‘Toy? Hah!’ If Sizhui weren't currently in the position that he's in, he might've actually laughed. To think, this man believes he's someone to be played with, an individual he can use to his heart's content, discard, and then come back for more whenever he chooses. (He isn't, not in the usual sense of ‘toy’—) But Sizhui's fine letting Itto continue believing he has the upper hand, as it were.
Should he ever encounter that woman again, he'll certainly be singing a different tune.
Part of playing along means listening to the oni speak, although what he says makes his brow furrow, his lips pinch and, had Itto not moved to lick his neck, he would have immediately remarked on the comment. As it happens, he clamps his teeth together, sucks a breath in then hisses it back out, his body trembling, goosebumps peppering the spit-slicked skin, the area around it and all down his neck and chest. “You—ah!—you... didn't? If that's the case, why—” yet he cuts off when Itto moves onward to his ear, an abrupt, somewhat higher-pitched noise slipping out unbiddenly. Only after taking a moment to catch his breath does he inquire, “Why are there so many rumors saying otherwise?” Which is all he can manage before Itto switches their positions, pinning the cultivator against the couch, effectively holding him in place with his larger frame.
Like this, it's clear he isn't disinterested, given how his own cock twitched at the licking, except he's still doing his absolute best at seeming unmoved. “I haven't,” he sighs roughly, squirming against the other man for emphasis, despite his not specifying that he hasn't fucked anyone, either. “Is that what you want, then? To taste me? To fuck me?” Usually, he'd avoid such coarse language, but if there's a chance it throws Itto off-guard, he has to at least try.
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Should he ever encounter that woman again, he'll certainly be singing a different tune.
Part of playing along means listening to the oni speak, although what he says makes his brow furrow, his lips pinch and, had Itto not moved to lick his neck, he would have immediately remarked on the comment. As it happens, he clamps his teeth together, sucks a breath in then hisses it back out, his body trembling, goosebumps peppering the spit-slicked skin, the area around it and all down his neck and chest. “You—ah!—you... didn't? If that's the case, why—” yet he cuts off when Itto moves onward to his ear, an abrupt, somewhat higher-pitched noise slipping out unbiddenly. Only after taking a moment to catch his breath does he inquire, “Why are there so many rumors saying otherwise?” Which is all he can manage before Itto switches their positions, pinning the cultivator against the couch, effectively holding him in place with his larger frame.
Like this, it's clear he isn't disinterested, given how his own cock twitched at the licking, except he's still doing his absolute best at seeming unmoved. “I haven't,” he sighs roughly, squirming against the other man for emphasis, despite his not specifying that he hasn't fucked anyone, either. “Is that what you want, then? To taste me? To fuck me?” Usually, he'd avoid such coarse language, but if there's a chance it throws Itto off-guard, he has to at least try.