"Their system is practically built on desire. Deceit, primarily, but also the yawning need that each of us possesses inside ourselves for something more." It's the simplest explanation she can give for why he finds himself needing to feed at much shorter intervals than would be typical for a vampire of his longevity and strength, even if the particulars of it are unknown to her.
She considers his words for another moment, and then adds: "If you were to sign a contract with me, I could bring you some blood that would satisfy, though it would only be until your sight is restored." Namely, because it would be her blood being provided, though she doesn't see any reason for him to know that.
"Given that they forced us out onto the streets in gowns made of paper, I doubt they have any concern about sparing us any notion of privacy."
His head cocks slightly to the side while he considers her words. It's the same conclusion he's come to but the way she phrases it... it's more than just sex or blood. Desire: for connection, love, belonging, all of these could apply. The city could be preying on all the many myriad of hollow spots inside a person's soul. And that is a unsettling prospect.
"I would think doing so would be part of your responsibility for making sure I'm properly seen-after." Which is why he's called her here in the first place. "But I agree it would only pertain to when I am unable to look after myself. I still mean what I said, that I don't intend to be a burden to my dominant where I can avoid it."
He makes no comment about the paper gowns, because he's still trying to live down that particular humiliation. Though, part of him is relieved to know they didn't do it only to the submissives.
Yennefer has not endured this city for long, but even based on what she's discovered or what others have divulged to her, this city seems to be focused specifically on finding methods by which to challenge them — to make it more and more difficult for them to maintain their resistance until the simplest response is through compliance. Even taking on a contract is, by some measure, part of that, but she's still not insisting on making it more complicated than it needs to be for either party involved, not when she has more important pursuits to focus her efforts on.
"I suppose it would," she replies, one brow quirking in a display of subtle amusement when he brings her attention back to the current topic at hand. "Though it may be of a benefit to us both if a replenishing supply could be kept somewhere safe, if by some chance you find yourself unable to feed at some future point."
She doesn't pose the ask about exactly what could happen were he to go without blood for too long — namely because it's likely rare that a vampire of his age would allow it to get to that level of desperation, but there is a possibility that the city could intervene in a manner that would more strongly provoke his hunger.
"Synthetic blood rations do exist here," he tells her grudgingly. Judging by the look of disgust crinkling his nose, it's not an appealing option. "It will keep me alive but I wouldn't call it satisfying."
She's right in her assumption, however, that he would drink that before he let himself get dangerously hungry. An Elder should know better than to let his beast go unchecked. Not that her other concern has not also crossed his mind. If they can blind him, drug him, what else can they do? How far could they go?
"I am still working to establish a more reliable list of contacts who are willing to donate to me. Obviously, this"--he waves a hand in front of his own face--"has slowed down that process."
Yennefer doesn't bother to disguise the brief flicker of a smile that appears on her features, mostly since he can't see it regardless, and starts idly moving around the room, partially to investigate the conditions in which he's living, her fingertips skimming across a small table that sits off to one side.
"Perhaps we can find an alternative that won't be so unappetizing for you," she murmurs, without turning around. He certainly hasn't gotten close to whining about it, but she's still somewhat amused by the fact that he has his preferences and will readily make them known, right down to that little nose scrunching.
"And what is your situation like, presently? Do you find yourself needing to feed?" He'd mentioned being capable of going one more day before requiring it, but quite frankly, she's not eager to discover the outcome of waiting that long, especially not if they'll be taking steps to contract and other priorities might shift out of her awareness in the meantime.
If he could see her amusement, it would only make him pout more out of spite. Wouldn't anyone be mad if the only food available to them happened to taste like the equivalent of cough syrup?
His head cock's subtly as she starts to move around, following the small sounds of her as she investigates his pathetic motel room. That's another good reason to take the deal. He's had all he can take of living here.
"Today I am hungry. Tomorrow I will be famished. The day after that, I will be starving." And the day after that, he will be dangerous. He doesn't say this aloud but the implications are clear.
"I need to feed now while it is only hunger. Each day past that becomes more hazardous to whoever I'm feeding from."
