[Everything is sensation. It must be how Trevor feels after feeding, he thinks vaguely, but without the heaviness. Without being close to enveloped by those overwhelming sensations. Trevor's hyper alert. Alucard's...the opposite.
His breath takes time to slow. Every gesture is melted into, still a soft pile of goo rather than an alchemist.]
no subject
His breath takes time to slow. Every gesture is melted into, still a soft pile of goo rather than an alchemist.]
Mmmm.
[The rumble is soft, lacking any real words.]
You too.