Hot tradition with a cold boy.
warning: without a plot, mistakes because english is not my native language, not quite canon because i never figured out what his personality is, but i really want to kiss him
also one ithaqua once in a match pinned me in the wall and did not let me pass for almost 3 MINUTES while my teammates were standing in the basement;
His hands are everywhere. In your hair, held by the waist, even if it is not necessary, on your hips, pressing circles into the soft skin, intertwined with your palms. Everything he can grab onto while his lips greedily dig into yours, not giving you a chance to take a breath or at least calm your heart after a hard chase.
He is demanding, moves his lips, bites, his tongue is always the first to slide between your lips, slowly and without words forcing you to open your mouth, letting him in. He knows what he's doing and he knows you like it. Even if his own cheeks are burning with embarrassment, and his body is languishing from an unknown feeling, he always does it so skillfully with you, making your breath come off in a couple of seconds, and your legs tremble.
This tradition came to you by chance and completely unexpectedly. That day you had almost finished the last cipher when all the sounds of the chase died down, leaving you alone with the buzzing of the typewriter. The difficult match against the new hunter was coming to an end, because there was only one cipher left, which you were just working on. Your hands were typing rapidly, typing the sequence, hardly noticing anything around, until your body suddenly shuddered from the cold and the frosty wind pulled you to the hunter, leaving almost no chance to grab something, at the same second forcing you to suffocate from your own hair and pain when the icy blade of the ice drill plunges into your flesh, knocking you down.
What the hell your teammates were doing at that time and where the fuck they are when you need them so badly is unknown, but you knew that you were finished. This is the third time you've become chairman, the third time you've screwed up again. A quiet, almost girly giggle of a hunter - and here you are in the air, limply and pitifully waiting for your exclusion from the match, when suddenly instead of a chair you find yourself on a dirty cot, firmly pressing your ass to its dusty, rusty surface. His weapon rings loudly in your ear as Ithaqua leans on it, squeezing his hips between your legs, unnaturally hunched to be at the level of your face. The hunter's sky-blue eyes eagerly dig into yours, intently watching the reaction, while his fingers nervously draw circles on your skin. Excited? Why?
— You're too angry, you don't let me chase you, you constantly run away to these incomprehensible things, not letting us be alone. - Boy dramatically sighs, pouting his lips, but the mask and thick fur on his hood carefully suppresses any sounds, turning everything into a rustle when you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and fear is changed by misunderstanding. — It's my turn to play!
You open your mouth to object, or at least to clarify what he means at all, as his hands brazenly rest against you, almost bending over with his whole body to briefly kiss you on the cheek, and poking the sharp edge of his half-hidden mask right into your nose and eye, demonstrating this strange affection. which came from him out of nowhere. Your confusion and inaction seem to give him a reason and permission to act further when the guy's dry lips are completely chaotically showering your face with kisses, completely childish and almost cute, but only until he gets to your lips with burning eyes, turning this situation into something that you share in each match strictly with the priming machine.
Someday your comrades will guess why after every match with the Night Watch it is you who get the MVP, and not them, regardless of what they did in this match, but let's hope not now.
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