When she herself doesn't have the experience of being forced to sustain on anything other than one single substance, she can certainly imagine that settling for a lesser alternative would hardly be ideal. Acceptable in a pinch, but not intended as a sufficient replacement for a longer duration.
The glance she casts back in his direction reveals something intriguing, at least to her perspective — he seems to be able to track her whereabouts even without possessing any sight whatsoever, which leads her to the suspicion that his hearing is better than most. It begs another question — which other senses might be heightened to compensate for the loss of one — and she doesn't sigh so much as release a breath.
"And if I were to permit you to feed from me now, for instance, you would be capable of stopping without needing to be forced."
She doesn't pose it as a question, but closer to an understanding that she intends him to share; she's confident enough in her ability to defend herself if necessary, but her intent is that it won't come to her needing to use chaos against him.
"Yes. Without question." He is utterly confident in this, too, despite all the rest of his life falling down around his ears. He's had years to get to know his own limits.
"And despite my apparent increased frequency of need, the amount of blood per serving does not seem to have changed. I only need a bare minimum of two ounces, though I prefer to take four to eight to feel satisfied. To put that into perspective, that's roughly one to one and a half wine glasses. Barely enough to make a well-fed and hydrated person feel dizzy."
“Barely, although it might happen.” That isn’t necessarily where her concern lies, and although he’s without the advantage of his sight she wouldn’t give herself leave to underestimate him regardless. That way lies stupidity, and stupidity is what winds up costing more than one can afford.
Still, curiosity is what draws at her long enough to inquire further along these lines, in part because she wants to see how he’ll respond when she can look on his face unflinchingly, watch the expressions change when she broaches the next question.
“Where would you take it from? There must be a slight preference for one vein over another.”
"Yes, it's always a risk. No two people are alike, after all. My servant at home is unfortunately prone to that, despite my best efforts to mitigate it. But he survives still, no worse for the wear." Max... not a day here goes by that he doesn't miss that human of his. A little of the melancholy shows on his face now, stretching his mouth into a thin frown.
"Oh, naturally we all have our preferences." The frown disappears back behind a businesslike facade. Talking shop, he tells himself, is much easier. "I favor the neck. I can create an illusion that the feeding pain is just an especially rough hickey that way. Useful, especially in nervous prey."
His words provoke another question from her, but it's one she ultimately refrains from posing when there are more important matters to address. It does pique her interest, though, his offhanded remark that he has someone at home who serves him, and she can't help mulling over just how far that service extends even if the thought only lingers for a handful of moments. That said, Erik does seem to possess something that looks an awful lot like fondness, given the way his expression temporarily shifts into something more pensive, but she won't draw any attention to it when he immediately turns back to the conversation at hand.
A deep chuckle escapes her then, at his last remark, and with another step closer to him there's every possibility that her scent will become stronger, that identifying combination of sweet flower and tart berry, but she's doing it to prove a point, not ceasing in her movement until she's standing just before him.
"Do I strike you as nervous now?" Her heartbeat will be the tell, she knows, and often gives her away to Geralt even when she is attempting to remain calmer — but here there is only a subtle quickening of her pulse, nothing that would indicate a more severe stab of fear. "If you take more than what's required, I have ways of making you regret that indulgence."
Not only does her scent grow stronger with her movement, but the thump of her heart is a little louder, and the stirring of the air between them tickles his sensitive cheek almost as if he's a cat with whiskers. He makes a point, too, of drawing in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes to complete the illusion that he's scenting the air for her.
"Not especially," is his answer, accompanied by a lazy smile as he dips his head down close to where he can hear her pulse in her throat. "I can hear your heartbeat quickening, but one might almost think it's out of excitement."
It's rare that she has the distinct impression that she's been scented, that he's drawing her into his lungs — if such organs even exist or if there's something else in his body that serves the same olfactory purpose. Geralt has made note of her distinct fragrance before, time and again, one that apparently outlasts her on the pillow long after she's gone from whatever bed they've been sharing, but Erik's movement adopts a different tenor here and for an instant, she's reminded distinctly of a predator, one not to be underestimated in spite of the fact that he's currently lacking in one of his other senses at the moment.
