Oof
Rough kisses || Not Accepting
Blood welled between Vladimir’s fingers where they pressed against his shoulder, and he drew them away to gaze down at them with a gleeful sort of curiosity. His flesh was taking quite some time to knit itself together again, between the size of the hole that had been blown into him and the peculiar technology of the bullet that had done it, and he savored the burning ache while it lasted.
The little artist had actually managed to wound him.
He was delighted beyond measure, and it was clear that he wasn’t the only one - Jhin’s rasping breath was coming faster, audible even from where Vladimir stood, and the blood mage was possessed by a sudden and singular desire to see whether his face expressed the ecstasy his racing heart seemed to imply.
A blink, and he was upon his would-be murderer, shoving him hard against the brick of the neighboring building. One hand fisted around the collar of Jhin’s perfectly-starched tunic, and the other reached for the bottom lip of that absurd mask. He wrenched it free, the audible sound of tearing fabric filling the air between them as he tossed the hideous thing aside.
Sure enough, the grin that Jhin wore was just as manic as his own, and betrayed not even a hint of fear. Vladimir held his gaze for a long, tense moment, each of them reveling in this electric sensation of being truly alive. They were connected by the ambrosia of Vladimir’s pain, of the blood he’d shed, and it felt only natural to tighten his grip on the mortal’s collar and kiss him, hard.
That Jhin arched against him did not surprise him, nor did the desperate surge of his tongue into Vladimir’s mouth, chasing the copper-gold taste of immortal blood. Vladimir indulged him, sinking his teeth harshly into Jhin’s tongue and relishing the low groan that resulted.
The mortal’s gloved hands were scrambling against him now, shaking slightly as they reached for his mutilated shoulder. Vladimir inhaled sharply through his nose as those slender fingers pressed reverently to the tender edges of the wound that still gaped. In turn, he shifted, the hand on Jhin’s collar slipping up to wind around his throat.
Vladimir broke the kiss at last, crimson pupils blown wide in sheer, unadulterated exhilaration. “You’re mine for this, boy,” he whispered, and delighted in the way that Jhin’s pulse stuttered beneath his palm. “You’ve given me a gift - I intend to give you one of my own.”
He was firmly resolved that tonight would not end until they were both breathless, bloody, and, in Jhin’s case, at least a little broken.
