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Summary
Minho watches between his outstretched fingers, the proximity blurring out their details, as Chris's eyebrows crease. And he feels rather than sees when the vampire licks from the pulse point under the pad of his thumb all the way up to his ring finger. Open-mouthed, Minho sees the flash of red on his tongue before he dips back to do it all over again with the other hand.
It is a sight, to watch something so hungry for scraps. To watch a wretched being thirstily lick his palms clean just to feed himself. The low hums he's letting out as he drags the flat bed of his cold, stiff tongue against Minho's warm, bleeding palms sound like gratitude.