Damon kissed him firmly, tugging him hard to his chest as he moved to straddle him. Dipping his head, he ignored the offered wrist and nuzzled his neck. He sunk his fangs in a spot that he knew people found pleasurable, rocking his hips a little as he fed.
If most people were wine, Dorian was pure grain alcohol. He could only drink for a few moments before pulling away, gasping and whimpering. "Very - distilled," he murmured. "Not bitter, just concentrated, and intense, and I feel very, very warm." He shuddered against him, lightly tonguing the wounds he'd made on his neck.