Pitch was monologing. Again. Sandy wouldn't mind so much, except at the moment, he was a little tied up.
Ropes of black sand wound their way around his plump body, binding his arms close to his sides, wrapped tight. They burned a little, and Sandy gave a small wiggle, unnoticed by Pitch.
Which was exactly why Sandy was getting a little annoyed at the monologue. When you had your enemy tied up and at your mercy, you were supposed to pay attention to them, not break into a soliloquy and let them start to work their way free!
What did a Guardian have to do to get a little attention around here?
Did Pitch really forget that the sand was originally Sandy's? And that he could still turn it back whenever he wanted? Pitch might think he'd fixed that little flaw, if the monologue Sandy was partially ignoring was to be believed, but he hadn't. He hadn't even tested it before turning his back on Sandy.
Well. Sandy was just going to have to do something about that, too, wasn't he?
The black sand still bit a touch as Sandy wiggled his way out of it, but the bite was just enough to make him slow down a little and enjoy the moment before transforming the sand back to gold and reclaiming it as his
Pitch was still talking, though the yelp he made when the sand whipped around from behind and started wrapping around him was quite satisfactory.
And in Sandy's opinion, the gold sand looked quite nice on Pitch. Showed up well against the black robes and grey skin.
Very nice, indeed.
Aaand Pitch was talking again.
"Sanderson! What is the meaning of this!" he sputtered as Sandy's sand crept over his body, slowly reknotting itself into something close to a shibari harness, making sure to tie Pitch's long arms behind his back as it went, under Sandy's gleeful direction. "You're the one that's supposed to be tied up, not me!"
You weren't making proper use of it.
Pitch huffed. "Just because I was taking proper appreciation of the mood of the moment..."
Taking proper appreciation of the moment would have included ravishment. Sandy winked as Pitch sputtered again, cheeks burning a darker grey.
Sandy used the dreamsand wrapped around the boogieman to yank Pitch closer with a saucy grin. Shall I demonstrate proper appreciation of having your enemy bound and at your mercy? He 'asked', with a waggle of his brows.
"Well, as I'm at your mercy, I suppose I don't really have a choice," Pitch said, with a sideways glance at Sandy from under his lashes, almost coquettish, a grin matching Sandy's flirting with the edges of his lips.
Sandy did so, eagerly.