Yer not mousy enough for that. [Greed puts his weight on his forearms, fingertips stroking the arch of his back, encouraging him to hold that position. He starts a line of light nips along his collarbone, shifting his weight onto one arm and his knees. It keeps him from grinding down for immediate gratification, but it leaves one hand free to continue pulling at his clothing. Trying to keep Klavier's attention focused near his neck, where sharp teeth graze with the subtle threat of more than a light bruising, his hand sneaks back towards the cup, fingering out an ice cube. Curling it in his fist, the dry back of his knuckles brushes up his leg softly, casually upwards until palming the ice against the apex of his hip and thigh.]
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