[ For Matsui, he had lain his arm upon a table and allowed the strange creature to literally cut into his flesh and examine his blood. For Liem, shedding blood in order to support his ally in a time of need is a practical matter, one they have an agreed-upon exchange for. Briefly, he thinks about the men of Egypt, the ones who had descended into madness and taboo, who had tried to offer him the blood, the flesh, the soul of a loyal priestess of his own sister — and the revulsion he had felt, then. What must it be like, to genuinely require such nourishment?
He cannot stand meat, nor blood, the scent of them turns his stomach and the taste of them cause him anguish, illness. Liem's issue is that of shame, of an internalized war with his own self, the result of his upbringing — and so, as Liem draws near, Set leans along the counter and opens his posture. Not entirely inviting, but accepting; Liem's skin is cool, where his fingers brush along Set's bare waist, where the god is a simmering furnace of sun-warmth and bitter flame. ]
Mm — [ The scratch of tooth-tip over his throat brings with it a moment of realization, that Liem is being far more gentle with him than the last person who had bitten him — and that it is because Liem needs this. He moves his hands, from where they have seized at the edge of the counter, and takes Liem's wrists into his palms. His fingers find the edge of Liem's shirtsleeves, one or two sneaking up into the dark space, higher on his forearms. Warm, and oddly intensive.
He tips his head a little, hair falling away from the line of his bare shoulder, to open the length of his throat up a little more. ]
no subject
He cannot stand meat, nor blood, the scent of them turns his stomach and the taste of them cause him anguish, illness. Liem's issue is that of shame, of an internalized war with his own self, the result of his upbringing — and so, as Liem draws near, Set leans along the counter and opens his posture. Not entirely inviting, but accepting; Liem's skin is cool, where his fingers brush along Set's bare waist, where the god is a simmering furnace of sun-warmth and bitter flame. ]
Mm — [ The scratch of tooth-tip over his throat brings with it a moment of realization, that Liem is being far more gentle with him than the last person who had bitten him — and that it is because Liem needs this. He moves his hands, from where they have seized at the edge of the counter, and takes Liem's wrists into his palms. His fingers find the edge of Liem's shirtsleeves, one or two sneaking up into the dark space, higher on his forearms. Warm, and oddly intensive.
He tips his head a little, hair falling away from the line of his bare shoulder, to open the length of his throat up a little more. ]