[On the outside, D acts as if he's bland as white bread. It's a defense mechanism not unlike the strength and confidence Rin aggressively clutches. The stoicism he purposefully exudes in the face of anything sensual would make anyone believe he was ace, and that would be the point. It's not, however, true on the inside. Deep within him, he's rife with the charming, desiring sexuality a part of all Nobles.
And he's half-human, too. There are parts of him easily bent under what wants and desires a human feels.
So when her body cuts languidly down against him, his own shifts to greedily meet it. Red welts bloom up his back behind her nails, standing out against his skin, but then they slowly and annoyingly disappear, leaving her with a fresh canvas of pale skin to mar a second time, a third. For a moment, he almost chases after her mouth in frustration when it pulls away. Right. Pants.
He stretches his arms around her waist and behind her, toward his feet. He removes the boots first. He's barefoot? He's barefoot, like some kind of woodland gremlin unaware of the existence of socks. Which is funny because when he folds back on one elbow to give her room, the pants are as bizarrely familiar as the top: the medieval leather has been given a modern zipper somehow beneath the single button.
Sitting just above the hemline below his navel is a small piece of the top of a gemstone's peak, something garnet-red and hidden below. Once the pants are undone, his Shard sits as clear as day in the space between the bottom of his navel and his groin, a kite-shaped piece of glittering dark red. Very different than the ugly Shard situated on the back of his left hand.
Also, he isn't wearing anything except the pants. No socks, no undies.]
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And he's half-human, too. There are parts of him easily bent under what wants and desires a human feels.
So when her body cuts languidly down against him, his own shifts to greedily meet it. Red welts bloom up his back behind her nails, standing out against his skin, but then they slowly and annoyingly disappear, leaving her with a fresh canvas of pale skin to mar a second time, a third. For a moment, he almost chases after her mouth in frustration when it pulls away. Right. Pants.
He stretches his arms around her waist and behind her, toward his feet. He removes the boots first. He's barefoot? He's barefoot, like some kind of woodland gremlin unaware of the existence of socks. Which is funny because when he folds back on one elbow to give her room, the pants are as bizarrely familiar as the top: the medieval leather has been given a modern zipper somehow beneath the single button.
Sitting just above the hemline below his navel is a small piece of the top of a gemstone's peak, something garnet-red and hidden below. Once the pants are undone, his Shard sits as clear as day in the space between the bottom of his navel and his groin, a kite-shaped piece of glittering dark red. Very different than the ugly Shard situated on the back of his left hand.
Also, he isn't wearing anything except the pants. No socks, no undies.]