"Awareness, mostly," she replies, her voice lowered now that they're standing closer to one another and she doesn't see the need to declare anything loudly. His hearing could be all the more sensitive now that he doesn't have sight to wield at his disposal, but the loss of latter isn't preventing him from perceiving her, and she turns her head, bringing her face in closer to his. "What would you be willing to do for just one little taste?"
Erik would, if asked, confirm Geralt's opinion. She has an unmistakable and wildly alluring scent to her. He finds himself already looking forward to the possibility of living alongside it in her apartment, savoring the sweetness daily.
"Caution is the smart response," he says it like a compliment. It's meant to be. She'd be surprised (or maybe not) by how many people are eager to throw themselves to his jaws without a second thought.
"I think the list of what I wouldn't do might be more succinct. But the better question, I think, is what do you want me to do? I'm all ears, Yennefer. Now more than ever."
What Yennefer doesn't want to put herself into the position of is something that leaves her beholden to him — in this, at least, there can be a more equal exchange, one where she gives him what he needs only after he has consented to enter into an arrangement with her. Until then, she could very easily make her way back to the Up via portal and leave him at the mercy of whoever else he can coax into letting him feed on them — provided his sight isn't restored by that point.
"Contract with me." She says it almost like an order — her first, really, or it could be, as his potential dominant, and she doesn't surrender her space to him either, tilting her chin up just enough to expose the curve of her throat even if he cannot glimpse it through regular means.
"We'll sign our agreement here, in blood, to make it binding." They can venture to the office later, fill out whatever necessary paperwork may be needed — but this will serve as a temporary understanding, and one powerful enough to render it not easily recalled. Until then, she is granting him permission to taste her, at least for the present moment.
Of all the times to not be able to make eye contact, this is the worst. He longs to witness the fierce look that must be on her face, if it at all matches the fire in her voice.
He tells himself he shouldn't be so... enthralled by an order from her. Yet, enthralled he is as he listens to the steady beat of her pulse this close to him. They'd already discussed expectations and terms before and found themselves well-matched. Now, all that is required is for him to take the plunge.
She won't say as much, but it does assuage her thoughts somewhat to recall that she has at least one sense advantage over him now — even if she suspects that his others outweigh hers in strength under any normal circumstance. Surely without the ability to see, though, the rest of him can fill in the blanks on her proximity, her scent, perhaps even what she is wearing when the whisper of material around her betrays her every movement.
Although she hadn't considered the possibility of experiencing something of an attraction to any potential submissive she might take on, there might be no denying the effect he could have if she lets him in past enough to bear witness to it.
"We have an accord, then." The degree to which she tilts her head back and affords him unhindered access to the exposure of her throat might be imperceptible to anyone without a vampire's abilities, but she's counting on his perceptiveness to know that she is offering — and the rest is left to him to take. "Drink."
Every bit of perception that he does still possess is keenly trained on her. It's a symphony of senses: the nearly imperceptible sounds of her movements, the lovely thumping of her heart, the way her natural scent moves on the air, and even the subtle change of temperature as he gets in closer to her skin. The attraction he feels is magnetic and, he realizes with no small amount of wonder, it has nothing to do with the blood she's offering. He could devour her in other ways too.
There's no missing subtle tilt of her head; a vampire is more attuned to than that any other movement a mortal can make. And when she gives that one word order, he knows already that his fate with her is sealed. At least for the next three months.
His hunger is great, but he still has enough of his own restraint to keep from simply plunging fangs in and taking his meal. He has perhaps this one chance to make a good impression, or else he may never get the opportunity again. So, when he moves his mouth into her, it's reminiscent of a kiss, or maybe of a lover moving to suck a hickey to her skin. There's a testing lap of his tongue first, a soft brush of lips and then, he gently sinks just the top two of his fangs into her tender flesh, locking his mouth around the wound and sucking slowly on the blood that wells, encouraging the flow with his tongue in wet laps.
