He'd coax him on, teasing, playful. Writhing, blood pools in his mouth, nails digging into his flesh, a strength that could be bone crushing because the machine hadn't noticed yet. The primal pulled away, amusement on his face. "You're getting better at this. I'm so proud~" Belial crooned, hands resting on Eve's hips. "I think you deserve a reward for your efforts. What can I do for you?"
He has no need to breathe and yet a panted one escapes his lips. His mouth is bloody, chin coated with the thick liquid that acts as the ichor in his veins. The taste is metallic, like the rest of him, and his red gaze peeks open, stares hard at the demon holding him. Nostrils flare for a moment, a mockery as the machine catches fake breath and his gloved fingers dig hard against Belial’s biceps. The pressure makes a wheezed sound escape Eve, sharp teeth grinding against each other and cutting his lip further as he attempts to snap at the primal.
Sadly, it gets him nowhere but the fallen moving away and the machine notes the closeness. The hands on his waist, and the way Belial’s voice sounds like music.
It takes him a moment to gather himself, claws dragging hard down the primal’s arms. Almost as if he were attempting to pull him closer, to keep their bodies flush against one another. The praise only fuels him further, red eyes widening for a split second before narrowing once more. A gurgled sound is made from the machine at the viscous fluid in his mouth and throat, lips pulling in a frown that he can’t quite voice what he wants, what exactly the demon can do for him. What can he do? It’s something that the machine thinks on, knowing well what they’ve done before.
What the fallen has shown him.
It makes his core flutter at the thought and the current situation. At the way Belial is rendering him and it’s still such a new sensation. To be broken asunder, to dish out the same kind of pain unto the man before him and be praised for the durability he holds and the damage he can do. It makes the humming of his body become louder, the already present heat rising further and Eve thinks he knows what he wants.
He pushes the blood from his throat into his cheeks, holds it back before spitting it in the demon’s face. A laugh escapes him, a breathy noise before his hands leave the primal’s arms and reach up, cupping the sides of now bloody face. Claws grab against Belial’s jaw, yanks him close as Eve bares his teeth, a low hiss escaping him while his lips pull in a grotesque smile.
“More,” it’s nearly a growl, “Give me more.”