Barrow Fields The interesting thing

Teeth on his wrist were a bother. A foot kicking his dick was a sár án blóðs, one that had his body hunch over the flailing form of the one he shared blood with. A pained grunt, a moment of blackness swam in his vision before it consumed everything in its entirety.

His form crumpled, weight falling upon her like a sack of potatoes. From this he would not move by his own volition, not until he came back around, at the very least.