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Cian doesn't often venture too far outside his neighborhood to hunt. Especially when he's hunting mortals, and not animals, and so he find himself wandering down a block of upscale restaurants and bars in Society Hill, dressed in subtle plaid trousers and a matching waistcoat. He's foregone a jacket in this warm weather, and his sleeves billow slightly in the evening breeze.
As fate would have it, Cian is walking down the same street that Simon has spent a long evening of drinking at. It's an upscale bar, the sort that rich as fuck gentleman and classy women lounge around in, sipping whiskey and martinis. Maybe smoke a cigar or two.
But when Simon stumbles out of the door to the bar and onto the sidewalk, he looks plastered. His cheeks are flushed, and he's wobbling as he walks. He's wearing a suit, but it's rumpled enough to suggest he's been wearing it all day and night.
He stops by the wall of the bar, a hand pressed to the brick to help him regain his balance. His hand dips into his jacket for his phone, which he fumbles with. Hand eye coordination isn't... working, currently.
He doesn't seem to have noticed Cian.
"...Simon?" Cian hurries forward, but doesn't touch the man. Just close enough to be noticed, his expression a mix of incredulous, amused, and concerned.
Simon staggers back from him as Cian hurries over, eyes lifting to squint at him through his glasses. "What?" It seems to take him a second to recognize the kindred. "...Oh. It's you." He mutters, half turning away and putting his hand back against the wall. "What do you want now?" As if he just instantly assumed that Cian had stalked/followed him...
"I - nothing, I didn't expect to meet anyone here, tonight." He takes a moment to look Simon over.
"It looks like you've been here a while...?"
"Had a few drinks," he mutters, voice slurring a little. He leans back against the wall as he continues trying to type on his phone, thumbs fumbling over the screen.
Cian scoffs lightly. "More than a few. Whatever you're trying to type, I suspect you'll regret it tomorrow..."
"Just... telling my chauffeur to pick me up." He stares at the screen, then seems to decide that whatever he has typed is good enough, and slides the phone back into his pocket. He looks back to Cian, looking him up and down openly.
"Ah. And your chauffeur will understand." It's not a question, really. More of a confirmation that this isn't an isolated incident.
When Simon's gaze rakes over him, he arches an eyebrow and opens his stance slightly. Letting him look. The corner of his mouth twitches up slightly.
"Out looking for a meal?" Simon guesses, words still slurring together, sounding less like the posh refined gentleman he usually does. Well. A little less.
"Yes, as it so happens." A slight flush appears on Cian's cheeks.
"Many of the patrons around here find my particular style of dress...fascinating, I suppose is the word. It makes striking up conversations rather easy."
"I suppose looking ridiculous does open one up to unusual conversations," Simon notes thoughtfully. "Do you always dress like this? I don't think I've ever seen you not look like a pirate."
"I have already heard both of those of those descriptions this evening, funnily enough." Cian gives Simon a tight lipped smile. "I do, though with a jacket I can push this outfit closer to the early nineteen hundreds."
"You would look better in something slimmer," he critiques. "It would make your shoulders look more broad."
Cian's smile falters, and he clears his throat.
"What on earth makes you say that?"
He squints. "Because I clearly understand modern fashion better than you do."
"And if I have no interest in modern fashion?" Cian leans against the brick, the straps of his leather suspenders visible as his vest shifts slightly.
He shrugs. "If you wish to dress like a fool, it is your prerogative."
"You know, if I were looking to get a meal from you, I'd have given up when you suggested what I wear is ridiculous." Cian shakes his head with an amused huff.
"How would you prefer I dress? And why do you care enough to give me any sort of critique?"
"We both know that if I asked you to get into the car that will be pulling up in a few minutes, that you would," Simon challenges.
Cian's face colors. "What does that have to do with your opinions on how I dress?"
"It doesn't, particularly." He waves a hand.
"Then why comment at all?" Cian's eyebrow arches again, his smile becoming slightly more apparent.
Like he's teasing, almost.
"What else is there to talk about?" As if critiquing Cian's clothing was the same as discussing the weather to him.
"Why you've chosen to get so completely drunk this evening?" Cian shrugs.
