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[ Even preoccupied as he is by the heat of Winter's hands and mouth, the fact that something emerges to unlock the door isn't lost on him, even if his Six Eyes don't quite recognize the form or shape of it. A kind of magic he hasn't seen Winter use yet, presumably, and a thrilling revelation to have while stumbling into someone's room. Given how their encounters have gone so far, Gojo holds no misconceptions that this will be at all normal. He doesn't always flex his powers in bed the first time he sleeps with someone, but Winter is a bit of a special case.

And he's in a bit of a special mood.

Once they're past the threshold, with a flick of his wrist over Winter's shoulder, the door is swinging shut once more, before his hand sinks deep into Winter's thick, dark hair once more, slipping his tongue past his lips to taste the back of his teeth. This is Winter's room, so he can be polite and allow him to take the lead — for now — though his free hand does snag into the front of Winter's shirt to untuck it from his trousers to better allow him to palm over his abdomen.

It hadn't escaped his notice before how nice of a body Winter has, too. Likewise, Winter will find only lean, honed muscle beneath Gojo's shirt, and perhaps a surprising lack of scars, though there is one — a terribly gruesome one that extends all the way from the corner of his hip up to his collar. ]

[ He catches the movement of Gojo's arm in his periphery, hears the click of the door behind him, and thinks once again that Gojo has all sorts of handy tricks up his sleeve. It thrills him to think that he might get to discover even more as they carry on, because he, too, is under no impression that this is going to be typical in any way. Case in point, there are certain things that Winter dare not break out in his first time sleeping with someone, or even the second or third or fourth time, really, but given the company and the mood? He's more than willing to break that personal rule.

After all, at the root of all of this is the desire to touch. To seek out as many points of contact as possible, and he has many, many points of contact to offer.

Winter makes a low, pleased sound into Gojo's mouth as his hands find bare skin, Winter's muscles flexing under the pass of his palms. He explores the other man in turn, fingers tracing the hills and valleys of his abdomen, finding the ridges of his hips — and that raised stretch of scar tissue that travels up, up, to be lost under the fabric of Gojo's shirt. Well now. It seems he's not entirely untouchable after all. He wants to see that mark, explore it more fully, and so, while his hands do not once leave Gojo's skin, something curls into the hem of his shirt at either side to tug it over his head. With the motion, Gojo is more than able to clearly see what it is: a pair of tentacles, pitch black and peppered with stars, slipping out from under Winter's shirt from the back. ]

[ There it is again, and this time, Gojo doesn't miss his chance to catch sight of it with his natural eyes, even if Winter is making no attempt to conceal it now. As the tentacles tug his shirt off and over his head, taking the blindfold that still clung to his hair with it, Gojo's gaze trails along the length of the shadowy tendril to where it disappears beneath Winter's shirt in the back. A shikigami...? But, no, he would have recognized it on sight if that were the case. This is something different entirely.

So, Winter's a tentacle man. Noted. Gojo really won't need to worry about getting a little weird, then. ]

Hm...we have company, I see.

[ He purrs against Winter's lips. It's hard not to focus on the tentacles now that they're out, but this discovery hasn't robbed him of appreciating the rush of cool air against his bare skin now that Winter has divested him of his shirt. He was getting too hot, anyway, and now it will be all the easier to be touched — though that's not enough. Not at all. He needs more of the man before him, too, needs to touch him with his hands and his infinity both.

Though Winter's plunging neckline gives Gojo a fair bit to work with on its own, he's eager to see him bare, too, and though it takes no supernatural power to do so, he tears Winter's shirt open right at the front effortlessly so he can push it down his shoulders and arms with ease. ]

Oops.

[ Though there's really no "oops" about it. ]

[ 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.

[ Now, isn't that interesting, and to be certain, Winter's tattoos and the abilities of his eldritch tentacles would be something that under normal circumstances, Gojo would be asking more about. Later, he will, but as is to be expected, his mind is a little preoccupied by other thoughts at the moment.

Like how much of Winter's skin is within his reach now. One arm hooks beneath Winter's arm, fingers dragging around the curve of his ribs to the small of his back, while his other hand reaches for the shadowy marks that curl over his torso, calloused fingertips tracing the void inked onto his body. Maybe it's just his own eagerness talking, but Winter feels good, just right, exactly what his hands and mouth and body need right now. Have needed since he was chained to the Prison Realm by his own betraying heart.

