[ Zephir acts as though he's the more emotional half, yet no part of him is ever vulnerable, never weak with want. When he desires something, Life gets it, and if he can't do so in the moment, he simply waits until the victim comes to him.
Not with Sullivan, though. Sullivan, the picture of relaxed stoicism, loses his mind when Zephir offers his blood; Zephir, the picture of peaceful chaos, grows desperate when Sullivan decides to take it.
Mouth open, Zephir lowers his head until his tongue is at Sullivan's chin, drinking black nectar, sighing and moaning like he's being fed for the first time in an eternity. He drinks and drinks, closes his mouth, presses in to demand more. This was supposed to be a quick feed, and here they are; monsters who created a whole world debasing themselves.
He rubs his hips up against Sullivan's front, too distracted to pay any real mind to how hard he is. Minutes pass until he comes with sudden jerks and keeps going. In some forgotten language, Life tells Death he's nothing without him. ]
more emeto, drinking it
Not with Sullivan, though. Sullivan, the picture of relaxed stoicism, loses his mind when Zephir offers his blood; Zephir, the picture of peaceful chaos, grows desperate when Sullivan decides to take it.
Mouth open, Zephir lowers his head until his tongue is at Sullivan's chin, drinking black nectar, sighing and moaning like he's being fed for the first time in an eternity. He drinks and drinks, closes his mouth, presses in to demand more. This was supposed to be a quick feed, and here they are; monsters who created a whole world debasing themselves.
He rubs his hips up against Sullivan's front, too distracted to pay any real mind to how hard he is. Minutes pass until he comes with sudden jerks and keeps going. In some forgotten language, Life tells Death he's nothing without him. ]