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It was tempting, so tempting, to squeeze the traveller's neck slowly to feel the give of flesh and their windpipe. His claws would dig in until his fingers were buried deep within the muscle, their lifeblood flowing freely down his hand or perhaps spurting out wild and erratic painting the surrounding fauna in beautiful yet chaotic artistry. But he held back, let Ravnos feed, while the Gods unnerving, blackened gaze stared deep within the depths of the mortals, watching as all emotion began to flicker and fade, all except terror. That always seemed to be the last to go.

He could hear Ravnos feeding now. Good. His free hand came up and pressed against the center of the mortal's chest, fingers and thumb formed in a circle, claw tips pushing against the fur and flesh.

Slowly. He could take his time with this. Slowly he pushed, and bones cracked, and sharp pain overwhelmed the terror in those eyes. Grendel smiled and pushed more. Further and deeper, his hand disappeared inside a chest cavity. More. But slowly, so slowly. He wanted it to last. Gurgling sounds were coming from the traveller's throat, still held tight beneath his grasp, the light in their eyes beginning to dim and dull. The terror was gone, replaced with something else. A dull acceptance of fate, perhaps?

The God pulled back his upper lip from his teeth in a snarl and pushed further, his hand hooking around and suddenly pulling free with just what he wanted.

A heart torn free, beating weakly in his hand. Once. Twice.

It stopped, and he crushed it with his hand while simultaneously releasing the mortal's neck. The bloody, pulpy mess that remained was discarded to the ground, and Grendel turned his attention back to Ravnos.

He lifted his bloody hand and gave it a long, slow lick.

The Disciple may have been thinking about other things while he fed, but Grendel had gotten lost in something else.

And oh, how he wished he could have more.

That hand on his cheek stilled the darkness inside him that threatened to whip his beast up into a frenzy. Not like the frenzy of a vampire. He did not find himself starved for blood. It was more simply a craving but a dangerous one for a God to have. While killing mortals was merely frowned upon, he was sure that doing so en masse would draw some negative attention, especially from those who sought to keep balance, and understandably so.

He turned his face into that touch, allowing himself to feel the soft tenderness of it, and stepped closer. The darkness of his eyes began to lighten, and something shifted; the God let out a quiet sigh of breath as he brought his hands up to brush against Ravnos's sides before bringing them around, linking them behind the Disciple's lower back and drawing him in closer.

He had not spoken yet, and the thumb of one hand began to rub up and down along the Disciple's spine gently.

Grendel leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, tasting that faint hint of blood still lingering on the vampire's lips. His focus was now entirely shifted, his beast settled, as different urges began to overtake him. One hand began to roam upwards, resting at the base of Ravnos's neck, fingers and thumb massaging him there gently.

The God sucked in a sharp breath as he finally pulled away, blinking away the last remnants of darkness from his gaze as his lips pulled up into a slight smirk.

"Yes. Let's go back." His voice was a low, soft growl full of promise.

Ravnos grounded him. There was no doubt about that. Grendel had always had his inner demons, the temper, the darkness, always lurking beneath the surface, always just on the edge of one or the other spilling free. But since Ravnos had come into his life, those instances had been fewer and further in between. The Disciple held him steady, was always the voice of reason, and had endless patience.

Grendel was the lucky one. He would always say it, always feel it.

The smirk shifted to a grin, sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight. "Walking is overrated." He said, and within another moment, they had been transported from out in the woods with a bloody carcass lying at their feet to the inside of Ravnos's clean (yet cluttered) Vardo.

His hand came round from the back of his neck, lifted to place against his cheek, a gentle stroke of his thumb against the Disciple's cheekbone before he leaned into to kiss him again, parting the vampire's lips with his tongue to deepen in.

They both knew where this night was going—one way or another, sooner or later.

Grendel chose now.

The fingers of his free hand hooked into the belt at Ravnos's waist as he pulled away, and he tugged, leading him toward the bedroom.

The rest of the night was filled with a God and his Disciple who just wanted to remember what it was like to be together, uninterrupted and without a pressing need to be elsewhere. Once they found themselves in bed, they found it quite unnecessary to go anywhere else. But, like always, their good time had to end temporarily. The sun had risen high in the sky, and though Ravnos could fight the need to sleep longer than he was once able, he could not stave it off forever.

On this particular evening, Grendel stayed with him while he slept, for a time just stroking his hair from his face with a smile before settling next to him; an arm was thrown across his chest as he buried his face against the vampire's neck and breathed him in before he closed his eyes himself.

He did not precisely sleep because he did not need to. But he did not feel the urge to peek in on the lives of others either. He did not want anything to ruin this vacation; he wanted to leave the world behind for a while and let somebody else take care of it. So, he told himself, at that moment, that he was going to cut himself off from it all and focus on this, here, now. Just him and Ravnos, and nothing getting in the way.

And so he waited. He waited until he felt the first stirrings of the man next to him and shifted in the bed himself, lifting his head just enough for a well-placed kiss against the Disciple's temple.

"Good morning, Dracian." His voice rumbled with his usual greeting when the one he loved awakened.

Whenever Ravnos slept, the world felt emptier, lonelier, and a lot less interesting.

When he awoke, everything felt right again, and the God could not help the smile that pulled at his lips or the happiness that brightened his red gaze. The arm draped over Ravnos gave him a gentle squeeze, and he kissed the Disciple again, brushing lips softly along his cheekbone. He felt like he could never get enough of this or him.

With the Disciple's words and the light brush of his hand against his forehead to move his hair, his smile widened.

"Ai dormit bine?" He asked though the words were a little hesitant and unsure, but proof that he was still trying to learn and picking up what he could when he chose to listen.

"And what is the plan tonight?" He asked, though if Ravnos said they could pick up just where they had left off the night before, that would have been perfectly okay with Grendel.

Right. Seeing where they were was probably not a bad idea, though Grendel realized at that moment that he had never asked Ravnos how his meeting with the Baro had gone and whether he had found out exactly where they were headed. He'd had other things occupying his mind, mostly centred around the Disciple and the pleasure of knowing they could relax for a while.

He pulled his arm back when it became clear that Ravnos was intent on getting out of bed and sat up fully himself. One of the perks of being a God was that, as if by some magic, his hair fell in a long and perfectly tidy cascade down his back, with no single strand appearing out of place. He ran his fingers through it anyways, the usual thick and intricate braid forming where he touched until it hung draped casually over one shoulder.

He gave Ravnos an appreciative glance for the moment he sat shirtless, an almost roguish look in his gaze before he looked away, eyes cast about in search of his clothes which had been tossed about the room with wild abandon.

"Did you find out what the destination will be?" He asked, only mildly curious as he leaned over the edge of the bed and fished for his pants that had gotten kicked beneath, pulling them out so he could put them on.

There was something in the words that stirred a memory, and Grendel paused in his movements to consider, a slight frown on his face, lightly creasing his forehead as he began to move again, pulling his pants on as he stood from the edge of the bed to fasten them. It was the word Enoch that had grasped his attention, not because it was the name of one of the Disciples. It was something else, something mentioned...

"I do not recall." He admitted, a hint of irritation at its edge in his deep growl of a voice, though not for Ravnos. "Caine was not particularly forthcoming with information. It does hold an air of familiarity about it. The City of Enoch?"

It was possible that Lilith had mentioned it when he was much younger, before he had become fully grown.