throw 'em back 'til I lose count

ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.

He knows what a sample means, there’s just a part of him that’s curious how Neron will explain it. It’s rather run of the mill of a definition, however, and Sunjata pays it little mind as his wrist is grasped. There’s little time to prepare himself, the wrist is grabbed and fangs are digging into his skin, and already he’s burning. His skin flushes, wings flaring and flexing with the electricity as it sparks through him, even the bound one shifts against the pain.

The hand that’s not otherwise occupied near Neron grips the countertop with white knuckles, a growl leaving him as he struggles to not forgo the bar between them and dive behind it to the Ascended. He manages to avoid it, barely, when Neron’s lips are pulling away and Sunjata’s panting on the other side of the bar, flushed and warm and smoldering. His gaze spots his blood on Neron’s lips and it’s all he can do to not want to spread it further, the hand dropping and immediately grabbing the glass to down the contents of what Neron had previously poured, incapable of words at the present moment.

SUNJATA