[ The tentacles wriggle a little under Gojo's gaze, and as they move, the stars in them stay put. Like a cut-out moving in front of a static image of the sky. At least Gojo seems unbothered, which is just what Winter was hoping for, given his own... everything. His grin against Gojo's lips sharpens a little. ]
No company. Just me.
[ Lest there was any doubt about just how weird things are about to get.
They're much of the same mind, though, that even with one layer of fabric out of the way, it's not nearly enough for the heat and the need coursing through them both. Winter is about to leverage his extra limbs to make short work of his own shirt as well, but then Gojo goes and rips it right off him. Gods, he can't even be mad, and shrugs out of the fabric as Gojo guides it down his arms. His own skin is mostly unmarred by anything significant by the way of scarring, but what is notable is the tendrils of deep, dark black ink that snake over his skin. There is the ever-present coil around his neck, but also one down each arm, and hugging each side of his ribs, and hints of yet more curving over his hips just above the waistband of his pants. The marks are practically lightfast, void painted onto his skin. ]
Don't you "oops" at me. You know exactly what you're doing. [ He leans in again, breathes out in the rapidly disappearing space between them, ] I like it.
no subject
No company. Just me.
[ Lest there was any doubt about just how weird things are about to get.
They're much of the same mind, though, that even with one layer of fabric out of the way, it's not nearly enough for the heat and the need coursing through them both. Winter is about to leverage his extra limbs to make short work of his own shirt as well, but then Gojo goes and rips it right off him. Gods, he can't even be mad, and shrugs out of the fabric as Gojo guides it down his arms. His own skin is mostly unmarred by anything significant by the way of scarring, but what is notable is the tendrils of deep, dark black ink that snake over his skin. There is the ever-present coil around his neck, but also one down each arm, and hugging each side of his ribs, and hints of yet more curving over his hips just above the waistband of his pants. The marks are practically lightfast, void painted onto his skin. ]
Don't you "oops" at me. You know exactly what you're doing. [ He leans in again, breathes out in the rapidly disappearing space between them, ] I like it.