His teeth sink deeper when he's bit, ruby flooding his mouth and spilling over his lips. Without a tongue, he's got far less control. It's swallow or spill and so spill it will be as he pulls flesh apart and steps back, all down and over his chin, between his fangs.

He's got a drool of bright red going, while Derek wears indigo. How pretty is the scene. How motherfucking nice them colors always looked, like a blaze in the night, like carnival colors. It would delight him any other time.

He snarls back, but for a minute, that grimace almost forms a grin. Almost. He takes that moment's daze and their close quarters to throw a punch. Then, he's quickly grasping Derek, bringing a knee sharply up for a crunch. This is quickly followed by a roundhouse.

Why make this quick? Why make it easy? This motherfucker ought to suffer.