[ Temperamentally speaking, Nagahide is a cat person: hot and cold, equal parts lazy and intense. Fickle at best, he rarely wants for anything until he does— and when he does, he digs his claws in. Pretends that his attachments are inconsequential, even when he draws blood to keep them.

He wants her so much that it's blinding, but he can't say that. She can figure that out on her own, can't she? There's no point if he has to spell it out for her. ]

You think I won't? [ There's an undercurrent of exasperation in his drawl now, something patronizing but far warmer than the sharp edge that tried to cut her before. It's largely owed to the embrace that she's pulled him into, which makes his heart skip a beat and prompts him to shift so that he can put one palm against Vietnam's cheek, tip her chin up to accommodate more of his mouth on her neck. ] ...Having to walk all the way is a pain, but I would.

[ He teases the possibility of feeding off of her as he talks, teeth on skin and breath on pulse. ]

I already told you, you need to be more self-aware. A woman like you... especially at night, alone? [ A light scoff. ] You're like honey to some flies.