i got issues, you got ‘em too
so give ‘em all to me, and i’ll give mine to you
i got issues, and one of 'em is how bad i need you
A huff, an exhale, loud in the vast smothering blackness as Haunt collides with him. It is a familiar thump of body against body, one that had many times begun a tussle full of biting and sparring. This time too there is a catch of teeth at skin, the needle points in the shadow creatures mouth pinching with just enough pressure, not drawing blood even as they nearly stipple the grullo boys skin and carve furrows into his pelt. His own teeth do not grab, or nip, but drag pulling them together though there is no need for encouragement on either of their parts.
The corner of Misfit’s mouth follows the curve of Haunt’s thigh, his ears hardly needing to move to catch the sound of his friend’s voice but they do, inspired by the same greed that roughens the blue pointed boy’s reply. “You are mine, Haunt.” He says as he rests his chin and jaw upon their rump. He echoes Haunt’s words but his tone is possessive, not controlling, he does not own his friend but is consumed by his fondness for them. They have always belonged to one another, since the first hour of their meeting.
He does not feel Haunt move them, it’s not a thing he can sense, this pulling from one point to another. Blue eyes blink only once to adjust to the natural darkness and he lifts his head to cast a look around them. Earthen walls and the smell of dampness unadulterated by any living thing, only the richness of the cool depths. His feet shift (he is pressed to a cool damp wall and yields without question) and beneath them floor is solid though a layer of silt cushions and mutes the movements. Of course he cannot long focus on the cavern because his shadow playmate slithers around him to nibble at his ear, the touch of shadows is familiar but the liquid sensation on his skin makes Misfit growl appreciatively. Haunt’s entrancing voice is breathy, the tip of their teeth catching on the ear they drop the words into.
“Yes. Where is this?” He murmurs the question as though to attempt a distraction from the way he is angling his head to trail his lips up Haunt’s bared throat. He might have taken the chance to grab another time but now his touch is heated in another way, tenderly burning its way over the void-black skin. “Say you’ll only come here with me.” Possessive again, new masculine depths to his low voice. He is not his father (though he does not know of the man), he does not believe himself to own Haunt, does not think himself master or feel the need to be mastered... but desire makes him selfish to keep something special and all their own.
@[Haunt]