This is easy, uncomplicated. ]

Careful. Praise me too much, and it might just go to my head.

[ As if he could have a bigger head, or would refuse any further praise. While his palms continue to map his partner's skin, each caress scratching an itch that only burns more intensely by the same turn, he leans in to kiss Winter again, licking into his mouth, a huff of laughter swallowed up in the sounds of their kisses before there's another gentle pop that heralds the activation of Gojo's cursed technique.

They're teleporting again, but this time to the edge of Winter's bed. Gojo wouldn't rob himself of the pleasure of tipping the other man back onto it with his own hands, if Winter will allow it. ]

[ For being a man named after something harsh and cold, Winter himself is much the opposite, warm and soft under Gojo’s hands. He practically melts into the other man, the impossibly dark lines of his tattoos shift across his skin with Gojo’s touch, like a sigh that’s seen more than heard. There is a need here that they’re both fulfilling, to touch and to be touched, but every pass of the other’s hands, every kiss and bite and wet slide of their tongues together stokes as much as it satisfies.

He swallows Gojo's laugh in the wake of his own stupid joke, offering his own noise of amusement in return, though the sounds are quickly lost between them. His arms are quick to circle Gojo’s frame, to draw them together and bask in the sweet heat of skin on skin contact, and then the air shifts. They’re teleporting again.

It only takes him a moment to orient himself, feeling the mattress bumping against the back of his legs. If Gojo wants to get him onto his back, he’s more than happy to allow it, tipping back onto the bed with a soft rustle of sheets, dark hair fanned out around his head. He makes no secret of dragging his gaze over the form of the man above him, pale eyes gone dark with desire. Gorgeous. Perfect. Scars and all.

One of those night dark tendrils comes up to brush against Gojo’s skin, its touch cool and slick as it snakes around his side to his back like a thing alive, following the ridge of one shoulder blade. It travels up, up until it peeks over his shoulder to, gently, so gently, caress the line of his jaw. ]

[ Perhaps it's a testament to the kinds of encounters Gojo has had like this, or perhaps he's just that difficult to faze, but he hardly seems surprised by the touch of one of Winter's tentacles gliding up his body, coiling around him in a way that should feel dangerous, but remains tantalizing by that same turn. Its cool touch sends a shiver right down his spine, a welcome contrast to the heat of Winter's hands, both serving to only stoke his need further. Hadn't this started because he couldn't touch, couldn't be touched enough? Yet he still isn't sated. Not remotely.

So he doesn't hesitate as he moves on top of Winter, straddling his narrow waist between his knees, leaning down to close the space between them and kiss him once more. This is perfect — he's exactly where he wants to be, and while Gojo need not always be the one in control, for this encounter, he leans into it more heavily than he otherwise might. That Winter seems to be into it helps, of course, but despite the way their personalities have clicked, Winter is someone that he simply can't trust yet. It might be incredibly reckless to sleep with him, to lower Limitless, but that's never stopped Gojo before. Desides, a hint of danger only adds to the allure, stoking the heat in his gut that drives him boldly forward.

Fingers dragging up the frets of his Winter's on each side of his chest, Gojo's hands slip between them, only minutely interrupting that scorching brush of skin against skin, so he can drag his thumbs over the buds of Winter's nipples. As his kiss pulls free with a gasp of breath, he mouths at the corner of the other man's jaw, before murmuring: ]

Enjoying yourself? You have a lot of hands — or otherwise — on me.

[ Lower his mouth moves, searing against the pale swath of Winter's neck, before finding a nice patch of skin to sink his teeth into and suck. ]

[ Winter quite often ends up being the one in charge in the bedroom, but that doesn't mean he's particularly married to the idea, or has some deep need to fill that role. The force of his personality simply often lands him there, and at least he does enjoy it. But he and Gojo are so evenly matched that he is more than happy to cede to the other, to watch hungrily as he straddles him, to reach up and loop his arms over his shoulders as he bends for a kiss. Like Gojo, he's keenly aware that they are still practically strangers, a pair of unknown elements with unknown abilities crashing together like waves. It adds to the thrill, certainly.

Every point of contact sparks with heat, and he can't help but arch into Gojo as he pulls away — only to be rewarded by the pads of his thumbs dragging over his nipples. He sucks in a breath, exhaling it in a low, pleased sound that's felt more than heard as it rumbles in his chest. ]

Mm.

