milliways_bar | (no subject)

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ganymede

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He had accepted the offer of a room, even though he did not like acquiring any sort of debt in this place. It meant that he was clean as he walked downstairs, even though he hadn't used the facilities. Strange-looking contraptions of porcelain and metal.

He might look into that later.

For now, he intends to get a better understanding of this place - and to see if he can find a little something to whet his palate.

His hair is still tied back, but he is carrying his coat over his arm and his shirt is open at the throat. This is proving to be far more interesting than society at Bath. Or so he believes. Unless the streams of the British are far more potent in their magic than he surmises.

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One of Milliways' older contingent catches Eric's eye as he sits tucked into a chair, with an instrument at his mouth, softly playing a gently mournful tune that's almost as old as he is.

There's a dog at his feet, a calm and slender saluki who seems remarkably unperturbed by the surroundings.

Eric gives him a small nod and heads on over, a small smile on his lips.

It seems like one of the items on his agenda tonight be taken care of.

"It seems to me," he says by way of greeting, "that you rather cheated me when last we met. For as I recall I gave you my name and got nothing in return."

(ooc: instaslows just about now, I'm afraid. Bedtime here)

"Did I?" he asks, eyebrow raised as he puts the flute down, careful to not catch any splinters from the reed. "You didn't ask, though. Why would I offer you my name without that, Eric?"

"Is it not simple courtesy?" Eric asks, smoothly, leaning against the wall next to the seated man. "A gift for a gift, a name for a name?"

"That it might be," Ganymede confirms. "My name is Ganymede." He makes a simple introduction, touching his breastbone with a fingertip, more casual than he'd have ever been in mortal life.

"Hmm," Eric says. He may often pretend ignorence, but of course he read the Romans and the Greeks. Once he had learned to read.

"Named in homage or ...?"

He remembers what Teja told him. Gods walk here. And the concubines of gods åerhaps?

"No. I was born in 1343 BC, as it is now reckoned," he says. "I stopped aging nineteen years later." He shrugs gracefully, and leans down to pet the dog's ears in front of him when she raises her head. He still smells the same. Always has.

"And you?"

"I was born in the North," Eric replies. "A Viking. I died in battle."

He is interested in seeing how Ganymede reacts to this answer.

"And yet you seem very much alive from here," he murmurs, looking up at this mysterious stranger's face. As he cranes his neck, two tiny puncture scars are still visible, just past the edge of his collar.

"How curious indeed. I have met one with a similar story, once. Not a viking though, not nearly as interesting." He knows how to play just coy enough to flatter, how to angle his head to be properly curious.

"So I see," Eric says slowly, taking in the two small pin-pricks. "So I see. And I am dead. Very much so. No heartbeat, no pulse. And I understand that I am quite cool to the touch."

He reaches over and runs, not his fingertips but the inside of his wrist, across Ganymede's hand. A feather-light touch.

"You are another like him, then," he says, allowing Eric to move his wrist over his hands, turning them to press the backs of two fingers against where his pulse ought to be. Very cold, indeed, and his lack of a pulse is intriguing.

An inquisitive little thing. That's good.

Of course, he would have rather preferred a plump girl, soft and warm in all the right places, but beggars can't be choosers and he could do with a drink.

"And how did you pass the time with this other one like me?" Back to the soft, low murmur.

"In ways I am not sure you would follow," he says. There are distinct memories of rope, a rattan cane, and being bitten that bring a tiny curve of a smile to his mouth, though he says none of it aloud.

"Aside from the biting. Which I assume you would."

And direct too.

Eric nods and drops fang.

"That I would," he says, letting him see them.

"Very interesting," he says, tongue touching his canines where there are no fangs.

"Shall we take this outside, or elsewhere?"

"I have borrowed a room. From - someone else. That might be suitable?"

He dares not go outside. Not when the sun is magic and he cannot feel it come.

"I have my own, if that is a concern."

"That might be even better."

He is fairly certain that this one won't lead him into a place filled with stakes and silver and should he try - well, all the more entertainment for tonight.

"Then come with me," he says, rising gracefully and assuming Eric will follow him. His room is styled much like it would have been were they in a palace several millennia ago, cool colored walls and drapes separating the spaces, and bright jewel colors.

The room looks nothing like the one Eric has slept in, which underscores the strangeness of this place.

