She plucked a chuckle out from between his lips and his skin vibrated with desire; he wanted to peel flesh from the bone, and taste the nectar below. The blood had hazed him, as violent as the rainstorm battering down on his face had. It peppered his tongue with bloodied kisses, that he swallowed down whole.
Words were usually so easy, but they escaped him then. Tangled in the hum of rain, and the shuffling of a body beside him. Jakoris didn't need to war for the right. She could curl her disappointments around him, and squeeze the wrath out of his body, if she liked. Encourage him onto his feet, to go tooth and nail with her, even in his state.
'Zagi's head on his chest, has his hand lifting to snake up the nape of her head, and tangle in her hair, like they were something other than they were. Warm hands burn shapes into the ridges of his stomach. They've done this before, when she's crawled into his bed, on the backend of a fight she'd lost โ she'd never admit it, he knew. But Jakoris knew; there were things out there that rattled even the demon.
"You find me someone who'll drink you dry, babe. Then we'll talk." If fuelled by magical blood in the gallons cannot provide him enough to endure her poison, then Jack doubts anybody can survive it. Fingers press gently into her scalp, slow and mindless.
Her grand speech quirks his mouth into a wide smile, all teeth, thick with blood. "I never denied anything." An eye cracks open to look down at her, splayed out on him. "You keep talking like that, sugarplum and I'll think you've lost yourself to the rain." That, and it sounds less and less unappealing when she might climb atop of him. But it'd be uncharted territory, to get there without a fight.
Mal sours the provocation, as fast as his tongue swipes at his teeth.
"So she's an obsession?" Better. Less concerning to think Mal's already tied up in something that would wreck him for another decade. One Commander, and a ticket to death had done plenty numbers on all of them. Jakoris closes his eyes again, and settls back into the sand, even as Azagi moves, "Mally's a romantic." he decides on. "But he's not a saint." If he's going around breaking viriginals or whatever friend-thing 'Zagi implies, then there's something else at play. "Did you just admit you could be wrong. Oh my, lover. Say it again. I'm getting hot."
And then she's gone, pressure removed, and his hand unfurls from her body.
Jakoris had considered the beach, and the fuck, but the sand's an excuse he won't pull at Azagi for; he's half-cocked, and being pushed into madness by the blood.
He concedes, in the streak of many firsts. "Mm, fine. Let's play then."
And without much heistation in the weakness, he takes her hand and they're creatures let loose in the bloodshed, again.
