[ It's not begging. It's not anything at first, except a sound that shuts down Gorgug's brain and forces it into reboot, all in a fraction of a second. Breathy-- a moan, or just so soft enough that it can be misconstrued into any kind of submissive tone. Whatever it is, it shoots through Gorgug's body and removes any semblance of goal from his being, or how exactly to reach it. He was meant to be making Fabian beg, and that was meant to be about an eyepatch, but, except, now--
Now, Gorgug doesn't really care about the eyepatch. He had stopped caring about the eyepatch right around when Fabian spat in his face, and while he still cares about the begging part, the problem is the kind that he wants--the sort it's turning into. The kind of reaction, close to that sound, and the fact that it came after where he put his hand.
Where it could go.
Gorgug thinks about where it could go. He also worries that he might actually be hurting Fabian, in a bad way, and that sound that he's taking so...well, isn't the kind he should be. Was Fabian hurt? Or was that sound something else?
The kind of something else already inside him, replacing the rage that's rapidly dropping from his focus. It's been in there, lurking since he sunk his teeth in, or since Fabian asked him to make him in the first place. He wants to continue to keep going (what if he's telling me to keep going? tell me to keep going--), but the haze of the moment, of where his body is taking this, or maybe where Fabian could be wanting this to go-- he can't be sure. He has to be a good friend first.
Gorgug tries to take his tusks out carefully, shakily, gasping as his lips pull away from the ring of skin they've been planted against all this time. Removes his hand from Fabian's thigh, letting go of the skin grasped there, and leans his weight on the one that had been on Fabian's shoulder, sliding it off to sit on the ground above it.
And Gorgug's eyes widen, just as he manages to lift his head to look down at Fabian, inhaling sharply as he feels a sting from his palm: and always sees a streak of red on Fabian. A few steaks, actually. ]
I-I think we're bleeding.
[ There's a face to be examined, taken note of, Gorgug's own a darkened through activity and the tips of his tusks coloured red, his breathing heavy, shaky.
But that's what he whispers first, as the lustre goes from Gorgug's eyes, and the pain from taking Fandrangor between his hands starts to itch against his skin.
no subject
Now, Gorgug doesn't really care about the eyepatch. He had stopped caring about the eyepatch right around when Fabian spat in his face, and while he still cares about the begging part, the problem is the kind that he wants--the sort it's turning into. The kind of reaction, close to that sound, and the fact that it came after where he put his hand.
Where it could go.
Gorgug thinks about where it could go. He also worries that he might actually be hurting Fabian, in a bad way, and that sound that he's taking so...well, isn't the kind he should be. Was Fabian hurt? Or was that sound something else?
The kind of something else already inside him, replacing the rage that's rapidly dropping from his focus. It's been in there, lurking since he sunk his teeth in, or since Fabian asked him to make him in the first place. He wants to continue to keep going (what if he's telling me to keep going? tell me to keep going--), but the haze of the moment, of where his body is taking this, or maybe where Fabian could be wanting this to go-- he can't be sure. He has to be a good friend first.
Gorgug tries to take his tusks out carefully, shakily, gasping as his lips pull away from the ring of skin they've been planted against all this time. Removes his hand from Fabian's thigh, letting go of the skin grasped there, and leans his weight on the one that had been on Fabian's shoulder, sliding it off to sit on the ground above it.
And Gorgug's eyes widen, just as he manages to lift his head to look down at Fabian, inhaling sharply as he feels a sting from his palm: and always sees a streak of red on Fabian. A few steaks, actually. ]
I-I think we're bleeding.
[ There's a face to be examined, taken note of, Gorgug's own a darkened through activity and the tips of his tusks coloured red, his breathing heavy, shaky.
But that's what he whispers first, as the lustre goes from Gorgug's eyes, and the pain from taking Fandrangor between his hands starts to itch against his skin.
And it's getting itchier by the second. ]