Dorian grips hard at Toby as they touch and kiss in bed, not really able to help himself when his lover is this close, and when there's a tense and unfamiliar air of something hanging over this moment between them. Toby couldn't feel dangerous to him, but it's been made clear that this is a risk. If it goes horribly wrong, he could end up being hurt, potentially even killed, however accidental it all would be. But the real consequences of that are much worse than the sick feeling or short and painful death that would result-- if this fails, the weight it would lay on the vampire's soul is a thousand times worse and more lasting than fresh wounds on his portrait. He knows Toby more than well enough to know how deep the injury to his soul would cleave.

That knowledge makes this wrong in so many more ways than it used to be. It adds a thrilling and sickly anxious layer to feeling fingertips come to rest against his chest. He has no expectations or idea what might happen. Hopes, of course, but nothing firm to grab onto beyond the body stretched out and pressed into his own. He drags Toby back into another hard kiss right before the man pulls away, and then delves his fingers into his messy, still-damp hair, not letting him further away than he wants him to be right now. A few panted breaths later, and then Dorian nods in response to the question posed to him.

"It's now or never." And he wants it.

A shiver of hesitation in the chill body against his, a cut-off draw of breath --last minute stabs of self-doubt? building excitement? both?-- precede the familiar pain of sharp teeth breaking the skin high up on his neck. Dorian grips suddenly harder at Toby to keep from lurching reflexively at the feeling, fingers digging into the back of the other man's neck and arm. The feeling will pass quickly enough, as quickly as it ever did, and then the rush will come.