Only time will tell if their shared ounce of caution keeps this from turning into the brutal slugfest it was last time. Right now, he feels more awake than he was a moment ago, but it's wholly thanks to a spike in adrenaline and not any of the choices he's made. He's still trying not to hurt the other guy too badly, but the other guy's made it pretty clear what he wants.
So he lets Irahl hit him for a while. Not that he could have done much to not get hit; at first Vincent puts all his effort into blocking those blows, but it's exhausting work and Irahl's got better aim than him even when the guy's shitfaced. Soon he realizes it's just as productive to take his licks and suffer the consequences, since it gives him the space to land a couple on Irahl in-between. He shifts every which-way he can under some pretense of making himself harder to hit, or maybe even wriggling out of there, but it gets a little aimless after a while. It slips towards moving for the sake of feeling what it's like when he moves.
While he's holding up extremely well to this mess, his supernatural resilience can't stave off everything. A string of sloppy punches ends when Irahl decks him a little too hard and a little too high. Something in his face pops on contact, he briefly thinks he sees a color, and he feels the familiar warmth of a nosebleed begin to crawl down the back of his throat.
He suddenly grabs and pins one of Irahl's arms against his own chest, letting out a quiet and dangerous laugh as he tries to roll them both over again with the motion.
no subject
So he lets Irahl hit him for a while. Not that he could have done much to not get hit; at first Vincent puts all his effort into blocking those blows, but it's exhausting work and Irahl's got better aim than him even when the guy's shitfaced. Soon he realizes it's just as productive to take his licks and suffer the consequences, since it gives him the space to land a couple on Irahl in-between. He shifts every which-way he can under some pretense of making himself harder to hit, or maybe even wriggling out of there, but it gets a little aimless after a while. It slips towards moving for the sake of feeling what it's like when he moves.
While he's holding up extremely well to this mess, his supernatural resilience can't stave off everything. A string of sloppy punches ends when Irahl decks him a little too hard and a little too high. Something in his face pops on contact, he briefly thinks he sees a color, and he feels the familiar warmth of a nosebleed begin to crawl down the back of his throat.
He suddenly grabs and pins one of Irahl's arms against his own chest, letting out a quiet and dangerous laugh as he tries to roll them both over again with the motion.