[ What manner of man comes to him here, after what he did, and says something like that? He hated what he'd done to him, or so he fails. He wanted to look him, didn't he? Or was it that aggression that came from something else, that want he hissed into his ear? He could imagine that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he could almost imagine he could hear the blood thudding in his veins too.
Their fingers interlaced, just like that night when he'd thought he could pull the skin apart and look at the man -- a beast -- beneath it. His grip tightens to match his, stronger than his lean frame suggests. ]
Ah - [ It's somewhere between a surprised... Something and... A low note that almost sounds pleased. More honest than he intended, perhaps. He hadn't expected him to admit it, it was easier to ignore when it was unspoken, a trend that he could pretend he was imagining to see.
He lifted joined hands -- still held down, with his lips at his neck, he didn't dare move his head -- forced his wrist close to mouth, fang scraped against flesh, and maybe he drug it out for longer than necessary. He liked that, pinning him in place without holding him down; forcing him to dangle over a precipice. Did he know the kind of power he'd just given him? Over him? This is a sort of power that he's is unused to, but it still evokes that sharp tingle of excitement at the rush of it.
He bit into him, fangs sinking deep into his wrist. It's a contrast, not gentle or kind, but sharp, all points and rough edges, his hand holding him still, as if he couldn't rip his wrist away. Hot blood flooded into his mouth, one of his eyes closed from the rush. Did it taste better, knowing how much power he holds? ]
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Their fingers interlaced, just like that night when he'd thought he could pull the skin apart and look at the man -- a beast -- beneath it. His grip tightens to match his, stronger than his lean frame suggests. ]
Ah - [ It's somewhere between a surprised... Something and... A low note that almost sounds pleased. More honest than he intended, perhaps. He hadn't expected him to admit it, it was easier to ignore when it was unspoken, a trend that he could pretend he was imagining to see.
He lifted joined hands -- still held down, with his lips at his neck, he didn't dare move his head -- forced his wrist close to mouth, fang scraped against flesh, and maybe he drug it out for longer than necessary. He liked that, pinning him in place without holding him down; forcing him to dangle over a precipice. Did he know the kind of power he'd just given him? Over him? This is a sort of power that he's is unused to, but it still evokes that sharp tingle of excitement at the rush of it.
He bit into him, fangs sinking deep into his wrist. It's a contrast, not gentle or kind, but sharp, all points and rough edges, his hand holding him still, as if he couldn't rip his wrist away. Hot blood flooded into his mouth, one of his eyes closed from the rush. Did it taste better, knowing how much power he holds? ]