( The bathroom's huge for Mal's standards; shared or not. The tub at the center is big enough to fit several if it were left to the masses but he can guess that like the rest of the opulence found in this place, it's private. The last thing he remembers if waking up from a dream, a vision and hurling himself out of a bath, he's not sure how he got in the bed.

He leaves the bathroom and bedroom he'd woken in dressed in a pair of brown slacks that are worth more than anything he's owned and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. It's simple, it's quick. Mal makes his way toward the grand entrance and out the doors, toward the gates of the estate.

The closer he draws, the stronger the chill up his spine grows and the nausea sets in. Mal's a soldier, pushing forward and onwards until he stops at the threshold and looks out into the countryside ahead. There's a road ahead and beyond it? Well, green lushness and countryside. There's not a village in his line of sight. He hesitates, then starts to walk forward with determination as his body trembles. He'll trudge on until he collapses, wakes again but the presence of another that'll get him to stop, if he notices them struggling and falling behind.

He'll take them to the gates then, worry etched into his brow. ) Sit down for a little. It might pass.

CW: mid-fuck, cannibalism, blood

( He's losing his mind, he's sure of it. Mal's overcome with a fever, a desire boiling low in his gut, a fire kindled the night of his arrival now burning bright.

He remembers that night, the sweetness of the cake and the warmth of bodies pressed against his own. He remembers laughter, remembers feeling more alive than he had in a long time after he'd forgotten about stuffing diamonds into his pockets and was distracted by cake. The necklace that he'd won, fool that he is, rests squirreled away underneath the bed he's claimed for himself, unworn.

Mal is atop of it, tangled in sheets and limbs with the body of a lover pressed into the cold silk beneath him. His tongue traces a collarbone, licks sweat from the skin as his hips rock against his partner's hips to rhythm that started slow, steady but grows more frantic with need. He presses his teeth into the tendon along a sweat-slicked neck, works it between his teeth. )

Please, ( he whispers, kisses the same spot. ) Need to taste you. So sweet.

( his teeth sink in as soon as he has permission into the junction of shoulder and neck and as blood spills on his tongue, a moan is muffled into heated skin. )

( feel free to wildcard anything! i'm open. not 100% sure on mal's canon point but let's say right after his own little bathtub voyeurism experience in season 2 of shadown & bone for now. )