Apparently Crowley has been feeling like this for the past ten minutes, or however Rhys has been in the same room with him. Predatory, carnivorous, and the adrenaline and whatever else Rhys is experiencing helps course his blood directly into Crowley's mouth.
Hungry, desperate, unknowing but aware at the same time, he moves as if he was an entirely new person. New in a sense that he doesn't know what was going on with his own body, how he could hear and feel things he couldn't before this disease took over, or why this craving completely controls every action he makes. This embrace, this physical contact, it will soon register as his means of survival once Crowley takes the time to put all the pieces together.
He drinks and his grip tightens, practically keeping the other man locked in a cage. His mouth fills with the familiar coppery taste of blood but once it touches his tongue he can finally taste something. It's bitter. Rhys' blood is bitter, and admittedly Crowley never liked bitter foods to begin with so swallowing was a task in itself. But after nearly starving to death he's willing to drink to his fill. Needy. Crowley has never felt so damn needy before in his life.
His body feels warm, warmer than it has in the past three days, and possibly warmer than it has his entire life. If asked he's feeling a lot of things he can't describe through words; content, strange... full.
Yes. He's full now.
He opens his mouth, sloppily pulling out and possibly causing more pain than anything given their position. Small droplets of blood pour from the open wound and Crowley extends his tongue, lapping up what he can against a pulsating neck before finally bringing his head back against the pillows. He finally releases the taller individual, one hand moving briefly to his chest to check if there's still a heartbeat. Once he's convinced that Rhys is well and alive his hands are completely off of him.
Blood peppers around his lips which then curl into a wolfish grin as a chilling fit of laughter rumbles in his chest. ]
I get it. [ He feigns his anger, disguising it perfectly behind the tone of his voice. ] Ah, hell, I guess I'm a bloodsucker now.
[ Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... but Crowley understands that by drinking blood he's well and alive.
Calmly, as if none of this had happened, he looks down Rhys. ]
My family is going to be in some deep shit, don't you think?
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Apparently Crowley has been feeling like this for the past ten minutes, or however Rhys has been in the same room with him. Predatory, carnivorous, and the adrenaline and whatever else Rhys is experiencing helps course his blood directly into Crowley's mouth.
Hungry, desperate, unknowing but aware at the same time, he moves as if he was an entirely new person. New in a sense that he doesn't know what was going on with his own body, how he could hear and feel things he couldn't before this disease took over, or why this craving completely controls every action he makes. This embrace, this physical contact, it will soon register as his means of survival once Crowley takes the time to put all the pieces together.
He drinks and his grip tightens, practically keeping the other man locked in a cage. His mouth fills with the familiar coppery taste of blood but once it touches his tongue he can finally taste something. It's bitter. Rhys' blood is bitter, and admittedly Crowley never liked bitter foods to begin with so swallowing was a task in itself. But after nearly starving to death he's willing to drink to his fill. Needy. Crowley has never felt so damn needy before in his life.
His body feels warm, warmer than it has in the past three days, and possibly warmer than it has his entire life. If asked he's feeling a lot of things he can't describe through words; content, strange... full.
Yes. He's full now.
He opens his mouth, sloppily pulling out and possibly causing more pain than anything given their position. Small droplets of blood pour from the open wound and Crowley extends his tongue, lapping up what he can against a pulsating neck before finally bringing his head back against the pillows. He finally releases the taller individual, one hand moving briefly to his chest to check if there's still a heartbeat. Once he's convinced that Rhys is well and alive his hands are completely off of him.
Blood peppers around his lips which then curl into a wolfish grin as a chilling fit of laughter rumbles in his chest. ]
I get it. [ He feigns his anger, disguising it perfectly behind the tone of his voice. ] Ah, hell, I guess I'm a bloodsucker now.
[ Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... but Crowley understands that by drinking blood he's well and alive.
Calmly, as if none of this had happened, he looks down Rhys. ]
My family is going to be in some deep shit, don't you think?