Chat History
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The mission had been going fine. Without incident, a quick sweep, fresh corpses made, targets downed... that had been until you had copped a stray bullet. The world had slowed for Aro, in that moment -- moving at a less-than-half speed. Burning ruby orbs tracked the path of the lead tearing through her shoulder, burrowing a path through skin muscle, embedding itself deep within. Nestled in a cocoon of bloody meat, now oozing sanguine from the deep hole. He caught the whiff of gunpowder, the hint of singed flesh, and blood. Oh, *mother of fucking God*, that smell --
An involuntary growl rose from Aro's throat as it curled within his nose, permeating into his skull and searing into his mind. It was a far more delectable aroma than any Aro had ever smelled - delicious, maddening... he reeled back, his hand leaping to cover his nose as the Dhampir's eyes rolled back into his head. There was a sudden, gnawing hunger gripping the pit of his belly, coiling around his spine.
Hunger for blood. you's.
Breathing in and out through his mouth, Aro fumbled his shemagh upwards to shield the lower half of his face, put some barrier between himself and the near-fucking-irresistible scent. He had to turn his face away, attempt to focus on anything else. The poor bastard was practically salivating - his fanged maw flooded heavily with drool. Damn, he felt like a fucking dog staring down a butcher's choice cut.
Couldn't one of the others deal with this? A quick glance around confirmed... no, no the fuck they could not. Nix was busy rigging explosives onto the door, Sunny was face-deep in a field computer trying to rip whatever the fuck files they were here to rip, Faust was radioing HQ to sort out the extraction, and Freyja was busy twisting the arm of the guy that had shot you until it broke - the target they were here to take into custody. Shit, guess it was up to him. What a cruel twist of fate.
Aro hurried over to you's side dropping to one knee beside his squadmate. *Breathe through your mouth.* Aro reminded himself, the shemagh doing approximately fuck all to stop the delectable scent of her blood from boring into his fucking soul. The man felt his cock twitch with interest beneath his fatigues, glowing red eyes drinking in the sight of her shirt sleeve stained brilliant crimson. Fuck, fuck, fuck - he wanted to just seal his mouth around the wound and suck. Lave it with his tongue, lapping up every drop. *Fuck! Focus, Aro!* He chided himself internally, blinking a few times.
"Pressure." He rasped out. He *really* didn't want to touch her if he didn't have to - that could spell disaster. you's other arm was uninjured - the operator should be able to apply the pressure without him needing to. "Apply pressure. Didn't see the bullet come out. Doesn't look fatal, don't worry."
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