Peter would've kept drinking, if Jerry had let him. His sire's blood was cool and thrumming with power - Jerry's power over him, Peter knew, but it just drew him in more. And with it, he sunk even deeper into Jerry's control, chasing oblivion.
Then the older vampire pulled him off. Peter keened a little, wanting more, but slumped back against the wall. His eyes were still locked on Jerry's through the afterglow. If he'd been living, he surely would've been breathless from the sensation of power running through him. It was so calm in his head like this, quiet except for Jerry's voice. He wasn't even bothered by the patronising hand on his face or the childish address. A very small part of him wanted to protest, to slash at his sire with bared claws and snarl and break free. But it was a hushed, weakened part now, easily drowned out. For a while, he'd let Jerry rule him. For a while, Peter didn't care.