[ The director calls for the scene to continue and he can only sink back into the role of hapless human. At least this position isn’t bad, granting Rokurou a clean look of the other man’s pretty profile and the way dark hair falls across comely features. A brief moment of admiration, because he soon bows to press his mouth against the proffered stretch of neck.
Rokurou grunts when those prosthetic fangs break skin. Fingers spasm, gripping over his partner’s hip, and he rolls his chin through the outward web of pain. True enough, he doesn’t particularly mind the pain—a shiver, a low laugh, a small groan that walks the line of pain and pleasure. His blood is as hot as any human’s and the same sticky red, though his tolerance for shedding it is greater.
Was there supposed to be a line here? Rokurou can’t quite remember—he hadn’t been as diligent in memorizing the script—but there’s always room for ad libbing. Pulling one hand away from where it had been gripped in fabric, he combs it through the other man’s hair, playing up the aspect of being lovingly enthralled by his bite. In truth, he is turned on by it, but not in the fantastical way that the script’s plot describes. It isn’t an aphrodisiac that numbs the pain and brings only excitement. It hurts, but for a war daemon like him, that kind of pain is a different kind of aphrodisiac. A sharp, pointed one that rouses his baser instincts. He wants to bite back.
Breathing quickens. The natural rasp of his voice deepens through the burn of his shoulder, muscle and tissue bruised and broken. ]
Don’t waste any. You won’t find another human as delicious as I am. [ his leg draws up, bending at the knee, ] Become addicted to me, so you won’t want anyone else…
[ Proud, but bargaining and desperate, unwilling to share this vampire with the countless other lovers he surely has. Something like that? ]
cw: blood
Rokurou grunts when those prosthetic fangs break skin. Fingers spasm, gripping over his partner’s hip, and he rolls his chin through the outward web of pain. True enough, he doesn’t particularly mind the pain—a shiver, a low laugh, a small groan that walks the line of pain and pleasure. His blood is as hot as any human’s and the same sticky red, though his tolerance for shedding it is greater.
Was there supposed to be a line here? Rokurou can’t quite remember—he hadn’t been as diligent in memorizing the script—but there’s always room for ad libbing. Pulling one hand away from where it had been gripped in fabric, he combs it through the other man’s hair, playing up the aspect of being lovingly enthralled by his bite. In truth, he is turned on by it, but not in the fantastical way that the script’s plot describes. It isn’t an aphrodisiac that numbs the pain and brings only excitement. It hurts, but for a war daemon like him, that kind of pain is a different kind of aphrodisiac. A sharp, pointed one that rouses his baser instincts. He wants to bite back.
Breathing quickens. The natural rasp of his voice deepens through the burn of his shoulder, muscle and tissue bruised and broken. ]
Don’t waste any. You won’t find another human as delicious as I am. [ his leg draws up, bending at the knee, ] Become addicted to me, so you won’t want anyone else…
[ Proud, but bargaining and desperate, unwilling to share this vampire with the countless other lovers he surely has. Something like that? ]