Despite his best efforts to conceal it, a shudder does shake him as the hunger that's been clawing at the back of his mind finally quiets. Tension he hadn't realized he was holding in his shoulders releases along with the knot of anxiety in his belly. She truly has saved him from a far worse fate. There's gratitude in the way his hand reaches blindly for hers, to attempt to squeeze in a gesture of wordless thanks.
She does anticipate that this will be perfunctory, an extension of the contract they've already agreed to enter into — he'll simply sink his fangs into her, she'll endure whatever levels of pain result from being punctured to even the slightest degree, and then she'll take steps to heal herself afterward once he's consumed his fill.
She isn't prepared for him to take her almost as he would a lover, initiating a soft press of his lips to her neck paired with the fluttering lick of a tongue, savoring the taste of her long before he actually comes close to feasting on her blood. It prompts a quiet intake of breath that might be more easily discerned by his hearing, not to mention his nearness with her lips practically hovering right by his ear.
The hands she had sought to keep clenched into tight fists at her side fly up instead, gripping at his upper arms, when he punctures her flesh — and she can certainly feign as though her hold is there to push him away from her if the need to do so arises, but the manner in which she's clutching at him, practically needing to tether herself so that she isn't overcome, points to a different reasoning altogether.
He'll be trouble for her, she can discern that much, but maybe she can endure it in whatever form it takes; she's less confident that she'll be capable of maintaining a strictly businesslike arrangement when even this is proving to be more than she had envisioned, but in her mind, that's all the more reason to intentionally restrict the number of times she'll let him feed from her directly. If he needs blood supplied to him in the future, she can arrange that through other means, but here she keeps him at her throat, entwining their fingers when his hand grasps hold of hers.
There, that soft breath is as much the prize of feeding for him as the taste of blood itself. Knowing he's turned what could be pain and fear into pleasure strokes his ego as surely as any compliment could.
When her hands come up to grip him he has to stifle a triumphant laugh. Not wise to belittle her in such a vulnerable moment. Instead, he puts his hand on her back to add a steadying hold, while his fingers curl in her grip.
After a few more full swallows, his hunger has finally vanished, leaving only the gluttonous desire that every vampire feels to finish what was started. That, he knows how to control. His lips unseal from her and he pulls back with one last lick to clean any excess.
"Let me close the wound. Don't be afraid, this won't harm you." He presses his thumb against his own fang hard enough to draw blood, then, using an index finger to hunt out those two pricks in her neck, he'll maneuver to spread his fresh blood over them. The pain will abate immediately, as the wounds close in an instant.
She can't help but have the idle thought that any feed during sex would no doubt amplify the sensations of both — and for a fleeting moment, almost as long as it takes for him to announce he's concluded, she finds herself irredeemably curious about what the experience would feel like, but dismisses it even more quickly than the length of her mind even so much as harboring the idea.
That would be the shortest road to turning this arrangement into something she cannot afford to keep, and he's already shown such promise in agreeing to her various conditions and stipulations that it would be a shame to dissolve things now. She'd also be irritated by having to begin the search for a submissive all over again.
When he releases her, she manages to keep her footing, her fingers still twined through his, though there's a hard swallow that follows when his tongue slides over her skin one final time, and it is her instinct to stiffen when he brings his thumb to the wounds he's left behind. She can't necessarily feel the skin knitting back together, but the throb of fresh pain there has disappeared, and she knows if she reaches up to verify it she'll find nothing but unblemished, unbroken smoothness beneath her fingertips, as though he had never fed from her at all.
"That's a helpful trick. Though I imagine it draws less attention to your existence if there are less people walking around with identifying marks on their throat." It's easier for her to default to a more matter-of-fact view about it all, afterward, rather than adopt some level of sentimentality or emotion — to treat it like the sealing of their arrangement, as mentioned before, at least until they can venture to the appropriate offices together and sign whatever contracts are required. For that, she'll wait until he's regained the use of his sight so he doesn't feel so beholden to relying on her out in the open.
He's careful to school his tone when he answers, not wanting her to know just how much satisfaction it brings him to feel her small reactions to each and every move he's made. Contrary to how she's restrained herself, he'd love to know just what pleasure a feed with sex could be for both of them. Given half a chance, he'd make good on that.
