Something small, pink and with a certain wet shine sat between Ryuu's lips. Sticking his tongue out...<br/><br/>Marco chuckled, smoke curling from his nose and lips in playful little quavers. Now there was something he hadn't seen since playschool, it had been so long since the days of looking up girls skirts and hiding worms in desks the youthful gesture was almost a breath of fresh air. His little Oriental pet; not just a pretty face but a fountain of youth, a running stream of nostalgia inviting him to come and play. Yes, that's what<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>tease was all about...<br/><br/>Hell, the kid needed to learn a little on Western etiquette. An argument followed by a tease wasn't an argument at all-- it was a fucking turn on.<br/><br/><span style="color: #40FFBF"><span style="font-style: italic">"I don't see why my features have anything to do with why you have hostagized me." </span></span>He said, trying to sharpen that velvety voice with understandable difficulty, if the natural soft tone killed it, his little accent certainly hammered the nails into the coffin.<br/><br/>Once upon a time (to present day) Marco frequented hives of bent nosed criminals and mugs, each as crooked as a dogs hinds legs and blessed with the dainty voice of a broken sewer pipe, each with a whole creative artillery of threats and danger, there wasn't anything Ryuu could say to put the screws on him. Poor mouse had no authority whatsoever.<br/><br/>Marco watched him speak, crossing one leg over the other, dull afternoon light landing across his face in stripes from the blinds, black eyes sparkling in amusement as he mentally toyed with the idea of giving the boy a tiny bit more authority....<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #40BFBF"> "I have no idea what a phlogophora meticulosa is." he carried on. "Sounds rather complicated. Why ccan't you just say butterfly?"</span></span><br/><br/>"--A moth," he cut in, suddenly snapped out of his pleasant Ryuu related daydreams. Mistakes wound him up, especially mistakes on his specialties... "Not a butterfly, no relation. A moth," his brow met somewhere under his fringe, "Carry on," he waved a hand in an impatient circle.<br/><br/>Much to his surprise the boy started on the topic of family. Home life even. It was like the whole hostage situation didn't rattle him in the slightest! Jesus H! This kid was either dangerously deluded or had balls of steel! In his shoes Marco would have been terrified...<br/>-- In fact he<span style="font-style: italic">had</span>been...<br/>His gaze dropped, something cold and animal falling across his face like a shadow on a summer day. Marco had been fourteen at the time, grown up with a family greatly involved in the criminal underworld, his daddy had his fingers in the blood diamond and crack industries pies, making him a metropolis star, dangerous as they came. The mans only weakness? His babies.<br/><br/>The youngest of which had been Marco.<br/><br/>It had barely been his fourteenth birthday when he felt the kidnappers rough fingers slip around his wrist and drag him back into the throng of the busy crowd... the stink of gasoline on his dark skin... that was a stench he'd get to know only too well...<br/><br/>Suddenly the sensation of eyes on him dragged him back into the present, back into his cold apartment with Ryuu and his pictures.<br/><br/>Marco inhaled through his teeth, straightening. There were a series of pink crescents left on the flesh of his palms, even his fingers felt stiff for tension... some memories were left buried thank you very much...<br/><br/>"Whut?" he blinked, "Ah," he stubbed out his smoke, "A leash,"<br/><br/>Marco grinned, struggling to pull his usual crudely upbeat mindset back on, "The boy wants to be treated like a dog," he remarked, raising a half amused eyebrow, "So let's humour him!"<br/><br/>The photographer rose to his full six foot and closed the gap between them with surprising speed, hooking his fingers under his jawline, thumb clasping those pretty pink lips purposely catching the new cut, hopefully enough to sting heaven forbid, forcing eye contact, "That's a fun game," he pressed his weight against the boys lithe form, "You can be my bitch," he giggled.