Day 6, and the prompt is 'Addiction'! You know, I've actually never written a vampire story before? Just filling out my trope lists here. XD Enjoy!
Warnings for: Dom/sub relations, slight breathplay (can you breathplay with a character that doesn't... breathe?).
The knock on Roy's door comes just as he pulls his second glove on, leather sliding smooth to rest just past his elbow; most of the clients he's had over the years have expressed a preference for his tattoos to be showing. The few who didn't, frankly, he didn't want as clients anyway. There are enough vampires out there, and he's been in this long enough, that he doesn't have to say 'yes' to just anyone who comes knocking at his door.
He doesn't keep seeing anyone that he doesn't enjoy, and it's rare that a spot opens up in his rotation and he has to start a new round of interviews anyway. Donators aren't allowed, legally, to give more than once a week, which generally means four steady clients, unless some see multiple people and come to him every other month. Right now he's got four normal ones, and they've all been with him at least a year.
He gets up, letting himself settle for a second before he grabs the robe slung over the back of his chair and pulls it on. He ties it loosely, just enough to keep him decently covered in case anyone else happens to be passing by, and goes to the door. The knob twists easily in his hand, maintained and paid for by one of the only government branches that does its job precisely on time, every time. What he does is a necessary service to the community; everything he needs is paid for, on top of the salary he gets. It's a hell of a job, if you've got the strength of will to do it without letting the high become too addicting.
His favorite client is outside the door, and he doesn't have to fake the smile that curls his mouth when he meets Jason's gaze. Jason, always just a little insecure when it comes to actual important moments, ducks his head for a second and then gives a small, crooked grin back.
"Roy, hey."
Twenty-three for the foreseeable future — the gift of those 'born' from old blood — tall, black hair with a shock of white that's the mark of how close to death he was when he was saved, and bright blue-green eyes that get sharp and intense when he's riled. Jason is practically a fairy tale story; an orphaned street kid taken in by an old family, and turned by his surrogate father when he was almost killed by a madman. Now, Jason is the equivalent of a prince. Old blood, old money, all wrapped behind handsome features and sharp arrogance that all just melts once you're allowed to see behind the front he shows the world.
"Jason," he greets, holding one hand out. Jason takes it, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the back of the leather glove, lingering for a moment before letting go. He pauses as he always does, keeping Jason at the door, and then invites, "Come in."
Jason doesn't need an invitation, not anymore. Whatever magical element of the world stops them from entering a home — scientists still only have theories — it evaporates on a first invitation. But Jason is… sweet. He's always waited to be invited back in, and he enjoys the submission of the moment. Too many vampires still see themselves as a step above human; technically it's true but he never takes a client that won't at least treat him like an equal.
He steps aside to let Jason pass him, shutting the door behind them and then firmly locking it, to prevent anyone else from interfering. His home is monitored, as every donator's home is during client visits — just in case; the risk of accidents is low but still entirely possible — but otherwise they're alone and he's going to keep it that way. Jason is… unusual, and he enjoys that. He wouldn't ever want to expose it to the rest of the world; what they do is private and no one else's business.
"Strip to your slacks," he orders, as he walks past Jason, letting one hand stroke across a shoulder as he passes. Jason twitches at the touch — a restrained shiver — and raises his hands to obey.
He settles himself in his favorite armchair, the one pointed at the carefully empty circle in the center of his living room that's there for exactly this, and lifts his legs to cross them at the ankle and set them on the footrest. Jason's gaze flicks to his feet, to the red, leather boots that go up to his knees, and give him about three extra inches once you take into account the bit of platform and the heel itself. Just enough to put him about an inch over Jason's height, if he stands tall. Jason's hands still, jaw working, and he watches his client swallow once. Hard.
"Like them?" he asks, rhetorically. "I bought them just about a week ago; for you."
"Yes," Jason answers anyway, voice low, just a little rough already. "I—"
"I didn't tell you to stop, did I?" he interrupts, with a smirk.
Jason's hands jerk back into motion, fingers returning to deftly sliding the buttons of his semi-formal shirt through their accompanying holes. It's barely seconds before he's got them undone, and he's rolling his shoulders, pulling the shirt off and letting it fall back. He nods his approval when Jason tosses the shirt over towards his actual couch. Then he kneels, hands undoing the laces of one shoe and then the other, and finally pulling both off and setting them carefully aside, as far as he can manage. The socks get tossed over to join the shirt, and just like that Jason is half-naked in his home, gaze returned to him.
He raises a hand, crooks a finger in a silent demand for Jason to come forward, and is obeyed. Without prompting Jason slips in beside him and kneels, just to the side of his legs. He smiles his approval and reaches out, trailing fingers across the cool skin of Jason's forehead, and then back through that white shock of hair. Jason almost turns towards his hand, he can see it in the little flicker of muscle, but controls himself.
