[Well, at least Gepard is able to get comfortable on the couch, even when he's shirtless and offering his arm up for a guy to bite on it. And the way he says it, I trust you... he really doesn't know how much he's trusting Sampo with. As an Emanator, if he wanted to drain Gepard of every ounce of blood in his body, he could do it without much trouble. He could pin Gepard to that couch and get his teeth in his throat and take him for everything he's got, and, apparently, make him love every second of it.]
[Would he come before he lost consciousness from blood loss? Ugh, that's a weird thought. Put that on the list of things to never think about again.]
[Sampo walks over to him and takes the offered arm, and... it feels weird to join him on the couch, and he'd have to pull his arm to the side to get his teeth into it, so it seems easier to just kneel in front of him and go about it that way. With his arm angled downward, gravity will help with blood flow, too.]
I'll try to be quick.
[He bites down a few inches above the wrist, where he can see the faint blue line of a vein underneath his skin. Hot blood floods over his tongue again. He's only tasted Gepard twice before, but he thinks he's improving a little day by day-- a little less bitter, a little richer, more complex in profile. Like taking little sips of an aging wine from the cask, tasting how it improves over time. He makes a soft, unconscious noise as he swallows, relief at how each mouthful of blood soothes the aches inside of him. After spending so much time in a constant state of starvation, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have satisfaction.]
[He's too focused on eating neatly-- and the full body sensation of relief-- to think too much about the state of anything in the vicinity of Gepard's trousers.]
no subject
[Would he come before he lost consciousness from blood loss? Ugh, that's a weird thought. Put that on the list of things to never think about again.]
[Sampo walks over to him and takes the offered arm, and... it feels weird to join him on the couch, and he'd have to pull his arm to the side to get his teeth into it, so it seems easier to just kneel in front of him and go about it that way. With his arm angled downward, gravity will help with blood flow, too.]
I'll try to be quick.
[He bites down a few inches above the wrist, where he can see the faint blue line of a vein underneath his skin. Hot blood floods over his tongue again. He's only tasted Gepard twice before, but he thinks he's improving a little day by day-- a little less bitter, a little richer, more complex in profile. Like taking little sips of an aging wine from the cask, tasting how it improves over time. He makes a soft, unconscious noise as he swallows, relief at how each mouthful of blood soothes the aches inside of him. After spending so much time in a constant state of starvation, he'd forgotten what it felt like to have satisfaction.]
[He's too focused on eating neatly-- and the full body sensation of relief-- to think too much about the state of anything in the vicinity of Gepard's trousers.]