[There had been a part of him that hoped that Figaro(oo) would just...get with it. Just grab a limb and chomp on down. Impersonal. To the point.
But no, Gepard feels weight against the couch. His eyes open again. Gepard stares up at Figaro. His blue eyes blink - blink blink - as he hears Figaro talk, neck, forearms, Gepard immediately decides he's going to pretend like he didn't hear about the third region, Figaro repeats the part about his thighs and winks and Gepard can't pretend like he hadn't heard that part. It takes an effort to keep from looking away from Figaro, to stare at the ceiling, the couch, to close his eyes again, it takes an effort and he has to fight the instinctual urge to shove Figaro to the ground.
Figaro's hands are gentle. (Damn him.) He can't help it. Gepard nuzzles into that hand as it tilts his head to the side. The lips make him shiver. He's prepared to blame it on the fact that he's prey in the hands of a predator. Don't read too much into it. He feels breath against his skin. Then-
Pain. An agonizing moment of pain, one which sears through his skin as teeth sink in and his spine goes taut and his mind screams at him to fight, to run, to throw Figaro off of him-
-but then, euphoria, joy running through his veins, alien but...welcoming. He welcomes it. It's- it's-
His hand runs through Figaro's hair and he marvels at how silky-smooth it feels, at least in that moment. Gepard hears a moan. It's his own. He hasn't realized it yet. He's too busy trying to pull Figaro, to urge him closer to, have him drink all that he might want to, to use up everything that he is to care about things like the fact he made a very embarrassing moan and the second the bite wears off he's going to fucking die of embarrassment. Bites should be painful. He should hate this.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-05-30 04:00 am (UTC)But no, Gepard feels weight against the couch. His eyes open again. Gepard stares up at Figaro. His blue eyes blink - blink blink - as he hears Figaro talk, neck, forearms, Gepard immediately decides he's going to pretend like he didn't hear about the third region, Figaro repeats the part about his thighs and winks and Gepard can't pretend like he hadn't heard that part. It takes an effort to keep from looking away from Figaro, to stare at the ceiling, the couch, to close his eyes again, it takes an effort and he has to fight the instinctual urge to shove Figaro to the ground.
Figaro's hands are gentle. (Damn him.) He can't help it. Gepard nuzzles into that hand as it tilts his head to the side. The lips make him shiver. He's prepared to blame it on the fact that he's prey in the hands of a predator. Don't read too much into it. He feels breath against his skin. Then-
Pain. An agonizing moment of pain, one which sears through his skin as teeth sink in and his spine goes taut and his mind screams at him to fight, to run, to throw Figaro off of him-
-but then, euphoria, joy running through his veins, alien but...welcoming. He welcomes it. It's- it's-
His hand runs through Figaro's hair and he marvels at how silky-smooth it feels, at least in that moment. Gepard hears a moan. It's his own. He hasn't realized it yet. He's too busy trying to pull Figaro, to urge him closer to, have him drink all that he might want to, to use up everything that he is to care about things like the fact he made a very embarrassing moan and the second the bite wears off he's going to fucking die of embarrassment. Bites should be painful. He should hate this.
But he doesn't.]