Locus shudders, head falling back despite himself, and his eyes rolling shut as York's fangs sink into him. That pull feels like it's dragging through every vein and artery in his body, warm and pulsing, like a makeshift heartbeat.

Of course it hurts, but it's a good ache, a deep ache like a satisfying fight, or a vigorous encounter in bed. It twists slow and slithering and he lets himself sink back, a low sound catching in the back of his throat.