Not as fluffy as the others. Aah, sorry. Haha.
He always submits himself to the overpowering smell and taste of vodka. He can understand why he drinks so much of the alcohol - even the slight taste of it on his lips is enough to send a dizzying wave of heat rush through his body.
Clinging to the large coat, he arches and gives a small moan when hands run through his hair, and then grip it harshly, and then his mouth is on his again. There it is again - the bigger taste of alcohol, and he knows that now is his chance - he can kill him right here, right now, have his freedom and return back to the blonde. . .
Ivan pulls back, and still, Toris is clutching at him, wanting the burn of alcohol and the cold of his hands and lips. But instead, Toris stares at Ivan - the oddly childish face, the wide violet eyes, and strange enough, he finds his heart breaking for the man who has seen so much blood and murder. . .
"I should kill you. I can kill you," he whispers.
Ivan smiles, and traces a freezing finger across Toris' throat.
"This is where I would carve your second smile."
Toris shudders at the thinly-veiled violence, anticipating the promise, and pulls the other man down for another kiss.