snarl before Toji yanks him along and reintroduces him to the utilitarian stiffness of the mattress.
The sheets... stink. Austere and chemical, remnant cleaning agents left to age untouched, so Choso ruins them without further thought, lets the mark bisecting his face leak with blood that oozes down to pool into the fabric, staining his cheek and side of his mouth in pinks and reds. Here now, Choso kicks and twists under Toji's grip, fights animal-savage with every thrash and drag of his hands over the twisting bedcovers, tries to buck the unthinkable weight off while the band of his pants rakes over his hips with a series of faint snaps. (the seams never stood a chance.)
Panting, he snarls, ]
Fuck you.
[ like maybe it isn't just Toji it's meant for, snarls it like it could distract by the heavy, hard curve of his cock exposed to the neutral air. ]
[ He had caught that slight bit of resistance that was futile and is commending Choso on a job well done for playing into his sadistic side; perhaps the half-curse will surprise him even further this evening.
The lounge trousers now to shreds, he discards them, and the distinguishable sound of twisting leather is heard near Choso's ear as he grabs the back of the collar, releasing his partner's head just for a moment to tear the back right down the middle as if it were paper thin. He dismantles the rest of his attire off of him, but not before catching the back of his neck. Firmly, his hand presses along the blood flow on either side-- tightly. Choso may remember him doing something like this back when they were fighting in the arena but at the front of his neck. Ah, the fond memories. ]
You can cuss me out all you want. I'm going to have my way with you or kill you trying.
[ There is some shifting as he keeps hold of the other man with one hand, and before Choso knows it, he'll feel the soft dance of the leather crop running along the side of his ass. Gentle, caressing, as if it wasn't imposing any threat. He's teasing him, knowing not to strike him too soon. ]
What else does a nasty bastard like you have to say?
[ Listen: when Toji grips the back of his shirt, Choso's breath hitches with the shudder that wracks him, voice catching in his throat in a guttural noise. He can't even make room to regret the garment; it's gone from his notice the moment it's ripped from his body. The noise of its destruction will be its legacy, surely. He's got other things to worry about.
Like how Toji's grip is a perfect vise, pinning Choso in place while his vision begins to fuzz and pound in time with his pulse, a darkening at the edges in delicate threads. It is a humiliation in itself to feel the ease with which the man contains him; the blood beginning to pool within the sheets shudders, a thrum in perfect time with the heavy thud of Choso's pulse against Toji's fingers. The smell of leather has begun to overcome the familiar tang of his own blood, the drag of something-- the crop, it must be. The drag of the crop has Choso swallowing, struggling to swallow, hands clawing blunt and useless at machine-count sheets as he lowers himself flat to the mattress, knees pressed tight together, ankles crossing like one more gate to kick open.
He did say he wanted Toji to work for it. But lo, a query. What does he have to say? ]
I cannot wait, [ and it's gasped, puffed into the blood-damp sheet stuck to his cheek ] to taste your blood between my teeth.
[ It’s at this point in time that Toji takes a moment to appreciate the canvas he’s about to paint; green eyes surveying the curve of his shoulder and down the side of his body, sweeping across the rounds of muscle along his back. It’s hard to not follow the dip his spine makes, all the way down to a sculpted back end that is perfect to lash. His eyes flick back up when Choso speaks and he leans down close, the stench of his blood overpowering Toji’s senses as he gets closer. His chest nearly melds into Choso’s back as he purrs into his ear, enjoying the rhythmic serenade of the man’s throbbing heart beat. Music to his ears. ]
You don’t get to do that until I say so. Biting.. that’s what animals do. That’s what you are. That’s why I picked this. Do you know what it is?
[ He flutters the soft end of the crop against his partner’s thigh, still teasing so gently, it almost tickles. ]
It’s used on animals, who are dirty and nasty like you.
[ The warmth of his body is gone as he straightens his posture, the sound of leather being heard again as he tightens the loop around his wrist and hand. ]
[ Without much warning, Toji uses the bare end of the leather to spank Choso, right along the softest part of his ass. It whizzes through the air he is almost certain he can feel a gust, and the sound it makes when striking claps like thunder.
He’s relentless in hitting him again, making a mark just above the previous one. There’s no need for him to confront any emotions that is going through his mind right now; not when there’s someone so willing to let him beat the shit out of him. It’s mind numbing for him, too, as he thinks of pent up anger he’s worn on his shoulders for so long. Anger at his family, anger at society, anger at himself. Toji doesn’t have a temper to release those sorts of feelings. Fighting, well. He enjoys that, but nothing delights him more than being able to strike someone in a sexual manner. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he does not move, this strange curse, doesn't budge an inch until Toji's grip on his hair firms into a fist and begins to pull.
