[ Kostos recoils from the bite—not far, not in pain, just enough to give her a warning look—and gives up on chasing her escaped hand as soon as it would require bending his own arm too far. Trade the battle for the war, because it matters and he is winning. He focuses on the hand he still has, scraping it over the stone wall until it's above her head and shifting more of his weight to task of keeping it there, and pushing his tongue into her mouth because that withdrawal was only tactical and temporary, and using his free hand to pull at whatever laces are holding her shirt together.
He would be a little slower, with anyone else. He'd make sure. But they've already made sure twice, so. So that's a thought for later. Preferably never. Now all the irritated energy that had been snagging on everything it could reach smooths and narrows in focus, and he doesn't think about anything else.
(—and fine, it's not about winning—)
He only needs her shirt loose enough to expose one breast, because that's what he wants. The exposure, and a nipple to roll ungently between his knuckles, in the daylight, with an open window and a locked door. ]
sexual content warning
He would be a little slower, with anyone else. He'd make sure. But they've already made sure twice, so. So that's a thought for later. Preferably never. Now all the irritated energy that had been snagging on everything it could reach smooths and narrows in focus, and he doesn't think about anything else.
(—and fine, it's not about winning—)
He only needs her shirt loose enough to expose one breast, because that's what he wants. The exposure, and a nipple to roll ungently between his knuckles, in the daylight, with an open window and a locked door. ]