"Good boy," he murmurs in praise, and then pulls his hand away and reaches over to the small table beside his armchair, and the singular item on it. A black, stiffened-leather muzzle.
Feeding, for vampires, is linked so intrinsically to arousal that the secondary part of his job, if his clients are willing to put forth a little bit of extra money, is to ease that desire back out and make them fit to be in public again. Usually, that means sex. However, there were too many accidents with that part of his job for a long time. Vampires aren't always entirely in control of themselves, just like humans, except when a vampire gets too into sex and loses control, usually they bite. For a donator who's already lost a decent amount of blood, that can be, at the least, dangerous. So, the job evolved. If a vampire chooses to ask a donator for sex afterwards, they have to consent to a muzzle. It's easily removable by either party, but it's enough to prevent accidental bites, and enough to make their job a whole lot safer.
He lifts the muzzle and offers it to Jason, who trembles minutely but still lowers his head. It's consent. He shifts forward enough that he can tilt Jason's head back up with a touch of his fingers, and then carefully fit the muzzle over the bottom half of Jason's face, covering everything below his eyes. The strap is a simple buckle — sensitive hearing means that velcro is actually almost painful if it's too close to a vampire's ears — and he tugs it shut, making sure the muzzle is firmly in place and won't be shifting around while they play. He can see how Jason's shoulders tremble more noticeably, and he makes sure to scrape his nails over Jason's scalp as he pulls his hand back, and then to reach down and flick his chin up so Jason's gaze snaps up to meet his, pupils a little blown, eyes a sharper shade now from desire.
Jason's the only vampire he's ever met who enjoys the muzzle more than the feeding. So they switch things around. Sex first; feeding after.
"Tell me your safeword, Jason," he demands, lounging back into his chair and lifting one hand so he can rest his cheek against it. Jason doesn't need one, technically; it would take a lot of effort for him to do any damage that wouldn't heal in a matter of hours. It's more for his safety, in case Jason feels like he's going to really lose control.
"Red," Jason repeats obediently, voice a little muffled behind the muzzle but still understandable. "I love the boots, sir."
He smiles. "Good; I thought you would."
He uncrosses his legs, bends one so that he can fit the thick heel of the boot into the hollow of Jason's throat, and slowly pushes. Jason bends, enhanced strength letting him arch instead of fall, all the way until his shoulders and head touch the ground, and his torso is bent into a sharp arch, muscle locked tight to keep him that way without any actual support. He holds Jason there with easy pressure, and then shifts forward and braces his arms against the arms of his chair so he can push himself to stand on the other foot without pressing any weight down into the heel on Jason's throat. It's a delicate balance, but he's had years and a lot of practice at this game. Honestly, he enjoys being Jason's dom probably more than he should, considering it's a job at the end of the day.
But there's something about knowing that not only is he giving Jason what he needs to survive, through his blood, but he's also helping Jason let go of all the stress of his life and relax. He really does like Jason as a person, even past the fact he's his client, and it's a little unorthodox but if this is the kind of 'sex' Jason needs, he's happy to provide that too.
Doesn't hurt that he gets off on it.
"Do you know what you want today, Jason?" he asks, pushing the heel a little harder into Jason's throat. It's not like he needs to breathe.
"Anything you want to give me, sir," he gets in answer, in a falsely breathless tone caused by the obstruction of Jason's windpipe.
"Really?" He lowers his hands, untying the robe's belt with easy familiarity and then rolling his shoulders back and letting it slide off his arms and back to puddle on the floor. "No suggestions? No requests? Nothing you ache for?"
Jason's gaze is hungry, and he can imagine how the mouth beneath the muzzle must be parting, imagines that Jason's gums must be aching a bit with the desire to let his fangs slide free. It's nothing less than he usually wears, but still, every time it's like the outfit is being revealed fresh; Jason's reaction is always validating. The outfit in question is a dark red, steel-boned, waist-corset, pulled just tight enough to force a bit more of a waist into his frame but kept loose enough he can still breathe and move easily enough, and a pair of skintight leather shorts in the same color that lace up the front. He kind of really wishes that he could make Jason undo them with his teeth but, well, legally Jason has to keep the muzzle on, or they could both get in serious trouble.
"I'm going to let you ask for one thing, Jason," he purrs, leaning down over the knee of the foot on Jason's throat and bracing his arms across it. Jason's eyelids flicker at the increased pressure. "Do you have something in mind, or do you want to wait and think about that for a little while?"
He shifts his weight back a bit so that Jason can draw the air necessary to speak, balancing carefully on his other heel. It took him a bit of practice to get used to these things, but the heel is thick and he's had practice with other heels before this, so it wasn't all that bad. It took him longer to get used to the constriction of the corset honestly, even though he doesn't have it near as tight as a lot of the female donators he knows wear theirs. His is for show, not actual practicality. Most of the clients he's had aren't interested in him dressing up like this, and no other one has ever wanted this from him.
