[ He expects Sylvain to back off, to give when Claude's claws dig into the space between his ribs.
Sylvain doesn't, mouth hot and stinging where he closes over his neck. The shock of it makes Claude go still for a moment, the reality of his situation steadily sinking in. And once it does, fury bubbles up like a tide.
He thinks for a moment that he retaliates, sinking his claws into Sylvain's chest, dig past the bone to draw out that heart and then see what liberties Sylvain thinks he's allowed to take. It'd be easy enough, flesh little more than butter in the face of his razor sharp nails. He could tear Sylvain limb from limb for thinking that—
It is too easy. And the image of Sylvain's body, lifeless with his blood on his hands goes quickly from satisfying to sickening. It sends another jolt up his spine, gold eyes fading back to green.
And then he's just Claude again, the injuries along his arms burning. They pale in comparison to the sharp sting against his neck. Sylvain is sturdy and unrelenting in front of him, and the tree behind him, so he just... leans into him, suddenly exhausted. ]
This is a little much for revenge.
[ His heartbeat is still rabbit-quick in his chest, but his words are lazy and relaxed. He almost seems at peace, even though he wonders about how he should probably be alarmed. Maybe he should be scared. He was so angry just seconds ago, and yet he can't summon any of that now.
Sylvain is going to be horrified when he snaps out of it. ]
[ He can hear Claude speaking, so close and yet distant, a sound that struggles to reach Sylvain's ears underneath the roar of everything else clouding his judgement. He can feel every minute shift in Claude's posture, the way his body seems to sigh against his own, how the drumming of his heart begins to falter the longer Sylvain partakes.
He has to stop. The impulse is no longer as acute as it was, when he'd been badly injured and famished, but it's no less seductive. He wants to drain his prey of every last drop, to savor the final moments of his life and the ending beat of his slowing pulse.
(...Sylvain doesn't want any of that. He wants to wake up from this nightmare, and he wants to run. He hears his own name against his ear, a quiet warning.) ]
...Claude.
[ He pulls back with a visceral shudder, eyes dark and cheeks flushed with stolen blood. If his expression is stricken, it's not entirely with guilt but with hunger, an innate need that only Claude can grant at this very moment.
(He's still bleeding, and Sylvain still wants to taste him.)
He releases his grip from Claude's jaw, only to smear the pad of his thumb along one of the rivulets of blood, bringing it to his mouth to lick the excess clean.
—And then he suddenly realizes the state they're both in, human panic quickly welling up in his throat. ]
—Oh no. Oh shit.
[ He can't let go of the other boy with the paralytic still in effect, so he gathers him in his arms instead, looking around frantically for somewhere he can safely set him down. ]
[ It's not the first time that Claude has been in a life threatening position, but he thinks this might the only time that he's not actually afraid. It's not that he trusts Sylvain, and it's not even for a nefarious reason like using this for blackmail against him later but...
He just knows. That despite everything and their differences, Sylvain wouldn't deliberately hurt him. That most of the damage that Sylvain does is toward himself, for some baffling reason that Claude can't comprehend—and hasn't tried.
There's still a matter of pride, and his ego could be hurt at being bested, but it doesn't manifest. Maybe it's because of the paralytic or the shock of such an unexpected turn, or the blood loss making him lethargic, but he doesn't care.
In the strangest way, this feels less like an attack and more like someone desperate reaching out a hand. Almost like he can feel the need that's plaguing Sylvain's senses, and despite trying to rip his throat out only a minute ago, he decides to be gentle. Because even though it's Sylvain with his teeth at his neck, Claude feels like he's the one in power.
It helps too, that as Sylvain returns to his senses, he doesn't even try to hide his panic. Claude probably couldn't even panic if he tried, resting his forehead against Sylvain's shoulder tiredly. ]
Yeah? [ He smiles, amused, because this is such a ridiculous situation. ] Are you seriously looking at me for answers right now?
[ His cheek mashes against Sylvain's shoulder as he looks up at him dazedly. ]
[ Oh thank the goddess he's still conscious. The relief makes Sylvain's stomach do something strange, and he releases a shaky exhale, a long ha-a that curls slightly at the end into an awkward, incredulous laugh. ]
Told you we shoulda rainchecked.
[ Of course he's not actually blaming Claude for any of this, and his expression is appropriately chastised (if not distinctly confused) as he glances down at him. ]
...Sorry.
[ While the other boy is mostly a blur of dark hair in his peripheral, Sylvain can catch a glimpse of his woozy smile; had he not just forcibly taken a liter of blood from him he might find it oddly adorable. (The taste sits heavy and bittersweet in his mouth, both revulsive and comforting. He tries not to think about it, how easy it would be to finish the job.)
He centers his focus instead on getting Claude somewhere safe, where he can recover. ]
Bear with me a moment longer, yeah?
