Stay close to me, hunter mine. This may make you swoon.
[He's teasing, probably; there's a richness in his voice that suggests it. But even moreso than that, he sounds — giddy, almost, beneath layers and layers of his ancient bearing. Like even now he still doesn't quite dare to believe, and won't let himself surrender to the reality of it too soon.
But Ashe invites him, tugging the fabric of his hood away, and Dimitri is suddenly so determined to make this good for him, to live up to the faith it must have taken a Yharnam hunter to offer himself up so freely.]
But perhaps you would enjoy that.
[He rumbles his amusement, nosing and kissing his way along Ashe's jaw and down the column of his neck, until at last he settles over the pulse and gives it a slow lick, marking out the place of what's to come where he can feel it, where he can expect it.
Then, he kisses, slow and unhurried touches that cascade one into another, until at last the skin is pink from his attentions and the blood warmed beneath it, and he slides his fangs in and in and in with smooth precise confidence, so even and so steady that the holes are all but perfect, without the slightest ragged edge to cause more pain than necessary.]
no subject
[He's teasing, probably; there's a richness in his voice that suggests it. But even moreso than that, he sounds — giddy, almost, beneath layers and layers of his ancient bearing. Like even now he still doesn't quite dare to believe, and won't let himself surrender to the reality of it too soon.
But Ashe invites him, tugging the fabric of his hood away, and Dimitri is suddenly so determined to make this good for him, to live up to the faith it must have taken a Yharnam hunter to offer himself up so freely.]
But perhaps you would enjoy that.
[He rumbles his amusement, nosing and kissing his way along Ashe's jaw and down the column of his neck, until at last he settles over the pulse and gives it a slow lick, marking out the place of what's to come where he can feel it, where he can expect it.
Then, he kisses, slow and unhurried touches that cascade one into another, until at last the skin is pink from his attentions and the blood warmed beneath it, and he slides his fangs in and in and in with smooth precise confidence, so even and so steady that the holes are all but perfect, without the slightest ragged edge to cause more pain than necessary.]