Jason's hands curl against the wood of his floor — polished, carefully treated, easier to get blood off of than a carpet — and he waits while Jason draws in a careful breath, eyes flaring for a moment at whatever it is he can smell. Maybe the traces of scent from the client that came last week, maybe the scents in the various products he used in the shower this morning, or maybe the beginnings of his arousal. Hard to say.
"It's—" There's a tinge of embarrassment to Jason's voice. "Would you put your hair down?" he asks, quiet but almost yearning.
He can't help the smile, and he straightens up a bit so he can raise his hands and undo the cord holding his hair in its braid. He runs his fingers through it to unravel the weave, letting it fall in waves around his head and shoulder. He's paying attention, so he notices that Jason's eyes flare again, sharp with desire even though there's no vocal reaction. He knows how to read vampires; most of them are quieter than humans, but there's a stillness they get, when they're focused on something. No breathing, no twitching, no involuntary movement; it freaks most people out. For good reason; it's a hunting reaction. Any human that doesn't get at least a little bit of a fight or flight reaction out of being the focus of that stare is either insane or so desensitized their instincts don't even register it as a threat.
He still gets a tiny thrill from it, and that's made even better because he knows that Jason can hear how his heart rate jumps a little. He might get a little more of a thrill than is healthy, knowing Jason is — fundamentally — so dangerous, and yet so entirely under his control.
"Alright, Jay. Let's get started, hm?" He digs his heel in just a little harder for a moment before he pulls it back, setting it down on more stable ground. "Up. Get me my crop, and pick out something that looks like fun, hm?"
"Yes, sir." And Jason — sweet, obedient Jason — rolls over and braces on both hands, ducking his head and pressing the front of that muzzle to the toe of one of his boots, as if he could kiss it.
He smiles, reaching out as Jason gets to his feet and wrapping one of his gloved hands around the back of Jason's neck, tugging him in half a step. He stands tall, looks the single inch down at Jason, and slides his fingers around to grip the front of Jason's throat, so he can feel the way the Adam's apple beneath his palm bobs in a swallow. It's the one tell that Jason's kept from when he was human; every vampire has some human tell, if you watch long enough.
"That's my good boy," he murmurs, as he lets go. "Go on."
Jason's head dips, and then he steps back and pads off across the room on nearly silent footsteps, through the door into his actual bedroom. He has a separate one for clients, but since the rest of his clients aren't interested in this type of play he keeps the toys he's collected in his private bedroom instead. Wouldn't want to freak his other clients out after all; they're a little too vanilla to appreciate it, as far as he knows, and he knows more about how they like sex than most other people.
He walks over to his armchair and sits down on one of the arms, crossing one leg over the other and carefully balancing himself, waiting. Jason doesn't take long, and comes over to kneel in front of his legs but just a bit off center, so that when he presents the leather crop — head bowed, raised in both hands as an offering — it's actually within reach and he doesn't have to lean forward.
He takes it, wrapping his fingers around the handle and lifting it, letting Jason's hands lower, and watching those blue-green eyes rise to look at him again. He lets the crop dip, resting the tip against one of Jason's shoulders for a moment before sliding it up, along the curve of his skin and then up to tap, lightly, against the side of his neck. Muscle flexes beneath the skin, but Jason doesn't move, doesn't look away from him.
"What else did you bring me?" he asks, tapping the crop again. It's a sturdy enough tool that he can make it sting, and with enough strength he can make it sharp, but the crop is far from nasty enough to really hurt him. Jason's not much for heavy pain, anyway; he just likes a bite of it.
Jason shifts, reaching down halfway behind his leg and retrieving — he laughs — a bottle of massage oil. There's a look in Jason's eyes that he recognizes; behind the muzzle, Jason is grinning.
"I know what you're doing," he points out, to make it clear that he does see that this is Jason's clever plan to get him out of his clothes, "but you're right. That does look like fun." He uncrosses his legs, shifting over and settling into the armchair proper. "Come here."
There's a little bit of confusion in Jason's gaze, but no hesitance in his obedience. With a couple taps of the crop, he guides Jason to sit on the ground between his legs, head in his lap. Then he slides his left leg under Jason's arm, tapping his heel against a thigh as he strokes the fingers of his free hand through Jason's hair.
"You can start with my legs," he says with a smile that's just on the edge of a smirk instead. "Go ahead and take the boot off."
