If he was anything, it was not a cold fish. He was dead, not buried, and he'd only ever known passion in the Kindred way, having died a virgin. So he gave in, letting the blood flow and the energy feed him. His teeth snapped after Amadeus as he pulled back, missing by a hair. His body shuddered like he was struggling to keep his breath and he nipped sharp biting kisses along the elder's jawline.
He wished the fingers in his hair were a good enough anchor to bring him down but he liked the stinging pain that came with it. Let go? He could but he wouldn't. At least not completely. He would make the sudden movement to roll them, getting himself on top and yet never falling out of rhythm. The new position let him keep Amadeus deep inside of him but keep that rough, steady pace.
His hands settled on either side of Amadeus, the popping sound of rending fabric quite audible. "I can't," he growled, "I won't." The dangerous popping sound kept up and he was once again kissing Amadeus deep - though there seemed to be a much larger share of sharp teeth than there had but moments ago. And the rock of his hips grew faster, stronger, the growl right back in place.