// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //
The fleeting kiss is a bit of a surprise, but it’s a perfect little distraction alongside the hum of her whispered voice. She’s great at this – not that he expected anything less – but to see it so first hand? He knows that he’s picked one of the best people to do this. He can feel the brief whisper of the lace as it’s placed into position, eyes shutting gently as he evens out his breathing, anticipation finding a way to root and worm itself into his chest.
Then he feels the slice of the blade. A stinging, singing pain that sparks a low grunt and his arms tensing. The blade is sharp enough that it hardly snags on skin, such that the majority of the pain is located around the surge of blood that begins to drip in a dark ribbon of burgundy. It rushes and as she lifts the lace to coat it in the blood, he finds himself suddenly feeling slightly lightheaded. A weightlessness that relaxes the tension briefly in his muscles even as his hands curl into fists against his lower back.
Her hand is warm where she coaxes him to tilt his head, something he hesitates with because he’s so focused on regulating his breathing and ensuring he’s still there even as the blood freely pours. But he does twist his head, slowly and sluggishly, his rougher Halovian accent pouring from his lips when he whispers his curses. “Fuck,” the turn stings more, sending another fresh wave of it down into her hands as his nostrils flare and his breathing starts to pick up as he continues to grow lightheaded.
Then he feels the slice of the blade. A stinging, singing pain that sparks a low grunt and his arms tensing. The blade is sharp enough that it hardly snags on skin, such that the majority of the pain is located around the surge of blood that begins to drip in a dark ribbon of burgundy. It rushes and as she lifts the lace to coat it in the blood, he finds himself suddenly feeling slightly lightheaded. A weightlessness that relaxes the tension briefly in his muscles even as his hands curl into fists against his lower back.
Her hand is warm where she coaxes him to tilt his head, something he hesitates with because he’s so focused on regulating his breathing and ensuring he’s still there even as the blood freely pours. But he does twist his head, slowly and sluggishly, his rougher Halovian accent pouring from his lips when he whispers his curses. “Fuck,” the turn stings more, sending another fresh wave of it down into her hands as his nostrils flare and his breathing starts to pick up as he continues to grow lightheaded.
Astaroth
// and i'll paint it red //