"Or...under what circumstances you would ask me to return home with you?"
"You're not coming home with me," Simon replies. "We will be going to a suite I keep booked for situations like these."
Because it's already been decided, apparently.
Oh hey, here comes a very expensive black car pulling up. He pushes off of the wall and staggers over to it, then pulls open the back seat door with an expectant look over at him to get in.
"...Of course you keep a suite." Cian sighs and shakes his head.
And pushes away from the wall, when Simon looks back at him, to follow the very drunk man to the car.
He lets Cian slide in first, then follows after--far more clumsily, ending up just sort of... dropping into the seat. He closes the door and leans back, pushing his glasses up long enough to rub at his eyes.
The inside of the car is really fucking fancy, and the man in the driver's seat is wearing a dark suite and looks like your stereotypical body guard. He doesn't ask questions--just starts driving.
He pushes a button which causes a small mini bar to pop up between them, which he takes advantage of to pour himself another drink. "I'd offer you a glass, but I assume the answer is no."
Cian's eyebrow goes up again when Simon pours himself another drink.
"You know, at some point I might decide you're too drunk for anything you have in mind..."
"You're free to leave whenever you like," Simon replies, glancing over at him.
"I'd like to know what you have in mind, first." Cian meets Simon's gaze, unable to entirely keep the desire off his face.
Though, Simon might be too drunk to notice. Maybe.
"That will need to wait until we are at the hotel, then," Simon says with a glance towards the driver. "Unless you care less about secrecy when it comes to your meals than Jasper did."
"I suspect I care more, in fact." Cian grimaces slightly. "Which of the luxury hotels do you keep a suite in, then? Or is it meant to be a surprise?"
"The Ritz-Carlton." He looks out the window as they drive, taking little sips from the glass. At least he's not chugging it.
"And why me?" Cian leans back in his seat, watching Simon as he drinks.
"Convenience?"
"The only other option I know of is Phaedra, and I would sooner cut my dick off than try to hit on someone who looks like a teenage girl."
Cian smirks. "She might beat you to it. Are you as addicted to what we can do as you are to..." he gestures to the glass.
He glances down at the glass, tipping it back and forth a moment before he replies. "No. But if the opportunity arises..." He shrugs.
"I suppose I don't blame you. It's certainly an experience." Cian runs his fingers through his hair with a nod. "On my end, it makes things much easier, so. A mutually beneficial arrangement." He's not looking at Simon, instead focusing on one of his sleeve cuffs.
"Indeed." He takes another sip, then sets the glass down as the car pulls up in front of the ridiculously luxurious hotel. He opens the door and slides out. Or, well. Staggers out.
Cian rushes to try to keep Simon from falling, stumbling over the curb in his haste.
"You know, as much as you call me a fool for my dress, one could call you a fool, staggering as you are..." His voice is low, for Simon's ears only.
"One could," Simon grumbles, pulling away from Cian's hand once he's found his feet again. He stands as straight as he can in his state--which is..... sort of successful, and walks into the fancy hotel lobby. He doesn't even go to the desk to check in--just heads for the elevator.
Cian follows, taking a moment to look around the place but knowing better than to gawk.
Once in the elevator, stands against the wall furthest from Simon, looking the man over.
Simon pushes a button for one of the top floors. The elevator zooms on up, and Simon looks up to watch the floors light up as they pass them. One the doors soon open again, Simon staggers on out and down the hall. There's not a lot of doors, suggesting that the suites here are larger than your average hotel room. He moves to one and opens it to step into...
Yep, this is pretty much... an apartment. Luxurious, fancy, modern amenities. Everything a rich fuck could want out of a fuck suite. And, notably, a fully stocked bar.
He tucks the keycard away into his pocket again, then checks his watch. "Before we begin, I must emphasis that I am not cattle. I am, and never will be, like those helpless, ignorant victims you find stalking bars. I am choosing this, and I am above those others. Fine wine, not a cheap beer. Filet mignon, not a cheeseburger. I expect to be treated accordingly. Do you understand?"
Cian leans against the wall after the door is closed, his arms crossed as he takes in the atmosphere of the place. His eyebrow twitches upward as Simon speaks.
