Dylan worked idly at fixing his own pants, for how little good it would actually do, how badly they were ruined -- he'd have to have Daniel fix them properly before they left, as asked, and assuming he'd kept the magic to change one thing into another. Surely, making a ruined pair of pants a new one fell within the range of that? He paused, however, when the merchant caught them, and looked up, letting out a breath of a laugh, like someone caught doing something fairly innocent might. Oops?
He let another second or two tick by after that, waiting for the man to notice his eyes, still black, or Daniel's. Daniel's horns and claws. The fact that he was very obviously a man with a nice rack and a pussy. Whatever. Then, when that realization seemed to set in, when he took a step backwards, Dylan was on his feet at all once. He was behind him a moment after that, arms around him but no where near as intimately as he'd done with Daniel the night before, the first time he'd fed on him, and grinning toothily, he ordered, "Try and fight back."
Not that the man particularly needed prompting, already struggling against him. Not that it did him any good for all of Dylan's strength. Dylan let him try for all of a heartbeat all the same, however, before his fangs were buried in his throat. If the man could have screamed, he probably would have. As it was, his face was a mask of pain and terror, breathy agonized sounds slipping out of him in the wake of shouting. Clearly, Dylan hadn't been kidding when he'd promised it would hurt when the blood was taken unwillingly.
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He let another second or two tick by after that, waiting for the man to notice his eyes, still black, or Daniel's. Daniel's horns and claws. The fact that he was very obviously a man with a nice rack and a pussy. Whatever. Then, when that realization seemed to set in, when he took a step backwards, Dylan was on his feet at all once. He was behind him a moment after that, arms around him but no where near as intimately as he'd done with Daniel the night before, the first time he'd fed on him, and grinning toothily, he ordered, "Try and fight back."
Not that the man particularly needed prompting, already struggling against him. Not that it did him any good for all of Dylan's strength. Dylan let him try for all of a heartbeat all the same, however, before his fangs were buried in his throat. If the man could have screamed, he probably would have. As it was, his face was a mask of pain and terror, breathy agonized sounds slipping out of him in the wake of shouting. Clearly, Dylan hadn't been kidding when he'd promised it would hurt when the blood was taken unwillingly.