👀 50 for kees meme ??? we love hot necking and neck-related puns in this house
50 𝚃𝚈𝙿𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙺𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚂 // not accepting.
𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌. One pun too many and he’s forced to snatch her by the hand before the whirl of ever-shifting, red hair gets too far away. Maybe the viper will try on a little BOLDNESS today, a large hand softly sweeping along her chin to neck in a soft motion; a threatening come hither with a challenge. Many years ago he BIT her and learned something after replaying the regret in his head many times over. Sliske didn’t regret often, at least not in a genuine way.
“I had one more,” a few gentle tugs of her hand, closer and closer to narrow down the distance between them so his SONOROUS voice can be felt against her chest. He considers getting down on her level to make this perfect joke more of a performance, and it all plays out so well that Sliske does slink down to bore bright yellow into the spitfire’s boundless blue while his tongue polishes over his teeth softly. Grossly. For a moment Sheila must have thought he was going in for a second gnash on her jugular with the way his other hand doesn’t really cease its overly warm wrap around her neck, one smooth POINT of thumb claw against pale jaw. When Sliske sees the shift in her eyes of assumption he lunges — but not to her neck. He meets her easily in the middle a lot softer than one would expect, no teeth, no tongue; just smooth and slow. Longer than formality would call for. The kiss probably was a mere handful of seconds but it felt like it DRAGGED on like the years it took to forgive that nasty plunge he took to her neck before. He’s well experienced in this dance and routine, but not in this mindset, Sliske doesn’t tease, not on this one, it has MEANING enough for him to close his lurid eyes despite expecting her to knee him or raise one of those boot heels to him. He is indeed in close enough proximity to get a good reel out of him if she did.
But his grip on Sheila stays fast without being a real constriction and it all stays put long enough for him to drag lips across her jaw. It’s a mystery as to whether Sliske is grinning or grimacing on his way down when the smooth pull of teeth slides across her skin harmlessly, nose gliding along her freckles with an exhale of VICTORY. The worst is yet to come when his descent deepens with every soft blip of him pulling south across her neck several times, a row of airy pecks — until he reaches that scar. The ever weeping conundrum of her neck.
Sliske often thinks about her decapitation with MORBID curiosity; who, why, what, where, when, how? Doesn’t matter now, he thinks, when that long, dark tongue tipped with two separate tines flicks deeply across the scar. Anyone else would have been REPULSED, but the ancient is so used to the taste of blood and plasma from the warfare and frontlines that he’s more than happy with the acrid taste of it. He feels Sheila start to wane in his grasp and doesn’t mind the sudden pressure on his shoulder under those pauldrons as her hands find him to steady her balance. Bingo. Checkmate. Voila. It is as he hypothesized, and the Mahjarrart places another kiss on the dark line fervently before another fluid swipe comes along it, teeth bared this time to reveal dark gums even from where he’s nestled in the junction of her jaw neatly. There’s a noise bubbling from his own chest so low that he almost misses the one his entangled victim makes before he pulls away and back to look at his handiwork; there’s no difference in the dark flush across his own face and ear tips when compared to hers
All good things come to an end. His palms find her cheeks and he doesn’t expect much from her yet other than breathless and reeling from just around two hundred and forty-three seconds of actual contact neither of them has had in some time. “Do you know what this makes me?” Sliske’s inquiry catches her face in an AWFUL scrunch and Sheila braces for the worst; all good things come to an end.
“A neck-romancer.”
