"Why does it have to be different?" Angel laughs, softly, quietly, leaning into him. Nosing around the edge of his mask, tracing with the tip of her nose, the brush of her lips. How intimately she learns, slowly, unnoticing if she sinks her claws into his chest. Ripping at his clothes.

The words he fills the air with is just that - words, she has no care for them like this. Small, mortal trapped things.

"I'm always hungry. This is the only time I get to enjoy it."