You could say he has a... rage-boner.
Rated K+ for suggestion of sexual scene.
"your windhole isn't shut enough. i can still hear you." He growls.
[ PREYING ON MY HANDICAP IS A MOTHERFUCKING LOW BLOW. ] He continues tauntingly.
"I SAID SHUT THE MOTHERFUCK UP." He snarls, gritting the longer of his fangs by the tips.
[ NO NEED FOR THE HARSH TONES, MY MIRTHFUL BROTHER. ] He gives a snarky smirk behind the stitches.
He roughly grabs him by the shirt to pull them into each other's faces and close the space between them entirely. His glare demands the deepest reach into the eyes that lack all indication of the light of life.
"say that again… i dare you." He licks the other's sewn lips, playing off frustration as a tease.
[ I HAVE YET TO MOTHERFUCKING SAY A SINGLE WORD. ] His smile broadens.
He roars out his rage and fully pounces on the other, knocking him back onto the ground.
He shows only silent but thorough amusement.
The purple blood under their skin burns black, staining their hearts, conquering their minds.
His tongue slips between the threads, too enraged and yet further frustrated that another will never meet it. He angrily licks the inside of the neatly tucked fangs and occasionally searches through the void in the maimed mouth for the short stub that remains.
He makes no effort to push him off or rip the claws out of his scalp, nor indicates any hope for him to remove them, letting him take all the time he dooms them both to spend.
The cod piece bumps up against its closest match.
The smirk still remains, entertained at the other's boiling emotional state.
Not enough.
Not yet.
He only moves once beneath him. Only to free the cod piece's hostage. Only then.
And not even once, not so much as a breath enunciated by him for either of them to hear.