#they lend themselves to cuter content than some of these other freaks KJREHM

[sunlessea]

' you don't know what you do to me. ' - ironely <3

this was a sunday meme / @londonfallen

he's exhausted, and he'd be lying if he tried to claim otherwise - his mind's caught halfway 'tween the reality of the dim, candlelit bedroom and the deeper recesses of his foggy consciousness. he thinks it knows that, too! it's being devious, no matter how unawares it tries to come off, though he doesn't call it out on it, not even when it brushes his hair from the back of his neck so its tongue and teeth can take turns teasing the nape of it. the silence around them is so thick, even the streets of london themselves tucked in for the night outside of once upon's windowless lost ... and how erotic that makes it, however humiliating, each time its teeth press just a little too hard, and he just barely bites back his own hushed whimpers.

its arm 'round his waist pulls him back closer, his back pressing against its chest. his body is warmer than its own even through the thin fabric of the half undone blouse he'd dramatically fallen into bed with. its blush has long faded. it makes him shiver, vision blurred in the near-dark when his eyes open to stare at the flickering flame not far from them. his thighs, mostly mercifully bare, try to press together, but he swears it was waiting for the moment he'd turn to modesty! irons' leg puts an end to that, pressing between his thighs from behind. he winces with that, 'long with its fangs piercing just a bit of skin. "hh..." it takes quite an embarrassing amount of effort, not to moan.

its hand slips 'neath his blouse, shortly after.

"what was that about letting me sleep?" he murmurs back, face red and ears flat. his breath falls labored, the further its fingers travel, past his abdomen, and ribs. he should be humiliated, by the implications of its salacious confession. maybe he is! but it also flusters him, greatly, as he's pulled even tighter into its arms : is it turned on just because of his voice? does he really sound that pathetic? "câtâlin..." his body is heavy, craving sleep more than anything else : but that makes his reactions stronger, too, every single gasp or moan or shudder. he keeps one hand 'neath the pillow so he can dig his claws into the fabric, but the other untangles, reaching rather easily behind him to brush his his own fingers beneath its little clothing, past its hips. it's so close, it's hardly difficult. and he's not shocked at all, to feel it so hard, either! he could already feel as much pressing into him.

he bids it open its thighs, though, just enough for him to comfortably slip his hand between them, and run his fingertips along the slick length of its slit, instead. it's so wet already, he supposes it may as well be silently begging for it, the way its grip tightens on him.

"mmh. do you want me to take care of you, hon?"