Welcome to Gaia! ::

The Ancient’s bloodlust sniffed hungrily as the atmosphere changed between them. Fathle could feel his hands wrap dangerously around his friend; his grip seemed to change its goal from keeping Werika close against him to making sure that he could not easily get away.

“Werika…”

He murmured softly before the shaman silenced him with his lips. How willingly this man’s body folded against him. How willing… Fathle broke their kiss with a hungry sigh and let his tongue run over the other man’s mouth before biting down upon Werika’s bottom until it flushed and swelled deliciously against the abuse. The Ancient slowly pushed the man backwards until the shaman’s lower back gently pressed against the kitchen counter as his lips abandoned Werika’s mouth to worship other parts of the man’s body.

This was always Fathle’s favorite part about the hunt. Or, atleast, it was perhaps the least unpleasant. The part before the screaming started and he realized that –

The Ancient roughly jerked away from Werika’s warm body, his black eyes wide with a kind of shock as if he had forgotten where he was. Fathle had to take in the features of the man’s face one by one and piece them together before he realized that this was not some nameless creature he had caught in his web.

“Werika,” the man repeated a second time with more clarity. “…Jesus.” Fathle rarely blasphemed, and it was strange to hear such a word fall from his lips. The Ancient quickly turned on his heel and briskly walked out of the kitchen while his bloodlust roared with frustration and rage through his veins.

The Ancient carefully chose a spot in the living room that was farthest from Werika. He even turned his back to the man so that his red eyes could not violate the shaman’s body by stripping away the flesh and exploring every vein and artery. The area around his mouth pulsed painfully and each dull throb slithered into each of his fangs. After being thwarted so many different times, his bloodlust was unmerciful; every few seconds, Fathle was assaulted by crashing waves of hunger that nearly made him double over by the strength of it. His curse was making sure that he suffered, clawing him raw until every sense in the immortal’s body was painfully sensitive to the single stimulus of blood. Even now, he could smell the cut on Werika’s lips as if the human had just taken a knife down his wrist.

“…It’s alright,” Fathle finally said, concentrating on the blank wall in front of him. “I’m going out.” The Ancient swiftly grabbed his coat from the couch, but he couldn’t help but raise his gaze to Werika’s face. His eyes burned with the intensity of hot, red coals and violently residing in them was his bloodlust’s desire to kill. To feed. To dominate. It was a part of Fathle that he hated and, unexplainably, liked. A part that he kept in chains but…

Fathle quickly wrenched the door open, nearly pulling it off the squeaky hinges, and slammed the it behind him.