[ He angles his head, giving Gojo leave to explore his jaw, and more, if he'd like. Bearing his neck to a predator. ]

I could have a lot more on you, if you wanted.

[ And as Gojo's mouth travels the line of his throat, the tattoo there moves and shudders, uncurling from his neck and lifting from his skin to manifest as a brother to the other tendrils currently sliding over Gojo's skin. It brushes his cheek briefly, then slips between them to circle Gojo's waist, slipping just slightly under the fabric of his jeans. Winter can't help but breathe out a low, breathy little moan with it, as the heat of Gojo's skin washes over his senses from all angles. These are not some unfeeling, alien things — they're a part of him as surely as his own hands.

The bright sting of teeth on skin turn that breathless sound around instantly, a sharp gasp sucked back into his lungs. ]

You're going to leave a mark, you know.

[ This is not a complaint. ]

[ Winter is more than welcome to touch him wherever he likes, with whatever he likes, the cool caress of his tendrils crawling like vines over his skin enough to tug a deep groan from his own lungs. On the one hand, it might be some slight sliver of vulnerability shining through his plated armor, because as a man who has to keep infinity between himself and others, being touched like this is a privilege he doesn't often get to indulge in. It's more than the spa that's made him touched-starved, and his fingers curl delicately against Winter's skin, approvingly, pleadingly.

On the other, he's eager to show a partner what he enjoys, just what gets him going, his cock already halfhard at the front of his pants. There's no reason for him to keep quiet when he feels this good.

A purr of a laugh beats against the puckered flesh between his teeth, before he laves at Winter with his tongue, unapologetic. Only once he releases him with a filthy wet sound does he answer back with: ]

That's the idea.

[ A force of nature as he is, he can't imagine ending this encounter without leaving several marks on Winter's body for him to remember him by -- as if he ever is anything less than memorable, than the best.

With his hands still between them, teasing at the expanse of Winter's broad chest, he arches his back just so to lift his head and meet the other man's gaze with his own, pupils wide and black and full of possibility. ]

Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.

[ As the words take shape on his tongue, a soft blue light emanates from his palms against Winter's chest, and Winter will feel a slight tug against his back as he will find himself unable to pull away from the bed. ]

[ Rest assured, Gojo is going to make this memorable for a number of reasons, the very least of which being the rapidly darkening mark left on pale skin, the way it stings between his teeth and throbs under his tongue. Winter will certainly be seeing that, and probably many more to come, in the mirror tomorrow.

His eyes track Gojo as he arches away, just enough that he can take the briefest second to admire him again, those luminous blue eyes gone so dark as the darker still lines of Winter's tentacles cut across his form, writhing squeezing. The one around his waist dips further down, snaking beneath the fabric of his pants, though it makes no move toward the bulge beginning to strain against the fabric, and teases along Gojo's inner thigh instead. It would be no fun if they were to move too quickly, now wouldn't it?

The moment of admiration is altogether brief, as Gojo leverage his own abilities, and Winter finds himself tugged against the mattress by an unseen force. He gives an experimental little wiggle, but no, he's really not going anywhere. ]

Afraid I'm going to run off on you?

[ Clearly not, with how thoroughly Winter has the other man tangled in his tentacles. ]

[ There's something so satisfying in the way that Winter wriggles against the hold of his technique, and Gojo basks in the simple knowledge that beyond a shadow of a doubt, Winter won't be able to move from that spot until he releases him. It's a power move he'd never try with someone the first time he beds them, and he remains mindful of Winter's own interest and enjoyment, but that's just it — he had a distinct feeling that Winter would enjoy this little display of power of his. A mere fraction of what he's capable of, but just enough to feel a little dangerous, a little exciting. ]

An incentive for you to keep you hands and your tentacles all over me.

[ Speaking of — that one that has spilled past his waistband and glides over the too-hot skin of his thigh makes him gasp around a shuddering breath, and his hips give just the slightest roll against Winter's encouraging more of that touch, that promising friction that builds like smoking embers just beneath his skin.

Leaning down against Winter once more, Gojo finds his lips for another searing-sweet kiss, before he begins to work his way down his body, kisses trailing along his neck, his collarbone, his pecs. Neither of them are in any rush, and that suits Gojo just fine, given plenty of time to appreciate just what a fine specimen Winter is. Even so, his hands slip between them to work open Winter's belt, a promise of things to come, once Gojo has sated himself with exploring his bare torso with his mouth.

