It's not enough...no, it's not, it's not, it's not!
Kaiba's fingers close around Yuugi's wrist, too tightly to feel all that good, but not enough to hurt him, and he sucks harder, his eyes squeezing shut. He feels like he's in a space between heaven and hell, where Yuugi's blood is pleasure, but the trickle is pain.
Temperance, when Kaiba doesn't want it.
But there's something else there, too. Something that leads him in for longer--he can feel Yuugi's heartbeat in his chest, somehow. He can feel the skips and beats and stutters, and it almost feels like being alive, doesn't it? Alive...something that Yuugi should be, forevermore.
It feels like an eternity when he finally pulls away from Yuugi's finger, releases his hand and throws himself back into his chair, panting. There's some life to his features now, but he's still hungry, as he knew he'd be. Yuugi had taken the edge off, but like this, well...how could Kaiba ever be fully satiated?
He reaches into one of his desk drawers, fumbling for a moment, before pulling out a blood bag he'd stored there before ever going to Yuugi's floor, Much like the day they'd first met, he doesn't tear it open as he usually does, and instead sinks his fangs into the plastic before greedily drinking the contents down like an alcoholic chasing their buzz.
When he's done, he sets the empty plastic bag down on his desk and wipes his mouth with the tip of a thumb to gather any errant smears...before taking his own thumb in past his lips and leaving nothing to waste.
Kaiba hates waste. He hates mess and he hates waste. If Yuugi drips on his desk, he'll be cross, so he reaches back into the desk, and pulls out...a small handkerchief? There's no doubt it was in there to serve this singular purpose--cleaning up blood--because it was the only thing in the room that was made to hold stains. He gently slides it across the desk, offering it to Yuugi.
No waste. No mess.
The jacket hanging in the corner of the room seems to mock them both. A glaring exception.
no subject
Kaiba's fingers close around Yuugi's wrist, too tightly to feel all that good, but not enough to hurt him, and he sucks harder, his eyes squeezing shut. He feels like he's in a space between heaven and hell, where Yuugi's blood is pleasure, but the trickle is pain.
Temperance, when Kaiba doesn't want it.
But there's something else there, too. Something that leads him in for longer--he can feel Yuugi's heartbeat in his chest, somehow. He can feel the skips and beats and stutters, and it almost feels like being alive, doesn't it? Alive...something that Yuugi should be, forevermore.
It feels like an eternity when he finally pulls away from Yuugi's finger, releases his hand and throws himself back into his chair, panting. There's some life to his features now, but he's still hungry, as he knew he'd be. Yuugi had taken the edge off, but like this, well...how could Kaiba ever be fully satiated?
He reaches into one of his desk drawers, fumbling for a moment, before pulling out a blood bag he'd stored there before ever going to Yuugi's floor, Much like the day they'd first met, he doesn't tear it open as he usually does, and instead sinks his fangs into the plastic before greedily drinking the contents down like an alcoholic chasing their buzz.
When he's done, he sets the empty plastic bag down on his desk and wipes his mouth with the tip of a thumb to gather any errant smears...before taking his own thumb in past his lips and leaving nothing to waste.
Kaiba hates waste. He hates mess and he hates waste. If Yuugi drips on his desk, he'll be cross, so he reaches back into the desk, and pulls out...a small handkerchief? There's no doubt it was in there to serve this singular purpose--cleaning up blood--because it was the only thing in the room that was made to hold stains. He gently slides it across the desk, offering it to Yuugi.
No waste. No mess.
The jacket hanging in the corner of the room seems to mock them both. A glaring exception.