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Summary
Phainon drops the bloody tissue and steps closer to Mydei, hand settling on the kremnoan's naked chest and feeling strangely feverish, even though he's typically cold to the touch. “I must confess… I've always found your immortality enticing. I could suck you dry,” he murmurs as his palm pushes heat into Mydei, fingernails grazing a path towards his stomach, “...and you would be right up for another round.”
The kremnoan’s jaw tightens, eye twitching, face warming up. “Is making stupid double entendres a vampire’s way of indirectly asking for blood?”
“Why, is it working?”
“No.”
Alternatively: Phainon thinks Mydei is the perfect blood supply, and asks him to consider being such.