Maybe it's Azathoth granting you a little bliss, too.
He bites down on his hand to conceal the noises threatening to break through his throat. "Good? I, I don't-"
His cheeks are red. The veins keep pulsing over his skin, as if working in tandem with his heavy breathing as he tries to pinpoint where exactly could he have got this mark from...that is if it weren't already there from the very start. Would the others who have fought him before know something about it? Would it have mattered if-
Standing at the top of a building, the world at your fingertips with Akira looking at him in horror-
The glowing veins beneath his skin pulsed again—rhythmic, reactive, as if attuned not just to her presence, but to her attention. The gentle pressure she applied to the strange mark sent a ripple through his body, like a massage that resonated through his entire nervous system. Every nerve-ending felt kissed by a spark of something warm and dizzying.
“Ahh—hh, Kuon—” he gasped out, hips twitching slightly where he sat, unable to stop the subtle roll of his shoulders, the breathless tremor in his chest.
Was this… Azathoth’s doing? A blessing, or a curse dressed in silk and fire?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t care.
It felt good. Too good.
Just as the pressure shifted again, drawing out a choked moan from him, his eyes shot open—and clarity hit.
"A-Ahh—!"
His entire body flinched, startled by the intensity of the pleasure. Like someone flipped a switch inside his skull. His brain stuttered. And then—he practically launched himself backward.
In one graceless, almost cartoonish movement, Takuto scrambled back onto the bed, arms and legs uncoordinated as he flopped onto the mattress. His back hit the headboard with a soft thud, and he immediately reached for his half-unbuttoned shirt, clumsily tugging the fabric together to cover himself with a bundle of cotton and panic.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slight nsfw undertones from here tbh
He bites down on his hand to conceal the noises threatening to break through his throat. "Good? I, I don't-"
His cheeks are red. The veins keep pulsing over his skin, as if working in tandem with his heavy breathing as he tries to pinpoint where exactly could he have got this mark from...that is if it weren't already there from the very start. Would the others who have fought him before know something about it? Would it have mattered if-
The glowing veins beneath his skin pulsed again—rhythmic, reactive, as if attuned not just to her presence, but to her attention. The gentle pressure she applied to the strange mark sent a ripple through his body, like a massage that resonated through his entire nervous system. Every nerve-ending felt kissed by a spark of something warm and dizzying.
“Ahh—hh, Kuon—” he gasped out, hips twitching slightly where he sat, unable to stop the subtle roll of his shoulders, the breathless tremor in his chest.
Was this… Azathoth’s doing? A blessing, or a curse dressed in silk and fire?
He didn’t know.
He didn’t care.
It felt good. Too good.
Just as the pressure shifted again, drawing out a choked moan from him, his eyes shot open—and clarity hit.
"A-Ahh—!"
His entire body flinched, startled by the intensity of the pleasure. Like someone flipped a switch inside his skull. His brain stuttered. And then—he practically launched himself backward.
In one graceless, almost cartoonish movement, Takuto scrambled back onto the bed, arms and legs uncoordinated as he flopped onto the mattress. His back hit the headboard with a soft thud, and he immediately reached for his half-unbuttoned shirt, clumsily tugging the fabric together to cover himself with a bundle of cotton and panic.