#tzess

Sszekiel flinches at the sound, immediately blushing in a way that undeniably highlighted his fleshy cheeks and warm blood; the patches of golden scales trailing along the edges of his face not doing much to conceal them.

His blond brows scrunch up. "N-No... I just got the piercings," he stutters, recoiling, hands immediately flying to cover the rosy nipples, still a little red and swollen from the fresh incision, in fear the other would try to snatch his flashy new accessories regardless. "Let me show them off for awhile."

...

......

.........

Did you always have that or is that new--

The obscenity of his own nakedness form is not something the god often worries himself with; his arms outstretch towards the vast sky above while he prepares for his evening bath, stripped bare and on full display, he dips his toes in the water first, black hair dripping down his vessel's narrow shoulders as the contact makes the surface ripple with languid movements as he prepares to enter, the puddle that were his clothes clothes ditched carelessly next to his feet. No matter, Tzess would pick those up for him.

It's a bit out of the blue, isn't it? He turns his head to peer over the bump of his shoulder, finding the little serpentine staring as though it was an enigma rather than an appendage. "...I get a lot of things that you don't. Why the sudden interest in what's between my legs?" his eyebrow raises inquisitively, a shadow of vague amusement dancing on the edge of his mouth as something stirs within, a most strange bodily response beyond his own comprehension. "Mm..." he analyzes, resting his scaled cheek against the bump of his shoulder. Interesting. "Perhaps..." he pauses, looking amused. "I would've thought with the way it reacts to you, you of all people would've known... I suppose not." not quite an answer, but something close to that; Tzess was far more entertaining when he was mulling over these unnecessary things, after all.

* ☔ : action prompts inspired by GOTHIC HORROR, DARK ACADEMIA, ETC.

It lounges, leisurely, in an unmade bed—where the sun shines brighter and the commotion of the outside world feels less severe. Such chattering creatures, mortals are. The Old Serpent groans in displeasure, a pile of limbs lazily sprawled upon wrinkled sheets, face down against the hard mattress. The scars on its back are visible through its sickly pale flesh as it shifts, the black mane spilled over his face like oil, parting to reveal a spark of yellow within; he is weary still, wounded, but none less malleable for it."Impertinent child..." . it mumbles in a husky, cloying whisper; the gall of such promise... to treat him as some kind of—helpless creature!

With strenuous effort, he pushes himself off the bed with, crooked limbs snapping back into place—the sore joints on his scaled neck popping, a clawed hand soothing the rough skin there with a languid sigh. "Must you incense me so at every turn?" the molten gold of his eyes shifts towards the boy with simmering hostility, his calm demeanor fracturing as claws fling into the air, snatching him by the collar like prey—tugging himself forth in an effort to chastise him. "Do you take me for a frightened child? Do not presume to soothe me—ngh!" he stumbles forward, the weight of his own exhaustion forcing the sparks of divine wrath to subside as he collapsed against the boy's chest. Blast and damnation... of all bodies to wear—he closes his eyes, a labored exhale leaving his blackened lips. "...insolent creature," he grumbles, resting against the pillar of his body nonetheless. "Put me back to bed, now... you've exhausted the strength of this feeble body."

A single drop of sweat trickled down Curumë’s chin and followed the contour of his neck, together with the line of blood that welled up where the Yuan-Ti’s blade had nicked his skin. He swallowed, feeling the cold metal scraping further against his throat.

“Good work, catching me off guard. I’ll give you that.” He scoffed, his lips twisting into a predatory smirk. If it was fear the other wanted to see on his face, Curumë was going to absolutely disappoint him.

It was funny, really, being on the receiving end of such tactics. Exciting, even. But Curumë had encountered his fair share of knife fights in the dirty streets of Luskan, and this one, he mused, was going to be no different.

She thought she had felt it, that prickle of danger on the back of her neck. That sense had saved her tail dozens of times. However, when she felt it this time, it had almost been too late, and a dagger was pointed her way. A threat.

Well, if that was to be the case, she could give a threat of her own. She turns to slowly look back at the assailant, a low growl building in her throat as her scales darkened.

The Old Serpent growls in disapproval; his time longing in the sun has been interrupted. Punishment is due. He stretches his leg with palpable effort, and kicks him with his foot until the vrael olo rolls off his rock like an annoying pebble. "Go take up space somewhere else..."