Striker never expected to find himself in the company of Valentino. Nothing against the moth in question, considering what led up to this moment, but he's still trying to wrap his head around it. The thought swirling in the back of his mind as he managed to pin them down. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as his pupils dilated and his grip tightened against their hands. Breath heavy in the air as he looked down at them.
"Stay down." It's all that he could manage at the moment, but his actions spoke volumes over words. Leaning forward towards them just as they began to struggle, and without warning, he'd open his jaw and bite down. Maybe it was the excitement of the fight, the way he looked beneath him, or how much he wanted control, but he couldn't stop himself. . . He wanted a taste.
Sharp teeth clamped down against the demon's neck. Directly biting into them with enough force to bleed. Their blood drips down along his teeth, pushing past their neck, pooling down below. Yet Striker didn't let it go as his tongue immediately lapped it up. Tasting them with a slight shudder as an exhale of breath left him. The imp enjoyed the taste, yet he wanted more; he needed more, and like a ravenous animal, he went about biting again, again, and again.
His greed consumed him as he no longer cared for the fight at hand. The hitman was entranced intoxicated by him. Striker had fallen for it as he no longer held him down and moved down his body. Claws suddenly ripping at the material of his dress for more access, yet in that moment, the sound of it brought him back. Just for a moment, just enough for him to speak again. To breathe.
". . . Fuck. "