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There was an art to the hunt.
The sudden overwhelming surge of primal, raw energy. The buzz of alcohol without the taste. But he would have a taste soon enough. Like a wolf with their neck a chimney of smoke and a howl of lust the man would prowl the city. His hair untamed to match his intent and his canines aching.
A knock is a warning, a rapping motion to signal the prey. Should a wolf knock it’s fearsome claws on your door and you have no intent on letting them in by all means stand still. Like the trees they nap under, they have no intent to disturb. Should such a young,unknowing... fresh thing come along the hunt could continue. His foot is in the door before his prey can even react. Swinging the door open without much effort, he slams it shut to make his means clear. He has no interest in the stalk. What need is there for when your muzzle is in the chicken coup, the meal is unable to create a solution. To except it’s fate would be so much easier than the games they play.
Tossing the jean jacket on the sofa’s ledge, he extends his arms to catch him in their net. Fawn eyes wide and dilated reflect in his own violet perception. He’s only begun, the stimulation building as his Reyes heartbeat grows louder. It almost deafening. Snaking his arm around the boy’s waist, pulling him close, his heart like a war drums beating and pounding to pay tribute to his sacrificial lamb. This was their game... This was their dance of power when the elder man knew the younger could not defend. Without the help of his gold trinket, that pesky shadow would not be able to interfere. And so Their dance began- the dance that began with a stolen kiss to the boy’s trembling lips. Hazel eyes widened, shaking in the arms of the alter. He knew better than to pull away when his wrist was caught in a bear trap. He’d learned a thing or two from dealing with the D.I.D manifestation. One being kisses meant more to him than the actual act of sex. In his twisted mind he saw it as acceptance. The refusal of sex would only be natural. He worshiped him in his own way. His Helena of Troy. When his lips left him, the blonde breathing heavily and a smile spread across his face like a clown caught in the shadow of the night.
“Hello bunny.” He growled, voice raw from its lack of use.