no_sin_but | (no subject)

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After this:

Marlowe's room is pretty much like most of the others, really. A table and chair, bathroom (with the door shut), double-bed. Perhaps a few more books then most, and perhaps those books are a little more worn and filled with notes, but it is pretty much just a basic room.

Marlowe himself is still asleep, tangled up in the sheets with one arm flung over his eyes...

Well.

Eye and eyepatch.

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'Dracula, for the Berlin theatre. Do you know what vampires are?"

Mmm, vampires.

"Haven't the faintest idea."

"A vampire is a mythological creature that sucks the blood of a human being to survive past death."

He leans over, rolling onto one elbow.

"Very sexual."

"Sucks.

Blood."

"Argh," says Darren, lowering himself to nip the side of Kit's throat.

He tilts his head back, giving him more of a target.

"Aaaah."

"Word is," murmurs Darren, against the skin, "they hypnotize their victims. Word is, the feelings of euphoria make feeding an intense experience, to say the least."

"Make me immortal with a kiss?" He murmurs, lilting his soft voice up at the end to make it a question.

"Trapped forever between life and death, unable to step into the sunlight. Vampires represent, in the human mind, sexuality. The unknown. The lure of darkness. The consumption, literally, of one's partner. The thrill of giving in to something you know is wrong."

Although what could be wrong about Kit's skin under Darren's mouth, he doesn't know.

"Oh, I think I like vampires."

Of course, possibly he isn't paying that much attention to the words, given Darren.

Then again, maybe he is.

"Dark pleasures that come in the night."

Catching Kit's hands to pin them to the mattress.

"And I get to do a play all about it."

"Hmm, am I invited?"

"It might be partiallin German."

Fair warning.

"Depends on what they decide."

"I need to brush up on my German anyway."

Darren, who still has Kit's wrists, grins at him and says something blatantly filthy in said language.

It helps to be fluent.

Or if not, to know the words that count.

He gets the gist of it, a word here and there but it's the tone the fills in the gaps. He opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything, not for a bit.

Shuts it again.

Swallows.

"Like that," he manages.

"Do you? Do you really?" asks Darren in french, watching him with a smirk.

He may have to keep doing this a little while.

"You're a bad man, Darren," he replies, French fluid if a tad dialectual.

That doesn't bear answering, so he ignores it, and moves on to some equally themed Spanish.

Darren has picked up a lot on his travels.

Including, happily enough, Kit. Who he's willing to talk to for ages. In whatever language he'd like.

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