His gaze flickers up, just to make sure that the other man's eyes remain on him. ]

[ Oh, this is absolutely a power move. But Gojo likes those, doesn't he? He's a showoff, someone who likes to be the center of attention, who wants all eyes in the room on him. And he commands that attention well, with the way he leverages his abilities as easy as breathing. Winter is quite keenly aware that he has yet to understand the full depth of Gojo's powers. He could flatten him just as easily as he's holding him in place, for all he knows, but the fact that he doesn't, that his control is so fine and so effortless, is so very intriguing. ]

Oh, darling, you know I need very little of that.

[ Incentive. Though it's thrilling all the same, makes the tattoo of his pulse in his ears pound all the harder. Gojo is encouraging him plenty with the language of his body, the gasps and breaths pulled out of him, the way he rocks their hips together in encouragement. The friction that movement gives is so brief but so promising, a bolt of lightning arcing up his spine. Muscles flex uselessly as he tries to arch against the man above him, but he remains held fast to the mattress. This is really a bit of bondage without the actual bonds, isn't it? Hells.

His arms are still free at least, and he slides his palms around Gojo's torso, mapping the arc of his ribcage and the planes of his back, where he digs his nails into skin, the sting coupled with the coiling of that tentacle around Gojo's thigh to squeeze and writhe and tease.

So, yes, when Gojo flicks his gaze up, he finds Winter watching keenly, as captivated by his exploration of his torso as he is searching for a reaction to his own ministrations. Gojo commands attention, after all. For one reason or another. ]

[ Perfect — Winter gives him exactly what he wants, that keen, captivated attention, though he doesn't leave Gojo entirely to his own devices, which suits him just as well. It's been clear from the onset that Winter knows his way around another person's body, and in the back of his mind, Gojo is quietly grateful that he's fallen into bed with someone like this. There's no questioning frustration about what the other's experience level is, leaving him to up the ante as he sees fit. There's little need to get feelings belong lust involved at all, and that's what he needs right now. An engaging partner with an eager mouth and curious hands — and tentacles. He's very fortunate indeed.

He'll have to, you know, make it a point to get to know Winter better after this.

The touch of Winter's palms over Gojo's too-tight skin earns him a sigh of approval, a sound that nears a purr, but the grasp of the tenacle around his thigh wins him a stuttering gasp, that cool touch against skin so soft and sensitive near maddening. ]

Ah — unfair. [ Says the man who stuck his partner to the bed... ] You tease. You haven't even taken my pants off yet...

[ Of course, Gojo hasn't given him much opportunity to. He continues his descent, his mouth sweeping over the soft flesh of Winter's navel, while he works open the front of Winter's trousers at last, grazing his palm over the bulge of his cock. ]

Unfair? Oh, Mister Pot, did you know that you're black?

[ Says Mister Kettle. Gojo knows what he's doing, and he knows how precisely unfair he's being. It's frankly not often that Winter finds himself on the other end of this, coupled with someone with the experience and proclivity to tease. It's a rather nice change of pace. ]

Mm, I'd be happy to undress you, but perhaps I'd prefer to watch you do it yourself instead.

[ He hardly needs a reason to keep his eyes on Gojo, of course, but he does thrill at the idea of the other man getting naked for him, and taking his own time with his own two hands to do it. Winter is content to keep teasing him beneath his clothes in the meantime — though all of that comes to a brief, stuttering stop when Gojo's palm passes over the bulge straining against the front of his smallclothes. Once again, he's hit with the promise of friction and very little else besides. ]

Haah... now who's teasing who?

[ Now isn't that just the conundrum. Should he let Winter undress him the rest of the way, or take his time painstakingly doing the rest of the work himself? Both options have merit, but perhaps he's feeling like showing off again, or maybe it's the touch of the tentacle around the meat of his thigh that has him eager. Either way: ]

I'd like to think we're evenly matched when it comes to teasing.

[ And playing dirty. Arching upwards, Gojo's fingertips just graze along Winter's hipbones beneath his smallclothes, before he withdraws them once more, pressing his palms together instead. It's not a gesture he needs to use to use manipulate his Limitless technique, but sometimes it's fun to add a little flourish when someone's eyes are already glued to him.

So with that motion, abruptly their positions are reversed, as Gojo uses short-range teleportation to put himself in Winter's place with his back against the mattress, with Winter hovering over him instead. The pull of energy that held him to the bed is gone as well — Winter will be able to do as he pleases now. ]

My turn to watch.

