[He's not sure how much pushback he's expecting to get from Larus, but it's a relief when the other man gives in. That the younger man is going to allow him to save him, and not make him watch him die wretchedly, young and undeserving of it, in his arms. Dorian wraps an arm around the vampire in a solid grip to support him as he casts his mind about for how to handle this.]
You're not going to kill me, so don't start thinking about that. [He can't. There's only one thing that can truly kill him, and they're a full ten minutes away from it. In a way it makes him the ideal person for this, which is something Toby used to fear more than anything else whenever they encountered other vampires.
As Dorian's adjusting his grip and getting ready, the knife in his sleeve shifts and brushes sharply up against the side of his arm. Without even thinking on it further, he knows. That's it. Dorian pulls back his sleeve with his teeth and wordlessly shakes the knife out to let it clatter onto the blood-soaked floor. It's absurd, dirty, and although recently-sharpened, old. It's going to hurt.
He doesn't care.
He contemplates the blade for a moment, trying to decide exactly how to do it. It doesn't take long. When Dorian wields the knife, he unflinchingly and decisively cuts a vicious line down along the length of his arm, starting at the wrist and moving halfway up to the crook of his elbow. It's overkill-- or it would be, for someone who isn't going to heal from it in no time at all. Besides a knotting of his brows together and a sharp draw of breath as the pain of the cut radiates up his arm, there's no further reaction.
This is better. This way Larus doesn't have to bite him, and neither of them have to be forced through that additional anguish.
When he's finished, a strained sort of laugh drops from his lips and Dorian flexes his fingers, blood blossoming down the length of his arm and dropping wetly onto the ground and Larus' clothes.]
There. It's not my jugular, but I've never had any complaints about my radial. [He pulls Larus close. Shortly after he presses:] Be fast.
no subject
You're not going to kill me, so don't start thinking about that. [He can't. There's only one thing that can truly kill him, and they're a full ten minutes away from it. In a way it makes him the ideal person for this, which is something Toby used to fear more than anything else whenever they encountered other vampires.
As Dorian's adjusting his grip and getting ready, the knife in his sleeve shifts and brushes sharply up against the side of his arm. Without even thinking on it further, he knows. That's it. Dorian pulls back his sleeve with his teeth and wordlessly shakes the knife out to let it clatter onto the blood-soaked floor. It's absurd, dirty, and although recently-sharpened, old. It's going to hurt.
He doesn't care.
He contemplates the blade for a moment, trying to decide exactly how to do it. It doesn't take long. When Dorian wields the knife, he unflinchingly and decisively cuts a vicious line down along the length of his arm, starting at the wrist and moving halfway up to the crook of his elbow. It's overkill-- or it would be, for someone who isn't going to heal from it in no time at all. Besides a knotting of his brows together and a sharp draw of breath as the pain of the cut radiates up his arm, there's no further reaction.
This is better. This way Larus doesn't have to bite him, and neither of them have to be forced through that additional anguish.
When he's finished, a strained sort of laugh drops from his lips and Dorian flexes his fingers, blood blossoming down the length of his arm and dropping wetly onto the ground and Larus' clothes.]
There. It's not my jugular, but I've never had any complaints about my radial. [He pulls Larus close. Shortly after he presses:] Be fast.