"Naturally. And, depending on where the feed was taken, it's handy to make sure our victim doesn't accidentally bleed out later. Even a small nick to the wrong artery could be problematic, after all."
She can attempt to distance herself, but trust him to bring it back to something more personal again. "Some people do like wearing the marks. I'm always happy to accommodate that. But I didn't think you would be one of them. That's not the kind of contract you're intending us to sign, is it?"
She hasn't actually inquired about his age, but it speaks to at least some longevity if it's learned to exercise enough restraint in not only taking the minimum of what's required without draining the person he's feeding on — something that even master vampires on the Continent seem to struggle with, based on the number of bodies that pop up when one of them gets sloppy — but knowing where is best to feed from to avoid any unfortunate messes to clean up. Then again, she can't help but think about whether the learning curve was a particularly steep one in that instance.
And she doesn't bristle, necessarily, when he makes mention of leaving his mark behind on her, but there might be a noticeable stiffening in her posture, even if he can't visibly note it. She's worn physical reminders from lovers before, but only of her own volition; most of them she takes pains to heal quickly afterward, without leaving so much as a faint bruise behind.
"It isn't," she answers, a bit more brusquely than she might initially intend — but how much has she already broken as far as her own self-imposed rules are concerned, by even letting him drink from her to begin with? By permitting him that close to her, and learn her taste for himself? "Though it seems that type of arrangement will benefit us both, in the long run. I won't presume immediate renewal when the three months are up, however, unless we're both content with the way things have been."
If she ever does decide to ask him about that learning curve, she'll have to be prepared for an ugly answer. That's a tortured part of his past he wishes he could forget yet never has, as long as he has lived.
She's close enough still that he can feel her tense. Now, he knows he's made the right judgement of her. That's gratifying in its own way. He likes the confirmation that he can still read certain things even if his sight is gone.
"I agree." He finally draws completely back from her, and aims his face in the approximate direction of hers. "We'll see how things stand after three months. Living in the same apartment, I'm sure, may reveal traits that we can't yet know of each other. For now, I am safe from immediate danger, thanks to you. And I will take the time until we have formalized the paperwork with the city to think if there are any provisions that should be clarified. I'm sure you will do the same."
With the distance between them asserted, it's only a matter of returning to a more composed state — even if her skin thrums with a different awareness than she possessed when she first entered the apartment, as though she is more primed to pay attention to his exact movements now.
It's fortunate that he can't witness the expression on her face, though she's schooled her features into something much more impenetrable once more — and with the wounds at her throat healed, it's almost as if it never happened, save for the part where she now knows the sensation of his bite, and he now possesses the knowledge of what her blood tastes like. (She has half a mind to ask whether hers is different from any others he may have fed on here already, but dismisses that idea just as quickly.)
"You have all that you need, then, before we arrange a meeting to have the contract officially drawn up." Meaning his appetites have been sated, at least for the time being, and he won't be inclined to force himself to rely on anyone else's generosity while he's still somewhat incapacitated. She senses that it would be a greater insult if she attempted to coddle him, or tend to him in any significant manner, so she doesn't try to feign sympathy. If he has any more requests to make of her, she's certain that he'll voice them one way or another.
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She considers his words for another moment, and then adds: "If you were to sign a contract with me, I could bring you some blood that would satisfy, though it would only be until your sight is restored." Namely, because it would be her blood being provided, though she doesn't see any reason for him to know that.
"Given that they forced us out onto the streets in gowns made of paper, I doubt they have any concern about sparing us any notion of privacy."
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"I would think doing so would be part of your responsibility for making sure I'm properly seen-after." Which is why he's called her here in the first place. "But I agree it would only pertain to when I am unable to look after myself. I still mean what I said, that I don't intend to be a burden to my dominant where I can avoid it."
He makes no comment about the paper gowns, because he's still trying to live down that particular humiliation. Though, part of him is relieved to know they didn't do it only to the submissives.
