[ some of his senses are there and active, and he knows, deep down, that he shouldn't press his teeth in any harder. whenever he does, he loses some semblance of control (something that feels like a foreign concept to him, a thousand-year-old adult). but he knows that he shouldn't be afraid. he's never been afraid. kol is formidable and fearless… yet he can feel the fear of humming someone he cares about warm his skin.
despite that, kol doesn't pull away. how can he? her blood sings to him just as loudly as her body does. he does nothing to resist or impede her at all; he doesn't do the sensible thing. his belt's gone and he only heeds her request (always a gentleman), teeth inching into her skin, warm torn flesh against his lips. her blood stains his mouth and chin and he laps at her. ]
( Probable outcomes: they never talk about this and shit is weird, they do talk about this and shit is weird, they don’t talk about this and go back to business as usual. She can dream, right?
The belt is tossed aside, and Sarissa’s breath is a long, slow rasp as Kol’s tongue moves over her skin, laps at her blood.
Her hand lingers at the button of his jeans, a cautious hesitations. She’s made some fucking assumptions already, just because of how they are, but—- )
You want more?
( Her voice is soft, hands resting at the button and zip of his jeans, and she tries to resist leaning back into him. Satisfaction felt laughable if they stopped here, but she’d live. Just about, anyway. )
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despite that, kol doesn't pull away. how can he? her blood sings to him just as loudly as her body does. he does nothing to resist or impede her at all; he doesn't do the sensible thing. his belt's gone and he only heeds her request (always a gentleman), teeth inching into her skin, warm torn flesh against his lips. her blood stains his mouth and chin and he laps at her. ]
no subject
The belt is tossed aside, and Sarissa’s breath is a long, slow rasp as Kol’s tongue moves over her skin, laps at her blood.
Her hand lingers at the button of his jeans, a cautious hesitations. She’s made some fucking assumptions already, just because of how they are, but—- )
You want more?
( Her voice is soft, hands resting at the button and zip of his jeans, and she tries to resist leaning back into him. Satisfaction felt laughable if they stopped here, but she’d live. Just about, anyway. )