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From: https://lastvoyages.dreamwidth.org/991942.html?thread=125923270#cmt125923270
[It’s a short enough stroll to the other man’s room, and although Lawrence does not own a watch, and his cabin remains glass-walled and clock-less, he is uncomfortably aware of the fact that he knows what time it is, down to the second, and how much time has passed between one thing and another to the same degree. He does not appreciate it. Time, Lawrence thinks, is something you should be able to lose track of. And it seems like something that is for the benefit of someone else more so than himself. Lawrence is a man who shows up when he feels like it, not at appointed times.
He therefore does not arrive punctually for reasons entirely based on petulant defiance, but he has managed to wear a shirt that does not have bullet holes in it. He knocks by kicking the door twice with his toe.]
[It’s a short enough stroll to the other man’s room, and although Lawrence does not own a watch, and his cabin remains glass-walled and clock-less, he is uncomfortably aware of the fact that he knows what time it is, down to the second, and how much time has passed between one thing and another to the same degree. He does not appreciate it. Time, Lawrence thinks, is something you should be able to lose track of. And it seems like something that is for the benefit of someone else more so than himself. Lawrence is a man who shows up when he feels like it, not at appointed times.
He therefore does not arrive punctually for reasons entirely based on petulant defiance, but he has managed to wear a shirt that does not have bullet holes in it. He knocks by kicking the door twice with his toe.]
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Ain’t that kind of you, to consider my reputation.
[The smirk on Lawrence’s face says just how little reputation there is to consider.]
Now, see: I get how that’d be a right good time for you. I understand less how it’d be good for whoever’s blood is all comin’ outta some hole in them. I ain’t sayin’ I never laid with nobody who liked to use their teeth: on the contrary. But I never been drunk up like a whiskey bottle.
[Because that is how Lawrence tends to consume his whiskey.]
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How tragic. For you, I mean. You must've been with some really tame biters in your time, then. Or ones who didn't know just what the hell they were doing.
[There was a second where he wondered if Lawrence was being intentionally innocent to the point of obtuse. Just as well he knew this was a dangerous line of discussion to continue. But then again, when has Steve Newlin's judgment ever been his strongest suit?
He moves toward Lawrence; his steps slow, leisurely. His voice softens to match his pace.]
Most go for the neck. A hickey bite. Common, rather sensitive spot. If you want to be practical and quick, there's the wrist.
[Steve drops to his knees in front of Lawrence, never breaking eye contact.]
But there's one other spot that's often overlooked. A tragedy, really. It's a vampire's favorite.
[Light fingertips caress their way up Lawrence's pant leg, pausing just at that inner thigh juncture where the femoral artery would normally reside. His lips part and this time, he doesn't resist when his fangs extend.]
The blood flows quite freely here. A vampire doesn't have to suck as hard. Now, ask me again, how a person might not enjoy some attention down there?
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I do suspect it wasn’t a thing they could pull out at home on the missus or mister. A lotta lip biters. But I do like to indulge folk, when I can.
[He watches Steve move forward; drop to his knees. He reaches out two fingers to lightly stroke the edge of Steve’s hairline, as if to smooth the strands more securely into place (although this is unnecessary).]
I am startin’ to get an inkling. An’ it surely makes for a pretty picture from where I’m sittin’.