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"I suppose it would," she replies, one brow quirking in a display of subtle amusement when he brings her attention back to the current topic at hand. "Though it may be of a benefit to us both if a replenishing supply could be kept somewhere safe, if by some chance you find yourself unable to feed at some future point."
She doesn't pose the ask about exactly what could happen were he to go without blood for too long — namely because it's likely rare that a vampire of his age would allow it to get to that level of desperation, but there is a possibility that the city could intervene in a manner that would more strongly provoke his hunger.
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She's right in her assumption, however, that he would drink that before he let himself get dangerously hungry. An Elder should know better than to let his beast go unchecked. Not that her other concern has not also crossed his mind. If they can blind him, drug him, what else can they do? How far could they go?
"I am still working to establish a more reliable list of contacts who are willing to donate to me. Obviously, this"--he waves a hand in front of his own face--"has slowed down that process."
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"Perhaps we can find an alternative that won't be so unappetizing for you," she murmurs, without turning around. He certainly hasn't gotten close to whining about it, but she's still somewhat amused by the fact that he has his preferences and will readily make them known, right down to that little nose scrunching.
"And what is your situation like, presently? Do you find yourself needing to feed?" He'd mentioned being capable of going one more day before requiring it, but quite frankly, she's not eager to discover the outcome of waiting that long, especially not if they'll be taking steps to contract and other priorities might shift out of her awareness in the meantime.
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His head cock's subtly as she starts to move around, following the small sounds of her as she investigates his pathetic motel room. That's another good reason to take the deal. He's had all he can take of living here.
"Today I am hungry. Tomorrow I will be famished. The day after that, I will be starving." And the day after that, he will be dangerous. He doesn't say this aloud but the implications are clear.
"I need to feed now while it is only hunger. Each day past that becomes more hazardous to whoever I'm feeding from."
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The glance she casts back in his direction reveals something intriguing, at least to her perspective — he seems to be able to track her whereabouts even without possessing any sight whatsoever, which leads her to the suspicion that his hearing is better than most. It begs another question — which other senses might be heightened to compensate for the loss of one — and she doesn't sigh so much as release a breath.
"And if I were to permit you to feed from me now, for instance, you would be capable of stopping without needing to be forced."
She doesn't pose it as a question, but closer to an understanding that she intends him to share; she's confident enough in her ability to defend herself if necessary, but her intent is that it won't come to her needing to use chaos against him.
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"And despite my apparent increased frequency of need, the amount of blood per serving does not seem to have changed. I only need a bare minimum of two ounces, though I prefer to take four to eight to feel satisfied. To put that into perspective, that's roughly one to one and a half wine glasses. Barely enough to make a well-fed and hydrated person feel dizzy."
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Still, curiosity is what draws at her long enough to inquire further along these lines, in part because she wants to see how he’ll respond when she can look on his face unflinchingly, watch the expressions change when she broaches the next question.
“Where would you take it from? There must be a slight preference for one vein over another.”
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"Oh, naturally we all have our preferences." The frown disappears back behind a businesslike facade. Talking shop, he tells himself, is much easier. "I favor the neck. I can create an illusion that the feeding pain is just an especially rough hickey that way. Useful, especially in nervous prey."
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A deep chuckle escapes her then, at his last remark, and with another step closer to him there's every possibility that her scent will become stronger, that identifying combination of sweet flower and tart berry, but she's doing it to prove a point, not ceasing in her movement until she's standing just before him.
"Do I strike you as nervous now?" Her heartbeat will be the tell, she knows, and often gives her away to Geralt even when she is attempting to remain calmer — but here there is only a subtle quickening of her pulse, nothing that would indicate a more severe stab of fear. "If you take more than what's required, I have ways of making you regret that indulgence."
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"Not especially," is his answer, accompanied by a lazy smile as he dips his head down close to where he can hear her pulse in her throat. "I can hear your heartbeat quickening, but one might almost think it's out of excitement."
