It's a shame, really, that Kronid is so hungry right now. That sloppy kiss against his hip, the pulling - this man would probably be a pretty fun partner, and Kronid hadn't gotten properly laid in...oh, a couple of nights.

But he's on task right now, and he growls a little as he straddles the other man's lap, long, grimy nails tracing down Georg's back - and then, after a moment, digging in for a sharp, deep scratch. He bears his hips down, moaning low, but it's not from the friction.

It's from the scent of blood, from the short gouge he had just made between the man's shoulderblades. Playing with his food a little before going in for the kill.