But those thoughts are for later. Now, he will feed.
Or, in a bit. Ganymede is moving like someone getting ready for seduction rather than being dinner.

He always moves like that; it's a learned behavior that's hard to break, not that he has any inclination to, really. He stops just inside the door, and turns back to Eric.

"And now?"

Eric closes the door behind him.

"And now you tell me how much or how little you like pain."

He is not accustomed to having to be considerate in these matters. And he could just get it over with and glamour him to say whatever would please the Watch here. But seeing as how he is not exactly human, he will not run the risk of standing with a screaming victim he cannot properly subdue. Then he'd have to kill him, and that would likely lead to questions.

Ganymede smiles slowly at that lead, and unbuttons the loose collar of his shirt.

"You could say I like it quite a lot," he says, a little chuckle in his throat. "But I think it might be a little of an understatement." There are, if you look very closely, rope burns on his wrists, visible on his ankles too, and at the very corners of his mouth the evidence of something like a gag. All of it leads to one very certain kind of conclusion, and not out of the realm of thought for who he is.

Ganymede is beautiful, and intelligent, and forever unchanging--but he is not delicate.

He takes in his appearance and nods, walking over to the bed.

He lies his coat and his waistcoat at one end, neatly folded, and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

It is not the first time he has met someone with these urges. He still doesn't understand them, but at least now he better knows how not to give into it and just drain them dry. He thinks.

He folds his shirt just as neatly and goes to sit down on the other end of the bed, legs widely apart.
He is muscular, but lean, his skin white and smooth.

He pets one thigh and looks at Ganymede.

Now that gets a little laugh out of him, because whether or not it's Eric's intention it looks like he's inviting Ganymede to sit on his lap, and he doesn't move just yet except to remove his shirt.. "What is it that will stop you, if you go too far?" he asks.

He hasn't been blindly trusting in a long time, either. "Do you expect me to sit in your lap?"

"I have been doing this for a very long time," Eric says smoothly. "I do not need to kill my prey. And yes, I think that will be the most comfortable."

He dips his chin a little and looks up at Ganymede through lowedered lashes. "Unless you'd rather be pressed up against a wall."

"I am sure you do not need to," he says, moving with practiced ease towards Eric, and settling in a position comfortable to them both. "But that does not mean I trust you with my life without some measure to at least slow you down."

"What did you do with the other one like me?" he asks.

"He drank from me, I passed out from the loss, and he was unsatisfied and bit my lover. They caned me and we fucked." It's so simple as to not really cover most of what passed that night, but it manages with the basics.

"Why do you ask?"

Eric blinks.

Then he says, "I meant what precautions did you take. None, it sounds like."

He cants his head a little. "I am hungry but not starved. I have great control and you have not angered me. I would think you are safe. If it makes you feel better, take something sharp made of steel and stab me if you feel I do not listen."

He would never tell him anything that might do him actual harm. A stab will be of no consequence And he tells him as much. "It will not kill me, but it will make me stop and move."

A truth and a lie. .

"You didn't ask about precautions," Ganymede answers with a tiny quirk of a grin, to his blink. "But no, there were none."

There is a little knife, not used for anything much but occasionally picking off grape clusters from the vine, that folds into his pocket, which is what he passes his hand over now. "Will it hurt?"

"If you stab me? Yes. I feel pain."

He sounds a little absentminded. His eyes are busy looking over Ganymedes body. His neck will do. He likes necks. Or the inside of his upper arm perhaps.

He drifts a finger across the old puncture wounds. "Would you prefer I bite you here?"

Such a strange conversation to be having. He does not ask for permission. He takes what he wants.

But he will again. Soon. And this has its charms he supposes.

"I meant when you bite me," he murmurs, tilting his head. "I have no preference for location. There...my wrist, my thigh, it wouldn't matter."

"It always hurt some, I think. I can make it hurt less, if you want me to?"

The neck then.

"Don't," he says, shaking his head gently. "If it hurts, it hurts."

And without further foreplay - he bites.

One hand holding Ganymede's head in place, the other loosely curled around his upper arm.

The blood-drinking is noisy and it apparently involves a lot of tonguing the skin and the wounds.

It only draws a little sound from Ganymede when he bites, but he stays more or less still. It does ache, but the burn of losing his blood isn't as strong as the first time.

Eric pulls back a little and growls, his teeth, lips, and chin wet and dripping.

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