[If only, he thinks, derisively. Brutes of his sort always did run hot- thick, sweaty musk, the scent of effort and pumping blood, drenching every move. Disgusting. Intoxicating.]
[Matoba has half a mind to turn his head with an acidic glance, but that would remove the warm murmur from against the back of his neck. So he doesn't.]
Yes, [He answers honestly nonetheless, letting the annoyance leak into his tone instead. But it's barely clawed. He's doing nothing to stop it.] And you. Don't hate touching an exorcist after all, hm?
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[Matoba has half a mind to turn his head with an acidic glance, but that would remove the warm murmur from against the back of his neck. So he doesn't.]
Yes, [He answers honestly nonetheless, letting the annoyance leak into his tone instead. But it's barely clawed. He's doing nothing to stop it.] And you. Don't hate touching an exorcist after all, hm?