[ He mumbles the warning before he carefully scoops him up in his arms, and takes him to the first comfortable enclosure he can think of—the seaside spa... which really feels like the start of a bar joke.
It's empty at this hour at least, clean and well-stocked. Sylvain sets Claude down on one of the beds, and grabs a towel to clean up whatever blood is still on them. ]
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no subject
Sylvain doesn't, mouth hot and stinging where he closes over his neck. The shock of it makes Claude go still for a moment, the reality of his situation steadily sinking in. And once it does, fury bubbles up like a tide.
He thinks for a moment that he retaliates, sinking his claws into Sylvain's chest, dig past the bone to draw out that heart and then see what liberties Sylvain thinks he's allowed to take. It'd be easy enough, flesh little more than butter in the face of his razor sharp nails. He could tear Sylvain limb from limb for thinking that—
It is too easy. And the image of Sylvain's body, lifeless with his blood on his hands goes quickly from satisfying to sickening. It sends another jolt up his spine, gold eyes fading back to green.
And then he's just Claude again, the injuries along his arms burning. They pale in comparison to the sharp sting against his neck. Sylvain is sturdy and unrelenting in front of him, and the tree behind him, so he just... leans into him, suddenly exhausted. ]
This is a little much for revenge.
[ His heartbeat is still rabbit-quick in his chest, but his words are lazy and relaxed. He almost seems at peace, even though he wonders about how he should probably be alarmed. Maybe he should be scared. He was so angry just seconds ago, and yet he can't summon any of that now.
Sylvain is going to be horrified when he snaps out of it. ]
Sylvain...
no subject
He has to stop. The impulse is no longer as acute as it was, when he'd been badly injured and famished, but it's no less seductive. He wants to drain his prey of every last drop, to savor the final moments of his life and the ending beat of his slowing pulse.
(...Sylvain doesn't want any of that. He wants to wake up from this nightmare, and he wants to run. He hears his own name against his ear, a quiet warning.) ]
...Claude.
[ He pulls back with a visceral shudder, eyes dark and cheeks flushed with stolen blood. If his expression is stricken, it's not entirely with guilt but with hunger, an innate need that only Claude can grant at this very moment.
(He's still bleeding, and Sylvain still wants to taste him.)
He releases his grip from Claude's jaw, only to smear the pad of his thumb along one of the rivulets of blood, bringing it to his mouth to lick the excess clean.
—And then he suddenly realizes the state they're both in, human panic quickly welling up in his throat. ]
—Oh no. Oh shit.
[ He can't let go of the other boy with the paralytic still in effect, so he gathers him in his arms instead, looking around frantically for somewhere he can safely set him down. ]
Claude.
no subject
He just knows. That despite everything and their differences, Sylvain wouldn't deliberately hurt him. That most of the damage that Sylvain does is toward himself, for some baffling reason that Claude can't comprehend—and hasn't tried.
There's still a matter of pride, and his ego could be hurt at being bested, but it doesn't manifest. Maybe it's because of the paralytic or the shock of such an unexpected turn, or the blood loss making him lethargic, but he doesn't care.
In the strangest way, this feels less like an attack and more like someone desperate reaching out a hand. Almost like he can feel the need that's plaguing Sylvain's senses, and despite trying to rip his throat out only a minute ago, he decides to be gentle. Because even though it's Sylvain with his teeth at his neck, Claude feels like he's the one in power.
It helps too, that as Sylvain returns to his senses, he doesn't even try to hide his panic. Claude probably couldn't even panic if he tried, resting his forehead against Sylvain's shoulder tiredly. ]
Yeah? [ He smiles, amused, because this is such a ridiculous situation. ] Are you seriously looking at me for answers right now?
[ His cheek mashes against Sylvain's shoulder as he looks up at him dazedly. ]
That was weird.
no subject
Told you we shoulda rainchecked.
[ Of course he's not actually blaming Claude for any of this, and his expression is appropriately chastised (if not distinctly confused) as he glances down at him. ]
...Sorry.
[ While the other boy is mostly a blur of dark hair in his peripheral, Sylvain can catch a glimpse of his woozy smile; had he not just forcibly taken a liter of blood from him he might find it oddly adorable. (The taste sits heavy and bittersweet in his mouth, both revulsive and comforting. He tries not to think about it, how easy it would be to finish the job.)
He centers his focus instead on getting Claude somewhere safe, where he can recover. ]
Bear with me a moment longer, yeah?
[ He mumbles the warning before he carefully scoops him up in his arms, and takes him to the first comfortable enclosure he can think of—the seaside spa... which really feels like the start of a bar joke.
It's empty at this hour at least, clean and well-stocked. Sylvain sets Claude down on one of the beds, and grabs a towel to clean up whatever blood is still on them. ]