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Summary
Wolf slumped forwards onto his knees. He didn’t have the energy to spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth, instead allowing it to pour past his lips and drip onto the floor. The faint clatter of teeth amongst the gore rang softly in Genichiro’s ears, the sound far lovelier than the gentle patter of raindrops against the tiled rooftops.
He wanted to hear it until Wolf had none left to lose.
“There’s better uses for your tongue,” Genichiro told him. Weakly, Wolf glanced back upwards. His face was flushed, his breaths soft and tremulous, his own cock hard and straining against his hakama. “Teeth aren’t a necessity.”