Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the ravenous glint of his eyes, hungry for more control, more, more, more, as if he hadn’t had enough for his wants. Julien could see his other half wanting to fill himself to bursting, beyond simple need, in attempts to entrap that void that physical, tangible things could only ever fix temporarily. The sacrifice saw himself unfurled before a school desk piled high with papers and a hand snaked to his neck demanding more as collateral.

“Sincl--.” Gods.

Julien growled and felt the hair stand up on his neck as a hand settled over it like crosshairs. But, what was one more sin along the way? They were both sinners.

They poured their hurt and frustration into their actions, until each one was as sharp and precise as cold steel, and he watched Sinclair move, his own mouth came slightly open, the furrow of his eyebrows disappeared but only for a moment. It was gone, ghosting away in the afterglow, in the murk of the morning.

It came swift and unannounced as the Sacrifice slumped to catch his bearings and only turned halfway to keep Sinclair in sight.

“G-give me a minute, hell.”

Julien swallowed the bitterness burning a trail up his throat. Here he was, surrounded by that intoxicating, soothing glower, ready to devour all the soft curves of his life with the lingering of his lips. But it was for Sinclair, and that was different. It was. He tried to gather himself again, this time arcing further into the empty embrace of his figher's gentle kiss; disarming him of the momentum his quiet fury needed to thoroughly eschew his partner. Maybe, the ginger would take the small satisfaction of distracting him again.

"For a bit," he whispered back as he half-sat on the desk, I'll stay."

He let his voice winter over at the edges and his fingers burn trails up the skin against the fighter's rib cage twisting and unfurling in its wake; lips is so close, so on him, that Julien felt Sinclair's breath slide into his mouth like smoke.

That passionate, roiling blood was so near to the surface that he could almost taste it when he dragged his lips up SIn's throat. He could almost taste the man's vulnerability there, could almost feel it surge onto his mouth with each throb of pulse where neck curved up to jaw. He could almost know just intuitively that it was there, like he should have known so many times before. And so, he'd stay just a bit longer.