"Yes, sir," he replies, rather flippantly. "I do appreciate how you continue to assume the worst of me, as if I enjoy having to stalk people in bars. I'll spare you the knowledge of the other places I go to find food. You don't seem the type to be interested in things like stray dogs."
Perhaps surprisingly, he squints. "You drink from dogs?"
Cian nods. "Cats, too, and other small animals. I find it less...distasteful than having to deceive humans to feed myself."
"I... see."
Cian sighs. "I didn't expect that to heighten your opinion of me. Needs must, and it saves me having to deal with the 'helpless, ignorant victims' that you have no interest in becoming."
"Hm." Is all he replies with. Then he turns, moving into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and looks within it a moment, then leans over to pull out a wrapped parcel like one may get from a butcher.
Cian watches Simon with open curiosity, and begins to untie the pale blue cravat around his neck. It complements his eyes, and picks up the lighter weave of his plaid pants. As much as he doesn't have an eye for modern cuts, he certainly seems to have an eye for color.
"Are you planning a meal for yourself as well?" A slightly teasing smile drifts onto his face.
"In a sense. I need to deal with something, then we can get on with it. It won't take but a few moments." He lean against the kitchen counter as he unwraps fresh expensive looking raw steak, already cut into small bite-size pieces.
Then, far too casually, he reaches back to part the hair at the back of his head, and starts... feeding... pieces of meat to... his scalp...?
The pieces of meat disappear. There's a sickening chewing sound.
"I - alright." Cian doesn't try hide his confusion, but that seems to be the only thing he's feeling.
"...Ah." He doesn't look horrified or disgusted, at the very least, and he carefully folds his cravat up and puts it in his pocket before undoing the top button of his shirt.
If anything, he looks slightly more piratical now.
Simon mostly just stares into space while he does this. It's a rote action. Nothing new. This is... common? For him? What the fuck.
After the... mouth...? Whatever it is... is fed several more pieces of raw meat, Simon turns to the sink to wash his hands off. It gives perhaps a glimpse of, yes, a fucking mouth on the back of his head, which chews the last piece of meat with tiny blackened teeth, only glints of black void beyond before it... closes, and fades from sight.
Once his hands are clean, Simon reaches back to smooth his hair down and turns to Cian.
"Would you prefer the bed? Couch?"
By the time Simon turns around, Cian's composed himself after whatever bit of horror he's felt after seeing an Actual Fucking Mouth on the back of the man's head. "I'd rather not have to help you into bed after, if it's all the same to you...primarily because I doubt you'd accept the help." Cian huffs in amusement. "If you don't mind the intimacy. I certainly don't."
"I hadn't assumed sex would be a part of this, but if you like," he replies, because that's what intimacy means, right?
He heads for the bedroom, pushing open the door. There's a huge queen sized bed, and windows that overlook historic parts of the city. It's... actually a damn nice view. Simon shrugs off his jacket to toss over the back of a chair, then sits on the edge of the bed to tug off his shoes to set aside.
"I had assumed you're not nearly attracted to me enough for sex to be a consideration. You've made your intentions fairly clear..." Cian's attention is drawn to the view, and he's silent for a few long moments, just staring out across the city. He does begin to slowly unbutton his waistcoat, however, before stooping to unlace his very old-fashioned looking boots.
He glances up to eye him a moment, then shrugs. "You are attractive enough if you don't count the ridiculous clothes."
He doesn't remove his shirt and pants, however. For now, at least. He scoots back onto the bed to lean back against the headboard and wait.
"I can remove them, if you'd like." Simon gets a wink from Cian here, and he gently kicks his boots aside before joining Simon on the bed, just far enough away that the two of them aren't touching.
"What's your pleasure? Wrist, elbow, neck...? The inside of your thigh...?" His voice lowers as he speaks, his eyes flickering to each spot, lingering just as much as his speech does as he names each place.
He considers Cian a moment, looking him over again. "You may drink from my thigh. You wouldn't have suggested it if you weren't thinking about it already."
Simon, however, does not make any moves to remove his pants. He just stretches his legs out and shifts to lay down, hands hooking together behind his head.
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