He'd bared his neck, if that worked. "Perfectly," Ishmael assured him, moving in closer still. He slipped his hands under the shoulders of Kieran's jacket to push it down his arms and out of the way a bit further, and then took to calmly unbuttoning the top of the young man's shirt, pulling that open some more on one side; an easy precaution against avoidable bloodstains.

He could hear Kieran's heartbeat better than before, the alleyway near stripped of all sound but that inviting rhythm. When Ishmael was not too overwhelmed by thirst, it was an easy way of reading their nervousness, that patent human vulnerability - but Kieran had been gloriously cooperative thus far, so he had very little to worry about. (Unless Ishmael lost control. Rare, but known to happen.)

Ishmael braced one leg between Kieran's and let one of his hands settle on the opposite crook of his neck to hold him still, coaxing it to incline away from him as he brought his mouth close to the boy's uncovered neck, teeth already itching to sink in to that exposed skin. "Ready?" He said, but didn't wait long to indulge Kieran in an answer: second thoughts were the enemy here, and Ishmael was ready enough. So he proceeded swiftly, the bite sharp and fast but the drinking slow and careful as he could manage, savouring the amount he could allow himself to take.

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