Deepwood Weald the dirty [m]

As he focused on the boy in his grasp, pointed ears continued to listen to their surroundings as Abaddon watched his voluntary prey through half-lidded eyes. These were always personal times that the vampire preferred wasn't disturbed by outsiders - such a fragile procedure that any distraction could prove deadly if he wasn't careful with his extraction. 

Thankfully the woods were silent; and he could enjoy this as much as he can, drink up as much as he can without draining the boy dry - though the temptation was there. 

As he lapped up the crimson liquid that pooled out of the wounds inflicted, the pale man's usually pristine coat stained around his lips and chest in a fresh new coat of red. His favorite of all colors. He could just drown himself in it if allowed to - but, as much of a hard time he had to pull away, Abaddon pinched the wounds to stop the major bleeding with his incisors and pulled away.

Still holding the smaller man close - unless he pulled away, weirded out by all this like most individuals were - the now stained pale man sighed happily as his thirst, had finally been quenched once again.