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The sweet pop like carving an apple with his teeth - the juice gushes tangy just the same.
Conrad thought it would be somewhat vile, that despite the craving, the struggle against saying no, his humanity’d win. Dumb fucking fur-ruffed jacket slipping off shoulders, Worth’s shirt’s half unbuttoned. He’d bared his collarbone and leaned back, grinning all the way, but shivers with a ripple of pain in Conrad’s periphery: Satisfying, but his stomach flips again. He feels dizzy.
Pain numbs, the Doc settles, and soon his hand is in his hair. It rests there like he’s petting him for a job well done - probably is - but when his laugh comes as a hiss under his breath, it slips through strands. The daze picks up - pleasant nerves and new, whirling bloodlust that makes the vampire sigh out, warm breath against warmer skin. He wants to press himself against the rhythm of his heartbeat. Wants to twist his grip into his clothing so he won’t leave, though the man gives no indication. He’s relaxed. Welcoming.
This was a gift. Legs bump awkwardly against Worth’s, and he comes closer, still cautious, no complaining. Pooling mouthful of blood, Conrad swallows, going down smooth.
He unspools.