[ If nothing else, the gesture serves as a warning that Things are about to happen again. And happen they do, when Winter finds his world suddenly upended, and all at once he's the one standing over the bed, with Gojo beneath him. He has to brace his hands on the mattress ln either side of Gojo to stop from falling over entirely, raven hair cascading over his shoulders. ]

Hah.

[ Breathless, surprised, but ultimately amused. ]

You're just full of surprises, aren't you?

[ A low chuckle rolls in his throat. There's no way anyone could call sex with him boring, at the very least. And, god, there's a lot to appreciate about Winter from this angle, too, with the way his hair falls forward and frames his face as he catches himself. ]

You might just see even more, if you're good.

[ A subtle incentive, should the opportunity to use his powers further presents itself. For now, though, he is content to let Winter take the lead, reaching for one of his wrists to guide it back to his skin. ]

[ Please, there's nothing subtle about that. Winter cocks his head a little, amused and curious in equal measure. The motion gives Gojo a very nice view of the rapidly darkening mark he's left on pale skin. ]

I'm always good.

[ The words are practically a purr as they leave his mouth. He allows Gojo to guide his hand back to his skin. Just that brief moment apart has left him wanting, even with his tentacles still maintaining contact. He feels like he could bring all eight of them into play and have his hands all over Gojo and it still wouldn't be enough. Just what sort of pesky magic did they weave into that spa?

His hand paints a trail of heat along the other man's torso, from his hip up to his shoulder, skin so, so warm in sharp contrast to the cool touch of the tendrils of blackness making their own lazy way around Gojo's body. Fingers suddenly find their way into the snow-white locks of Gojo's hair, curling tight to give an experimental little tug to one side — testing the waters, with the dual purpose of getting the other to expose their throat more readily. Winter wants his own chance to explore. ]

[ For his efforts, Winter will find Gojo willing and pliant, responding eagerly to his touch, a gentle gust of breath leaving him as Winter tugs on his hair. Surprising no one, he enjoys a twinge of pain with his pleasure — and even more than a twinge, really.

How abundantly clear that becomes during this encounter remains to be seen, but he does exude the aura of someone who is comfortable with and interested in just about anything in bed. Rolling his head back, he offers Winter the swath of his long, pale neck, throat bobbing as he swallows against his anticipation. ]

You know what they say. [ Turning his head just slightly, his teeth graze the knuckle of Winter's thumb as his arms reach up to wind around the other man's shoulders. ] Actions speak louder than words...

[ And he, for one, prefers to be very loud. ]

[ Oh, but this is a sight, isn't it? Gojo lithe and pale, arching so prettily against the inky dark of the sheets beneath him. He is a gorgeous man, and Winter is more than happy to take a moment to admire him. Or, perhaps he can only divide his attention so much as he guides a pair of tentacles up Gojo's sides to carve their cool trails over the muscles of his chest. To encircle his pecs to undulate and squeeze and tease over his nipples. Either way, he very much enjoys what he sees.

Winter can feel that coolness between them, cutting through the insistent heat of their bodies as he leans in finally to taste that which has been offered to him so readily. His breath fans against Gojo's throat, his lips warm and thorough in their explorations, until the sudden sting of teeth clamp down where his throat begins to slope into his shoulder. He's not gentle about it, encouraged by the other man's reaction to the way he'd tugged on his hair. ]

[ The heat and pressure of Winter's mouth might be about the only thing that could distract Gojo away from the contrast of hot and cold between their bodies, and how good that feels — but Winter's intuition is absolutely correct. As Winter provides his neck the attentions of his lips and tongue and teeth, Gojo's fingers curl into his hair once again, fingernails scratching gentle but steadfast against his scalp to encourage even more of that sharp pleasure.

In his opinion, it's not much of an encounter if they don't leave marks on one another. Shameless as he is, he will gladly wear this mark that Winter leaves on him, turning his head just enough for a heady chuckle to beat against Winter's ear. ]

You can go harder.

[ As hard as he wants, really. His knees snap tight to Winter's waist, to keep him where he is, while his remaining free hand snakes around his partner's waist to the band of his trousers, hooking his thumb just inside at his hip. ]

[ A laugh rumbles up from his chest, a roll of distant thunder that vibrates between them, huffed out warmly against Gojo's skin. Winter's lips part against the crook of Gojo's neck, accompanied by the soft scrape of teeth over already tender flesh. There are legs bracketing his waist, a hand at the band of his trousers, and a gorgeous man telling him to go harder. ]

Harder? Are you saying you want to bleed for me, darling?

