It was akin to no other feeling he’d gotten to experience throughout his life, as there had been no time on the job where it had brought him comfort and the odd sense of security in danger like this. He had guns, explosives, poisons, armor, and he had been kitted out to handle everything Hell could send his way in the form of contract kills. Yet nothing could ever compare to the embrace that held him against the biggest sinner’s hands that squeezed his form so well, eliciting chirps, and pleased moans from just knowing how careful and caring they were.
He knew what those hands could do, have done, and here they were playing with him and feeling him over, it was exciting to know he was one of, or perhaps the only one who’d gotten this treatment from Teppet, and he would bask in the glorious position as he’d take full advantage of the trust they had built together through so many moments alone.
“The Fallen God, landing right into your lap.” He huffed out before their tongues found each other again, and this time his tongue would push forward, his was nowhere as long as Teppet’s but it had size to it, and he was pushing it all inside their maw, a hungry display of desire as he arched his back, pressing his chest against their hand.
Striker’s chest had been marked countless times with the daggers and knives that nearly ended his life, bullet holes, fangs, and claws marred his form, the thighs and upper arms lessening, and only his lower legs and forearms were without much hurt… Except for his left leg, as from the thigh down he had been given his second to closest call as to date, and now replaced with a cybernetic leg, courtesy of a whole boatload of cash, and a few friendly favors owed to him by those he’d worked for.
Most times he feared any partner would hate his visage of a cutting-board-come-to-life, but Teppet had adored his markings, spoken longingly of them as they were unable to have any, their healing too good to let anything be left behind from any would-be-killer. It was what made him feel so comfortable in letting them touch every scar they wished to, trusting them enough to not add any without reason.
Once the deeper kiss had been given, and he had to get up for air, he’d stay close, lips moving up to plant kisses across their snoot as he spoke. “You’d say you’re going to eat me then? Once I fall that is?” He looked nonplussed as he asked, as if it wasn’t such a bad way to go, as he’d not want any royal or sinner to have his body paraded around or put up for display.
“Do you ever wonder what kind of smoke I would make? Me, a soulless imp made in Hell, or do you think I’d mix in with any other imp from the street?”
It was the first time he’d asked, as for himself, he never thought he’d ask such a question ever, yet here he was, talking about his end as if it was as common as to compliment the tight grip they had on his ass.
“Or would you rather answer it another time, and focus on the little we have right now for you to ruin my clothing and enjoy a bit of cowboy time?” He chuckled, going back down to nipping at their lips, looking just as happy for either answer from them.
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