[Alucard is already pulling away when his name is uttered. He's taken enough, he knows exactly how much. His mouth pulls away, and Alucard is very careful not to dribble. He's an adult vampire for Christ's sake, he knows how to not dribble.
More than that, he knows how to deal with this next part. Before even motioning for the fabric he has his hand applying pressure to the bite, firm and aware that it will take several minutes to stop the blood flow. He learned this kind of thing from his father who insisted that it be learned. There would be days where blood could not come in bags and he would not have his son starve for want of knowledge.
His free hand wipes away the little bit of blood on his lips, and Alucard's tongue runs over his teeth to clean off anything that still clings. The matter of taste didn't enter his mind as he latched to Trevor's wrist, mostly because hunger wasn't the same as taste. Now though, now he picks up on the nuances. Those kinds of things are always there to those who care to consider it, revelations about diet and health and all of that, and what is truly within Trevor is a debate over what defines Trevor Belmont? The sweetness is too cloying, the rest normal human blood all iron and Alucard's own cooking. He knows which one he prefers, which is a thought he will never speak out loud.
Alucard lifts his head up slowly. The magic in the blood requires some kind of equilibrium to be found, and that means careful movements. As he does so, the sweep of golden hair gets in the way, and he has to brush it back. There's no look of satisfaction on his face as he turns to Trevor, there's the slightest look of relief, coupled with ruddier cheeks.]
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More than that, he knows how to deal with this next part. Before even motioning for the fabric he has his hand applying pressure to the bite, firm and aware that it will take several minutes to stop the blood flow. He learned this kind of thing from his father who insisted that it be learned. There would be days where blood could not come in bags and he would not have his son starve for want of knowledge.
His free hand wipes away the little bit of blood on his lips, and Alucard's tongue runs over his teeth to clean off anything that still clings. The matter of taste didn't enter his mind as he latched to Trevor's wrist, mostly because hunger wasn't the same as taste. Now though, now he picks up on the nuances. Those kinds of things are always there to those who care to consider it, revelations about diet and health and all of that, and what is truly within Trevor is a debate over what defines Trevor Belmont? The sweetness is too cloying, the rest normal human blood all iron and Alucard's own cooking. He knows which one he prefers, which is a thought he will never speak out loud.
Alucard lifts his head up slowly. The magic in the blood requires some kind of equilibrium to be found, and that means careful movements. As he does so, the sweep of golden hair gets in the way, and he has to brush it back. There's no look of satisfaction on his face as he turns to Trevor, there's the slightest look of relief, coupled with ruddier cheeks.]
Cloth, please.