[ That escalated quickly, but then this whole encounter has been about escalating to an insane degree. Both of them have brought powers and abilities to bear that they normally wouldn't on the first instance, but they seem to have come to some sort of silent agreement that they can each handle it. Relish it, even. In Winter's long and storied sexual history, this one instance has risen quickly through the ranks for the thrill and unpredictability alone.

Something wriggles between them — the tendril coiled tight around Gojo's thigh undulates, moves, and teases in return, that cool slickness brushing against Gojo's length through the fabric of his underwear, no doubt heading for the fastenings of his jeans. ]

[ Yes, he can handle it, as they both seem to be able to, experienced and adventurous to cultivate an understanding between them that will no doubt make this a very memorable first time together. The first time but not the last, if it's up to Gojo; even if the spa might have helped them reach this point sooner, he has little doubt they would have wound up here soon enough anyway. Even if all they've done is foreplay, that alone is enough to tell him the rest will meet his expectations, and that he will eagerly come back for more, in the future.

But he won't let that distract from his present. Mouthing at Winter's ear, he presses the flat of his tongue against his earlobe before his breath huffs right against it — not quite the sensual exhale he intended, but it can't be helped. The touch of Winter's tendril to his length has him writhing, its cool touch stark against the heat of his cock, even with the thin fabric of his underwear separating them. Hah...what would it be like to get a handjob from a tentacle? (A tentacle job??) He's looking forward to finding out. ]

If you'd like to. I can heal myself, so I won't make a mess of your bed...

[ As the tendril reaches for the fastenings of his jeans, so do Gojo's fingers reach for those of Winter's trousers. They've kept their pants on for long enough, he thinks. ]

Not by bleeding, anyway.

I asked what you want.

[ Which is an apparently important distinction. Perhaps it's obvious by now that Winter's own boundaries are quite broad, but knowing his partner will enjoy himself is what makes any endeavor worth it.

He noses along Gojo's throat, breathing in the scent of him, the heat and sweat on his skin, and exhales on a low murmur. ]

A little mess on the sheets is hardly a bother.

[ A mess of whatever kind.

For the moment, though, it seems Gojo has had enough of him being half-dressed, and he could not agree more. He wants to see all of the other man, feel all of him. Those jeans are in the way, so that cool, wriggling pressure continues to travel along Gojo's fly until, with surprising dexterity, it releases the button and eases down the zipper. A small bit of relief from the confines of the denim, no doubt.

Winter rights himself for the moment, leaving the expanse of Gojo's neck unexplored, save the angry red mark he left behind just a bit ago. This, he wants to do with his own hands. To see with his own eyes. Long fingers hook into the waistband of his partner's pants and underthings both and he eases them over Gojo's hips as one. His gaze roams hungrily over every new inch of skin exposed. ]

[ What a gentleman. Fortunately, Gojo is equally eager to make his boundaries clear, such as they are, far off from any point they're likely to reach tonight, or...ever, most likely. ]

Then, please, make a mess of me in any way you see fit.

[ But for now, he's left with a nice, swelling mark on his neck — he'll have to forego his high-collared jacket in favor of something wider to show it off. He wouldn't want Winter's hard work to go unappreciated...but it soon falls to the back of his mind, with Winter's attentions moving further south, with the tendril releasing the front of his trousers that releases some of the pressure. Relief, yes, but it also serves to remind him how little attention his cock has yet been paid; they'll have to fix that, soon enough. Patience isn't his strong suite, but he can employ it when needed, when it serves to heighten their shared pleasure.

So he doesn't intervene, much as his fingers might itch to, as Winter divests him of his jeans and sporty boxer briefs — he uses those fingers instead to grasp instead at the bedding beneath him, watching Winter's expression with keen interest as he unveils his lower half inch by painstaking inch. There's hunger in the other man's eyes, and while he's never one to worry that his partner won't like what they see — of course they will, he knows how beautiful he is — he nevertheless enjoys seeing him so enraptured with his body alone, with his slender hips the dip of his hipbones and the girth of his cock, thighs all muscle. What's not to like, not to want?

Yet he can't help a playful: ]

Enjoying what you see?

[ He teases, even as he angles up his knee and calf to press between Winter's legs, where his own arousal swells beneath his trousers. ]

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