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"Awareness, mostly," she replies, her voice lowered now that they're standing closer to one another and she doesn't see the need to declare anything loudly. His hearing could be all the more sensitive now that he doesn't have sight to wield at his disposal, but the loss of latter isn't preventing him from perceiving her, and she turns her head, bringing her face in closer to his. "What would you be willing to do for just one little taste?"
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"Caution is the smart response," he says it like a compliment. It's meant to be. She'd be surprised (or maybe not) by how many people are eager to throw themselves to his jaws without a second thought.
"I think the list of what I wouldn't do might be more succinct. But the better question, I think, is what do you want me to do? I'm all ears, Yennefer. Now more than ever."
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"Contract with me." She says it almost like an order — her first, really, or it could be, as his potential dominant, and she doesn't surrender her space to him either, tilting her chin up just enough to expose the curve of her throat even if he cannot glimpse it through regular means.
"We'll sign our agreement here, in blood, to make it binding." They can venture to the office later, fill out whatever necessary paperwork may be needed — but this will serve as a temporary understanding, and one powerful enough to render it not easily recalled. Until then, she is granting him permission to taste her, at least for the present moment.
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He tells himself he shouldn't be so... enthralled by an order from her. Yet, enthralled he is as he listens to the steady beat of her pulse this close to him. They'd already discussed expectations and terms before and found themselves well-matched. Now, all that is required is for him to take the plunge.
"Deal. On my word as a vampire and a lord."
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Although she hadn't considered the possibility of experiencing something of an attraction to any potential submissive she might take on, there might be no denying the effect he could have if she lets him in past enough to bear witness to it.
"We have an accord, then." The degree to which she tilts her head back and affords him unhindered access to the exposure of her throat might be imperceptible to anyone without a vampire's abilities, but she's counting on his perceptiveness to know that she is offering — and the rest is left to him to take. "Drink."
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There's no missing subtle tilt of her head; a vampire is more attuned to than that any other movement a mortal can make. And when she gives that one word order, he knows already that his fate with her is sealed. At least for the next three months.
His hunger is great, but he still has enough of his own restraint to keep from simply plunging fangs in and taking his meal. He has perhaps this one chance to make a good impression, or else he may never get the opportunity again. So, when he moves his mouth into her, it's reminiscent of a kiss, or maybe of a lover moving to suck a hickey to her skin. There's a testing lap of his tongue first, a soft brush of lips and then, he gently sinks just the top two of his fangs into her tender flesh, locking his mouth around the wound and sucking slowly on the blood that wells, encouraging the flow with his tongue in wet laps.
Despite his best efforts to conceal it, a shudder does shake him as the hunger that's been clawing at the back of his mind finally quiets. Tension he hadn't realized he was holding in his shoulders releases along with the knot of anxiety in his belly. She truly has saved him from a far worse fate. There's gratitude in the way his hand reaches blindly for hers, to attempt to squeeze in a gesture of wordless thanks.
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She isn't prepared for him to take her almost as he would a lover, initiating a soft press of his lips to her neck paired with the fluttering lick of a tongue, savoring the taste of her long before he actually comes close to feasting on her blood. It prompts a quiet intake of breath that might be more easily discerned by his hearing, not to mention his nearness with her lips practically hovering right by his ear.
The hands she had sought to keep clenched into tight fists at her side fly up instead, gripping at his upper arms, when he punctures her flesh — and she can certainly feign as though her hold is there to push him away from her if the need to do so arises, but the manner in which she's clutching at him, practically needing to tether herself so that she isn't overcome, points to a different reasoning altogether.
He'll be trouble for her, she can discern that much, but maybe she can endure it in whatever form it takes; she's less confident that she'll be capable of maintaining a strictly businesslike arrangement when even this is proving to be more than she had envisioned, but in her mind, that's all the more reason to intentionally restrict the number of times she'll let him feed from her directly. If he needs blood supplied to him in the future, she can arrange that through other means, but here she keeps him at her throat, entwining their fingers when his hand grasps hold of hers.
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When her hands come up to grip him he has to stifle a triumphant laugh. Not wise to belittle her in such a vulnerable moment. Instead, he puts his hand on her back to add a steadying hold, while his fingers curl in her grip.
