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They’re starving, and it’s the only reason they tolerate Precious’s hands through their hair, over their back and shoulders and neck.
“You’ll be alright.”
They think it’s a stupid thing for him to say, because they’re always alright, but they’re shaking with the need for touch, and when they get like this it feels like it’s going to kill them, so really, the thought’s appreciated.
There’s better ways to feed, ways that’ll fill them faster, but the thought makes their stomach curdle—they don’t like sex, and when they’re this empty, the thought makes them sicker. So petting it is.