There's that question, and there's a beat, like Francis is waiting to see if it smooths over, evaporates, but it doesn't. And there's something to his tone that seems to expect an answer. Talkative and playful as he can be, this is not the sort of thing that he's good at saying out loud. It's admitting to just how twisted his desires tend to lean, and in a way that's more clear than just how he reacted to his hand on his wrists, fingers curling against his throat.
"Bloody," he answers after a moment, the words low, leaning back just a little so he can meet his eyes. Like his trying to gauge his reaction. "I like how it looks on your skin." And yeah, it's fucked up, but there's a raw sort of honesty to it too. Even if it's clearly something he's not used to saying or talking about, but he does it anyway. Because there's something about Bullseye where he doesn't feel like the only one that's messed up here. Maybe it's the part where he's still here.
The man shifts more onto the bed, taking Francis with him, and there's a catch of his breath at the way that he almost ends up in the other man's lap. Which isn't a bad position at all, especially with fingers tugging at his belt. He shifts, moving so he straddles his lap a little more properly, because Francis isn't actually shy, not about the sex, anyway. That way his body arches a little, leaning in as his hands drag down against his sides, skimming the marks and watching the way it streaks his skin as he traces against his abs and his eyes glimmer dark.
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"Bloody," he answers after a moment, the words low, leaning back just a little so he can meet his eyes. Like his trying to gauge his reaction. "I like how it looks on your skin." And yeah, it's fucked up, but there's a raw sort of honesty to it too. Even if it's clearly something he's not used to saying or talking about, but he does it anyway. Because there's something about Bullseye where he doesn't feel like the only one that's messed up here. Maybe it's the part where he's still here.
The man shifts more onto the bed, taking Francis with him, and there's a catch of his breath at the way that he almost ends up in the other man's lap. Which isn't a bad position at all, especially with fingers tugging at his belt. He shifts, moving so he straddles his lap a little more properly, because Francis isn't actually shy, not about the sex, anyway. That way his body arches a little, leaning in as his hands drag down against his sides, skimming the marks and watching the way it streaks his skin as he traces against his abs and his eyes glimmer dark.