After a few more full swallows, his hunger has finally vanished, leaving only the gluttonous desire that every vampire feels to finish what was started. That, he knows how to control. His lips unseal from her and he pulls back with one last lick to clean any excess.
"Let me close the wound. Don't be afraid, this won't harm you." He presses his thumb against his own fang hard enough to draw blood, then, using an index finger to hunt out those two pricks in her neck, he'll maneuver to spread his fresh blood over them. The pain will abate immediately, as the wounds close in an instant.
"That should do now."
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That would be the shortest road to turning this arrangement into something she cannot afford to keep, and he's already shown such promise in agreeing to her various conditions and stipulations that it would be a shame to dissolve things now. She'd also be irritated by having to begin the search for a submissive all over again.
When he releases her, she manages to keep her footing, her fingers still twined through his, though there's a hard swallow that follows when his tongue slides over her skin one final time, and it is her instinct to stiffen when he brings his thumb to the wounds he's left behind. She can't necessarily feel the skin knitting back together, but the throb of fresh pain there has disappeared, and she knows if she reaches up to verify it she'll find nothing but unblemished, unbroken smoothness beneath her fingertips, as though he had never fed from her at all.
"That's a helpful trick. Though I imagine it draws less attention to your existence if there are less people walking around with identifying marks on their throat." It's easier for her to default to a more matter-of-fact view about it all, afterward, rather than adopt some level of sentimentality or emotion — to treat it like the sealing of their arrangement, as mentioned before, at least until they can venture to the appropriate offices together and sign whatever contracts are required. For that, she'll wait until he's regained the use of his sight so he doesn't feel so beholden to relying on her out in the open.
might be good to wind this one down
"Naturally. And, depending on where the feed was taken, it's handy to make sure our victim doesn't accidentally bleed out later. Even a small nick to the wrong artery could be problematic, after all."
She can attempt to distance herself, but trust him to bring it back to something more personal again. "Some people do like wearing the marks. I'm always happy to accommodate that. But I didn't think you would be one of them. That's not the kind of contract you're intending us to sign, is it?"
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And she doesn't bristle, necessarily, when he makes mention of leaving his mark behind on her, but there might be a noticeable stiffening in her posture, even if he can't visibly note it. She's worn physical reminders from lovers before, but only of her own volition; most of them she takes pains to heal quickly afterward, without leaving so much as a faint bruise behind.
"It isn't," she answers, a bit more brusquely than she might initially intend — but how much has she already broken as far as her own self-imposed rules are concerned, by even letting him drink from her to begin with? By permitting him that close to her, and learn her taste for himself? "Though it seems that type of arrangement will benefit us both, in the long run. I won't presume immediate renewal when the three months are up, however, unless we're both content with the way things have been."
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She's close enough still that he can feel her tense. Now, he knows he's made the right judgement of her. That's gratifying in its own way. He likes the confirmation that he can still read certain things even if his sight is gone.
"I agree." He finally draws completely back from her, and aims his face in the approximate direction of hers. "We'll see how things stand after three months. Living in the same apartment, I'm sure, may reveal traits that we can't yet know of each other. For now, I am safe from immediate danger, thanks to you. And I will take the time until we have formalized the paperwork with the city to think if there are any provisions that should be clarified. I'm sure you will do the same."
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It's fortunate that he can't witness the expression on her face, though she's schooled her features into something much more impenetrable once more — and with the wounds at her throat healed, it's almost as if it never happened, save for the part where she now knows the sensation of his bite, and he now possesses the knowledge of what her blood tastes like. (She has half a mind to ask whether hers is different from any others he may have fed on here already, but dismisses that idea just as quickly.)
"You have all that you need, then, before we arrange a meeting to have the contract officially drawn up." Meaning his appetites have been sated, at least for the time being, and he won't be inclined to force himself to rely on anyone else's generosity while he's still somewhat incapacitated. She senses that it would be a greater insult if she attempted to coddle him, or tend to him in any significant manner, so she doesn't try to feign sympathy. If he has any more requests to make of her, she's certain that he'll voice them one way or another.
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