After a moment, Ishmael removed the handkerchief from his neck, and tucked it away again, still basking in the feeling of the blood. He smirked at Kieran. “I’m a bit giddy myself.”

Sometimes there would be little to stop him from melting away into the shadows, at this point, now that he’d gotten what he wanted. As it was, he didn’t pull back at all: he’d promised compensation of one sort already, that much was true, but he was in no real rush otherwise, either, particularly not with how comfortable the young man seemed. Particularly not with the mischief in his grin. Ishmael returned that conspiratorial look, and dropped his hands to grasp at Kieran’s shirt again - an overfamiliar motion, ostensibly to do up the buttons he’d undone earlier, although he didn’t, yet.  

He and Kieran could get along, he thought. “Anything else I can do?” Ishmael said, looking at him from under his lashes (like he hadn’t been the one to orchestrate this situation entirely, hadn’t already been a very literal pain in his neck). Kieran, on the other hand, was a real treat. And cute, too.

---

  

---

It could have been the blood loss, or the conspiratorial look, or Yousef's hands on his chest, but regardless, Kieran was pushed over the edge. Most likely, it was the expression Yousef made as he looked up at him, his eyelashes, Kieran was as charmed as he was stupid. He tipped his head forward off the wall - another wave of dizziness hit with the motion, woah - and said, casual, "I can think of something."

His fingertips tightened against Yousef's shirt. Kieran leaned forward to press his lips against Yousef's, gentle-like - he was testing the waters as much as anything, because vampires could be offended by this too, he was sure. (Kieran did not think it likely, under the circumstances.)

---

  

It'd have been no real loss to him if Kieran had turned him down for anything else - after all, he'd gotten to feed, he couldn't complain in the least - but Ishmael would have been mildly disappointed, all the same. His mouth had twitched towards a smile at Kieran's words alone, but instead let the boy kiss him, feeling a thump and a thrill in his chest, or at least the illusion of it. It was the same sort of feeling that arose from the rush of blood - hard to tell the difference, especially when they were so closely mingled - but it didn't much matter. Any high would do.

"Knew I'd like you," Ishmael murmured, pleased and a little roguish, after that first kiss. Brave of Kieran, too. He paused to cast the briefest of glances over his shoulder, down along the alley, but it was still deserted; if anything changed, anything stirred out of the darkness and the faraway din of the bar, he'd hear it better than most. Was better equipped to deal with it than most, if it came to it. Since they were alone, though, Ishmael returned the kiss, his clutches on Kieran's shirt roughening as he surged forward, pressing up against him and the wall, closer than they had been before.

---

  

---

The gamble paid off, and the familiar thrill of success panged in Kieran's chest. After all, he'd found Yousef attractive even before all the alcohol and blood loss; he already knew he'd have few qualms about this later. They were close enough to the prospect of other people that he might have been worrying if he wasn't with a literal vampire; besides that, Kieran was good at making a hasty exit when he had to. A pleased little sigh escaped his mouth when Yousef pushed him up against the wall. Now that he felt safe in it, Kieran's kissing was rougher - desperate, maybe, for clossness.

---

  

Best they hadn't started off like this, Ishmael supposed carelessly, else the proximity of this might have have been too much temptation for him, with the boy's heartbeat sounding into him, and the warmth of his body, and of his breath, and the nearness of his neck. It would have been so simple that way, for his mouth to stray from Kieran's, to drift down towards his neck and sink his teeth in before the boy had known what was happening. Maybe he wouldn't have stopped.

But it was fine, it was fine now, because he could still taste Kieran's blood that had slaked the back of his throat, calmed the thirst; he could still feel the benefits of it, his limbs all roused as though from sleep; and besides, his mouth was now fairly distracted.

He did have to wonder if the young man was angling to get paid extra for this, however they were framing it. Ishmael wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't what Kieran actually did for a living, for that matter, given his nerve for it. But oh, what did it matter either way, he decided, letting his hands roam down to Kieran's hips, unconcerned.

---

  

---

Kieran made a keening sound in the back of his throat. The wound on his neck stung, reminding the quiet voice of reason in his head that this was a shitty idea. It was a shitty, ill-advised idea and it could probably get him killed if - well, Kieran didn't know what could tip vampires over into violence. Which probably meant this was a worse idea. He rolled his hips forward to press himself against Yousef, a clumsy motion that spilled out of the gaping need seeping from his chest. He balled his fists in the cloth of Yousef's shirt, having decided to smother that voice of reason.

---

  

Ishmael groaned in pleasure, grinding up against him at the closer contact, and losing himself a little in the sensation - although this had always been a more controllable kind of craving. Still, he could do this all night. (All night and all day, technically, since sleep was not an option.) But... it might also be worth playing the long game. Raking his teeth lightly across the boy’s bottom lip as he did, he pulled back a fraction, briefly.

“Next time we’ll go somewhere a little more private, hm?” Ishmael proposed, like a next time was no longer even in question, a hand casually palming Kieran over the front of his trousers. Perhaps he was getting greedy from this, but it was always easier to lead people into things - easier for them to go along with a dangerous idea, to only have to agree - and, right now, Kieran seemed just reckless enough. Besides, Ishmael could promise all sorts if he did let him drink from him again.

---

  

---

Kieran pouted for a second, an expression he tried not to use often, because he had dignity - or if he did not have dignity, he at least had stubbornness. Although perhaps it would not be good to appear too needy, either, and he reversed the expression, slouched against the brick wall, casual. "Alright," Kieran said. The press of Yousef's palm against him, separated just by a few layers of cloth -- there was going to be a next time.

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