[ only someone of gogol's mixture of intelligence and utter disregard for his own safety would dare touch him so freely, so intimately. at least it is gloves and not actual skin to skin; there is a tell-tale twitch in fyodor's fingers as they rest on gogol's thigh. he pulls back, ushanka on the floor.
the strands of his hair at odd angles as he looks up, the needle now on the floor. the rest of the blood coating his fingers is unceremoniously wiped on gogol's inner thigh. meanwhile, the hand that he's cleared of blood with his pink tongue pinches the soft, thin skin of gogol's throat.
taunting, daring, distinctively annoyed. ]
I thought you were done testing my very limited supply of patience, Kolen'ka.
no subject
the strands of his hair at odd angles as he looks up, the needle now on the floor. the rest of the blood coating his fingers is unceremoniously wiped on gogol's inner thigh. meanwhile, the hand that he's cleared of blood with his pink tongue pinches the soft, thin skin of gogol's throat.
taunting, daring, distinctively annoyed. ]
I thought you were done testing my very limited supply of patience, Kolen'ka.