Xiaolin Showdown does not belong to me.
The ghostly limbs caressed without inhibition. Bold, confident and utterly authoritative. Taking whatever was needed; plundering the riches of his taut body; teasing him mercilessly; playing him as if he was a fine instrument that needed to be strung.
The pale hands which he had always envisioned as being sallow massaged his body leisurely. Large strong hands that he had always considered of being gnarled touched him languidly. Clean hands that he referred to being dirtied by the deaths of many warriors kneaded his tender flesh patiently. Fine nails that he always saw as long and piercing traced patterns upon his flesh. Each time, those claw-like nails grazed his delicate skin; making him sigh breathlessly.
The hands that made him squirm and tremble with fear and revulsion. Those hands were so sallow, piercing, gnarled, dirtied and claw-like. That touched his fevered skin with long deliberate strokes. They stroked and teased and hurt over and over again until he was at the brink of something beautiful, of something hideous.
He cowered before those claw-like hands in fear and desire. This was what he wanted. His loyalties were forgotten because he wanted something beautiful, something hideous. He lost himself in those hands…those sallow, piercing, gnarled, dirtied claw-like hands. Loyalty, loyalty had no hold.