God. One of these days he's going to date someone with some goddamn sensible priorities.

Just not today. (Probably never.) Instead, he milks all he can from the kiss, half to ruin that stupid vanity his kismesis still carries with him sometimes and half for some bizarre reassurance as the blood stays warm against his mouth. After a moment, he pulls away with red smeared across his lips and breathless. "Do that again," he growls, "and I will leave your utheless hump-happy corpthe behind to thtarve."

But for now, well. There's food waiting, food he could have been preparing if not for this bullshit (a mental complaint he makes sure Schuldig fucking gets), and he tugs Schuldig along with him even as though he shouldn't be wasting away his strength with flight. "Come on, you living embodiment of everything that'sh wrong with the world. I thould make you cook."