[lie lie lie]

The vampire's brow raised a moment in slight surprise when Mikey climbed uncerimoniously into his lap, but he only grinned, flexing his fingers to squeeze into the flesh of the boy's ass, tempted as it was to slide that skirt up, not down...but that would just probably make Mikey climb down off his lap, sniping at him all the while, and he didn't want that. No, this position was quite fine at this moment. So he merely slid his fingertips up the back of the flimsy piece of cloth, teasing him with a tug on that G-string and then pulled the skirt down to decent coverage and kept it there with his hands firmly planted on the Asian's ass. Which left him sort of at the other's mercy, which he found he did not mind at all. He wasn't even really paying attention to his words, finding himself entranced for a moment with his mouth and wondered faintly in the back of his head why...ohhh his scent...he was closer now that before. And rather riled up -- frankly his pheremones were going haywire, and Eric knew it wouldn't be too long before he attracked attention, but that would come as it came. Right now he just...wanted...a little...

He found himself leaning in, closer and closer to that exposed neck, without even realizing it, gaze dropping, locked on one particular pulsing vein.

...taste...

"Hhhh--!" Suddenly sharp, white-hot fire racked over his back and he hissed, arching a little, his fingers tightening, digging hard into Mikey's flesh. He shuddered, feeling blood well up and stick to his shirt; what has the little shit done, grown his nails? His shirt was ripped!

...mmfffuuck that'd felt good. His head had dropped back, eyes closed and mouth parting as a shudder exhaled, fangs showing behind trembling lips. His gaze cracked open just enough to catch Mikey staring at him with such a look, blood-smeared fingers to his own lips and he slowly grinned, though it looked more animal than human, what with the teeth and everything. His emerald orbs seemed to glow oddly in the dim light.

"You little fucker," he murmured. He sat up and caught Mikey's hand in his suddenly, movement like a sharp snap. There was a beat and then he drew the boy's fingers to his mouth, cold tongue sliding out to graze over them; was it a kink to taste one's own blood? It wasn't the same though, really; it wasn't his blood. It hadn't been his own blood for a long time. "If I'd known you were that hungry, I'd have ordered you something raw and rare..." He suckled on one of the boy's fingers, eyes never leaving his and with the other hand dug his own considerably sharp nails into the tender flesh of his ass cheek and scraped a path to his thigh, slow and languid like they had all the time in the world.

[Duce]

What was all the fuss? Michael's brain was a swirling mishmash of wrirling music and colored light that he couldn't quite see, but he knew it was there. Something in his brain was detached, floating. Somewhere among the debris of his melting sanity. Of course, that would be if he actually had any sanity to begin with, and that was a big if.

"Y'liked it.." He murmured, voice somewhere between heartbroken and confused as he watched the bloodied fingers leave his face. He had tasted his own blood- then some other flavors rolled about his tongue, making him clench his knees, feet moving so his toes were braced on the side of eric's seat. He felt like he needed to be in place to pounce- what he wasn't sure. Most of the things here weren't food. They were mostly..things. His head tilted to the side, husky-blue eyes tinted with a brush of amber blush as he looked out into the dim of the room. There were food things..but each of them was taken already. His eyes slid around the room and he would swear he felt his ears flatten a little against his head. No, none of them were his food things.

Eric's last comment made those almost-alien eyes slide back to deep green ones, face open and curious as a slow grin spread over his face. "Meat's always better when it's fresh." What that cryptic phrase meant was anyone's guess, because before he could expand on what would have been a five star conversation- pain sliced through his hide in one cold slow line, drawing; not a moan from his throat; but a languid half growl, the low rumbling tremble of big cats as they slide silken sides together; propositioning and threatening each other at the same time- a sound to illicit fear and excitement in one trilling breath.