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Summary
It does not take long for said visitor to kneel next to him and take his hand reverently. Then, Dan Heng feels his soft tongue lap up the blood, trailing upwards to the gash he made in his palm. His hand twitches as the gash is licked tentively—a mix of pain and pleasure. The blood that dripped from his hand, all of it, was tasted greedily like a sinful elixir. Yet, for the both of them, Dan Heng knows it is far from enough.
“Blade,” he spoke his name nonchalantly.
Blood becomes them, and they cannot untwist themselves from one another.