[His brain feels like its cotton candy, pulled to extremes and spun around a cone. He barely knows where to start and where to stop thinking. Instinct now, his id, is the one at the forefront now. And its the thing that he beats himself to guilt over.]
[No matter what he does, no matter what threads of light he follows, no matter how many children he tried (and failed) to save - this is what he is, isn't he? It's what Silco saw in him. And so, he bares it just like his teeth, which crackle with a sudden stab of pain.]
[Vergilius groans from it. The taste of blood sinks down his throat again. Silco stills against him, which seems to give him permission. Permission, really? He was so rabid before. What changed now?]
[Was Silco deriving pleasure from this, somehow? Was he deriving pleasure from this, somehow?]
[He doesn't know what should give the answer to that. His mind? His heart? His body? His....whatever is now sitting there in his blood, a cuckoo invading a nest? His body isn't going to stop now until he receives a bit of delayed clarity. One leg latches over the other's to keep him from moving, hip locked to hip with his hand threatening more of a squeeze. He pulls away to gasp a breath, filling his lungs before he returns to his work. Its not as drastic and feral as before, but he's finding that open wound to latch his teeth into it once again, tongue licking up the ravaged area as his teeth sharpen and lenghen, sinking further inward.]
no subject
[No matter what he does, no matter what threads of light he follows, no matter how many children he tried (and failed) to save - this is what he is, isn't he? It's what Silco saw in him. And so, he bares it just like his teeth, which crackle with a sudden stab of pain.]
[Vergilius groans from it. The taste of blood sinks down his throat again. Silco stills against him, which seems to give him permission. Permission, really? He was so rabid before. What changed now?]
[Was Silco deriving pleasure from this, somehow? Was he deriving pleasure from this, somehow?]
[He doesn't know what should give the answer to that. His mind? His heart? His body? His....whatever is now sitting there in his blood, a cuckoo invading a nest? His body isn't going to stop now until he receives a bit of delayed clarity. One leg latches over the other's to keep him from moving, hip locked to hip with his hand threatening more of a squeeze. He pulls away to gasp a breath, filling his lungs before he returns to his work. Its not as drastic and feral as before, but he's finding that open wound to latch his teeth into it once again, tongue licking up the ravaged area as his teeth sharpen and lenghen, sinking further inward.]
[As if he means to eat the man whole.]