[Resisting temptation is against his principles almost as much as doing anything of this sort with any sort of meaning beyond itself. Klavier's taste is subtle compared to what he's been inhaling for the past few hours, but he seeks it out just as doggedly, giving no easy retreat. Klavier's attempt to withdraw is only met with a possessive rumble in his throat. The hand on his chin keeps him in place for one more solid swipe through his mouth before letting the kiss break by smearing along the corner of his mouth, nipping down his jawline. He watches the other man gasp for breath the hand on his chin groping along the side of his face, through his hair until settling on his rising and falling chest.
There's a split second of thought, unusual hesitation. With a sharp inhale, Greed pushes him backwards onto the desk, bending forward to loom over him, one hand planted above the other's shoulder as he stares down, insistent on having eye contact again.
His gaze is still hot, the same banked, frustrated rage he came in with. Every issue will still exist; no matter how hard he bends him over the desk, that hurt face is going to come up again when it's over. None of it's going to make any sense, no matter how earnestly he tries to express it with action. It's not the kind of heat that would normally go along with the hand undoing the buttons of his shirt. The look would better suit ripping the fabric out of the way; it's a forced dexterity and focus, keeping his fingers nimble despite his mind wanting to run in three directions at once. With his torso bared, his palm presses against him and glides up hard muscle slowly, forcing himself not to rush into a groping frenzy. There's the same intensity in that slow motion; there's a difference between measured and gentle. It's not awkward enough to be Greed's variant of the latter.]
[action spam]
There's a split second of thought, unusual hesitation. With a sharp inhale, Greed pushes him backwards onto the desk, bending forward to loom over him, one hand planted above the other's shoulder as he stares down, insistent on having eye contact again.
His gaze is still hot, the same banked, frustrated rage he came in with. Every issue will still exist; no matter how hard he bends him over the desk, that hurt face is going to come up again when it's over. None of it's going to make any sense, no matter how earnestly he tries to express it with action. It's not the kind of heat that would normally go along with the hand undoing the buttons of his shirt. The look would better suit ripping the fabric out of the way; it's a forced dexterity and focus, keeping his fingers nimble despite his mind wanting to run in three directions at once. With his torso bared, his palm presses against him and glides up hard muscle slowly, forcing himself not to rush into a groping frenzy. There's the same intensity in that slow motion; there's a difference between measured and gentle. It's not awkward enough to be Greed's variant of the latter.]