Choso digs in his heels. This does nothing, of course; the hold is unyielding, drags him forward despite the strain of his muscles. Excitement is a surge of adrenaline, the clench of his teeth as the arms loosely folded over his chest unfurl to make a grab for Toji's offending wrist, fingers digging into the creases between the clenched fist with the distant idea of prising them open, dislodging the pull on hair. Immovable. Steel had lesser yield than this; Choso may as well have fought the tectonic shift of the continents themselves.
Superb.
Toji's voice is a dark snarl into his ear, his words as toothed as the crop; insult is a burning line down Choso's gullet, heavy enough to drop straight through like a stone to sit heavy in his gut, filthy fingers curling into him inexorably. It bares his teeth, pries his mouth open in the start of a snarl before Toji yanks him along and reintroduces him to the utilitarian stiffness of the mattress.
The sheets... stink. Austere and chemical, remnant cleaning agents left to age untouched, so Choso ruins them without further thought, lets the mark bisecting his face leak with blood that oozes down to pool into the fabric, staining his cheek and side of his mouth in pinks and reds. Here now, Choso kicks and twists under Toji's grip, fights animal-savage with every thrash and drag of his hands over the twisting bedcovers, tries to buck the unthinkable weight off while the band of his pants rakes over his hips with a series of faint snaps. (the seams never stood a chance.)
Panting, he snarls, ]
Fuck you.
[ like maybe it isn't just Toji it's meant for, snarls it like it could distract by the heavy, hard curve of his cock exposed to the neutral air. ]
no subject
The lounge trousers now to shreds, he discards them, and the distinguishable sound of twisting leather is heard near Choso's ear as he grabs the back of the collar, releasing his partner's head just for a moment to tear the back right down the middle as if it were paper thin. He dismantles the rest of his attire off of him, but not before catching the back of his neck. Firmly, his hand presses along the blood flow on either side-- tightly. Choso may remember him doing something like this back when they were fighting in the arena but at the front of his neck. Ah, the fond memories. ]
You can cuss me out all you want. I'm going to have my way with you or kill you trying.
[ There is some shifting as he keeps hold of the other man with one hand, and before Choso knows it, he'll feel the soft dance of the leather crop running along the side of his ass. Gentle, caressing, as if it wasn't imposing any threat. He's teasing him, knowing not to strike him too soon. ]
What else does a nasty bastard like you have to say?
no subject
Like how Toji's grip is a perfect vise, pinning Choso in place while his vision begins to fuzz and pound in time with his pulse, a darkening at the edges in delicate threads. It is a humiliation in itself to feel the ease with which the man contains him; the blood beginning to pool within the sheets shudders, a thrum in perfect time with the heavy thud of Choso's pulse against Toji's fingers. The smell of leather has begun to overcome the familiar tang of his own blood, the drag of something-- the crop, it must be. The drag of the crop has Choso swallowing, struggling to swallow, hands clawing blunt and useless at machine-count sheets as he lowers himself flat to the mattress, knees pressed tight together, ankles crossing like one more gate to kick open.
He did say he wanted Toji to work for it. But lo, a query. What does he have to say? ]
I cannot wait, [ and it's gasped, puffed into the blood-damp sheet stuck to his cheek ] to taste your blood between my teeth.
1/2
You don’t get to do that until I say so. Biting.. that’s what animals do. That’s what you are. That’s why I picked this. Do you know what it is?
[ He flutters the soft end of the crop against his partner’s thigh, still teasing so gently, it almost tickles. ]
It’s used on animals, who are dirty and nasty like you.
[ The warmth of his body is gone as he straightens his posture, the sound of leather being heard again as he tightens the loop around his wrist and hand. ]
2/2
[ Without much warning, Toji uses the bare end of the leather to spank Choso, right along the softest part of his ass. It whizzes through the air he is almost certain he can feel a gust, and the sound it makes when striking claps like thunder.
He’s relentless in hitting him again, making a mark just above the previous one. There’s no need for him to confront any emotions that is going through his mind right now; not when there’s someone so willing to let him beat the shit out of him. It’s mind numbing for him, too, as he thinks of pent up anger he’s worn on his shoulders for so long. Anger at his family, anger at society, anger at himself. Toji doesn’t have a temper to release those sorts of feelings. Fighting, well. He enjoys that, but nothing delights him more than being able to strike someone in a sexual manner. ]
Depends on how you behave.