When his hand lifts, it's slow. Slow enough for protest before it curls against the back of York's head, drawing him in closer. Not to kiss, no. Locus's head dips long before that.

Instead, there's a sharp sliver of sweet pain as his fangs find his flesh, and he pulls. Slowly. York's fed twice tonight, so taking a little more without fear of his starving is possible.

And he'd already shown that he'd enjoyed it, greatly.