Testament to how unused to Vincent’s teasing he is, the WEAPON is left standing there for several seconds, staring at his partner’s retreating back. A blink, then two, a mental shake and coiling of toned limbs and then there’s a rush of movement as he pounces. Arms lock firmly around Vincent, the collision of bodies just nicely timed so that they land on the bed, the gunner trapped between soft mattress and Chaos’ body while the WEAPON nuzzles shielding hair aside and nips the back of his neck with sharp teeth. ”Careful, Vincent. I might just throw you over my shoulder in public sometime with that suggestion.”
Surprise coats his features as he takes that unforseen crash into the bed, face becoming thoroughly buried in the wad of blankets Chaos had left behind. Squirming in protest, he stops suddenly with a shiver. That play at the back of his neck could, perhaps, be a severe weakness. A sly look comes over his eyes [and expression is allotted on his face, due to his captor’s poor choice in concealing it]. He jerks his head backwards, hopefully lightly colliding with something, and he uses the momentary distraction to attempt a strive for freedom, twisting rather violently to the side. Glancing back at the man atop him, he purses his lips. “No princess carrying for me, then, I suppose?”
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