( Blue eyes narrow, pointed down over his held jaw to glare down at Toma as he speaks. The oddity of it isn't lost on him, that he's bothered right now to not be feared, and yet bothered when he's feared all the same— but he shoves those thoughts down with a scoff and that sudden freedom. It feels like invitation enough, anyway, that roughness, and so he responds in kind, pushing Toma by the shoulder to lay flat and to the side, back first. He forces his knee between Toma's legs, even willing to knock one of them off the edge of the chair if means planting it down against solid velvet. )

Do you want to feel good, or not? Don't sound so miserable.

( His hand hasn't left that shoulder, fingers gripping in a more solid dig that says he's not exactly looking to be gentle. But despite his rough attempt at assuring his place in control here, it's going to become clear rather fast that he's not about to rush this in some crude manner, either. If anything, that roughness becomes a crutch to rely on to make this sort of intimate scene work.

He lowers his face, meeting eyes briefly with Toma as a few stray, pink strands of hair slip forward. One free hand reaches to grip his chin, angling it up a little harshly so that he can slot his own face closer to his neck, to his ear, speaking against his skin. Each touch of his is unusually cool, icy even, but his breath has warmth to it insisting life. )

You're making it out of this with an Ace card. Consider yourself lucky.

( That's the last mumble he manages before he presses cool lips to warm skin, a too-soft kiss for the tension in the air right now. )