He finally succeeds at ripping the man's throat out, then crawls over to the girl and curls up on the ground with his head in her lap. There is no part of him that is not absolutely drenched in blood; the only difference is whether it's dry, sticky, or fresh. All three stages have plenty of representation.

Her hands are wrapped around the handle of the dagger in her chest.

One of them drifts down to stroke his blood-matted hair.

"Thank you."

He nuzzles her thigh.

His back is... a mess; it sustained a lot of damage in his latest encounter with a sword. Glimpses of bone are visible in a few of the deepest cuts. But it's healing with visible speed.

...huh.

She lays her hand on his back, gently.

Might as well try this, then, if it's this kind of dream.

Three. Two. One.

She pulls the dagger free in one motion, and makes a noise halfway between a sob and a moan as blood pours down her abdomen.

He twists, resettling himself so he can look up at the source of the flow. Blood splatters his face; he licks his lips and reaches up, tracing the edge of the hole in her chest with his fingertips.

She sighs softly and lies back as he pets at her wound, dropping the knife to stroke his hair again.

"...mhmm. That's...not great, huh..."

He hums softly, nuzzles her thigh, and starts licking blood from her skin. When his tongue meets the edge of the gash across her stomach, he licks along it with a pleased little noise.

"Ohhh," she says, informatively. Her fingers tighten a little in his hair.

Ooh. That's a good response. He likes that response. He drags his tongue along the cut, tasting her, feeling her hand in his hair and the tiny movements of her body.

She squirms a little, and her knees part underneath him.

"Mmmthis is really bad, you don't even know how doors work..."

He reaches the other end of the cut and turns to kiss his way up to the stab wound in her chest, which he licks slowly and thoroughly like someone trying to get the last drops out of the ice cream cone.

...okay. Tongue > ethical concerns.

She moans and grabs his head with both hands to keep it pulled to her chest.

Oh she's delicious.

She's going to have to repurpose one of her hands to touch herself.

Mmmmmm.

The way his teeth scrape the edges of the hole probably isn't doing her any favours, but he can't help himself, it's just so good.

She goes "oh" every time she feels his teeth.

One of her legs goes around his waist to pull him in.

(She's starting to get a little lightheaded, but that's okay, the hole is starting to close up anyway...)

He licks out her open wound very much as though there are other places he is thinking of putting his mouth.

(He isn't, actually, thinking of that - he isn't actually thinking at all, really. He's just - feeling, and acting on the feelings.)

Then she will obligingly come like he’s licking somewhere else, and even more loudly.

(Neither of them are thinking right now, really.)

She's so good, she's so—the way she moves, breathes, bleeds—

He wraps his arms around her and squeezes, nuzzling her aggressively and kissing the still-healing wound.

It closes up shortly, leaving a dun-colored mark behind. The one on her stomach has gone, too.

She's catching her breath.

He nibbles the mark and then flops his face on her chest and breathes.

She apparently now has the capacity to pet him again!

Good. Important.

...sticky.

He sits up and looks around, pawing at his blood-matted hair. Is there someplace around here they can wash...?

There's a small waterfall pouring over the cliff edge a little ways away, which presumably means moving water of some kind.