Jason tilts up into the touch of his hand, and then looks down to run fingers across the boot. There's a zipper on the inside, and Jason's fingers are careful as they pull it down and then ease the boot down off of his leg. He relaxes back into the armchair, watching idly as Jason uncaps the bottle and pours some into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. The first touch is still just a little bit cool, but Jason's hands are confident and skilled as they smooth the oil over his skin and then rub into the back of his calf. He gives a small groan at the feeling; right on the edge of too deep thanks to the strength in those hands, but so nice. He might end up with a bruise or two, but it's totally worth it.
"I should have you do this every time you come," he murmurs, leaning his head back against the armchair. "Whoever taught you how, thank them next time you see them, alright?"
Jason chuckles, then arches his head back enough that he can actually meet his gaze. "I'd be happy to do this for you, sir," Jason answers, with that curve to his eyes and expression to them that tells him there's a smile behind the muzzle.
He smiles back, running his fingers across Jason's scalp. "I know, Jay." He leans forward and down, until he can press a soft kiss to Jason's forehead and then murmur, "You're sweet like that."
Jason's gaze flickers away, fingers faltering, and he reacts as soon as he recognizes the little tells of emotion. He gives a sharp strike of the crop just below Jason's ear — enough to make him startle at the noise; the impact is almost nothing to a vampire — and then slides his crop in beneath Jason's jaw and pushes his head back a little further, demanding his attention. Jason, although startled, gives it.
"Ah-ah," he corrects. "No shame, Jay, remember? I like that you're this way; you haven't got anything to be embarrassed about, sweetheart."
The tension eases out of Jason, and those eyes close for a moment, brow easing out as Jason leans into him. "Thank you," he breathes.
The crop comes away as easily as he slid it in to begin with, and he gives one soothing, reminding tug to Jason's hair before he gently pushes him up again. "Do my legs, and then we'll check in and see if we're switching things up. Though, I'm really tempted to just let you do a full massage and then maybe like, nap for a few minutes."
Jason's laugh is pretty close to a snicker, and he grins even as he swats at Jason's shoulder with the crop.
"Hush," he says. "Yeah, yeah; plan probably worked. Don't make me have to punish you for being a brat, sweetheart." It's all teasing, and Jason gives another laugh, lower, but doesn't answer.
His leg feels a bit like jelly — really good jelly — so he just gives a huff of laughter himself and relaxes against the chair again. He can think about what to do next when he doesn't feel quite so good.
Jason does end up giving him the full-body massage, and he does drift off to sleep for a bit after a gloriously extended scalp massage, with Jason's fingers running through his hair and rubbing just hard enough at his head. When he comes to Jason is lying at his back, one hand resting delicately on his waist, and the texture of the muzzle pressed to the nape of his neck. He feels deliciously relaxed, and the first thing he does is reach down and take Jason's hand, pulling that arm up and over his chest.
He gives a happy hum, and Jason presses a little closer, obligingly letting himself be pulled.
"Sleep well?" Jason asks, voice soft and just a bit muffled.
"Yes," he breathes, squeezing Jason's hand. "These are magic. I could get addicted, I swear."
Jason nuzzles at his neck, giving a pleased-sounding sigh. "Happy to serve, sir."
He smiles, and turns over so he can meet Jason's eyes and raise a hand to stroke a thumb just over where the muzzle ends, to the side of one of those eyes. "Good boy," he praises, mostly because Jason's more than earned it, but also to see those eyes light up from within. He just admires that for a moment, before he cups the side of Jason's face and asks, "Do you need anything else, Jay?"
Jason gives a tiny shake of his head. "I'm satisfied, sir. Whatever you want me to do I'll be glad to." He studies the look in Jason's eyes for a few moments — calm acceptance, and gentle desire — and then nods.
This was never really about hurting Jason. This was about pushing Jason into a specific headspace, and then just stepping back and letting him enjoy that headspace. Someone like Jason, even knowing their submission is imminent, needs to be pushed into a space where they're not thinking about what they're doing through their usual lenses. Jason loves to serve, and wants to feel needed, desired, and appreciated. He just wants to make someone happy, and it's sweet and perfect and he adores fulfilling that need, but those are hard things to accept as desires for a top-of-the-world, old-blood vampire like Jason. Most people wouldn't accept it, let alone understand it.
And then, in the times that Jason needs to actually be hurt, to be pushed even further, well, he can do that. He can enjoy it.
"Good." He strokes the hair away from Jason's face, and says, "Duck your head down; let me get that muzzle off of you."
Jason shifts forward, hair brushing his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of the bowed head before he lets his fingers slide back and find the buckle for the muzzle. He's had practice doing this one-handed, so it comes off easily, and Jason lifts his head again so he can pull the leather off and toss it away across the bed. He smiles, stroking Jason's jaw, all the way down to brush a thumb over his lips. Jason's eyes shutter closed for a moment, mouth parting and tongue slipping out to flick against his thumb, like the tasting test of some kind of snake.
"Go ahead," he grants, lowering his hand to give Jason free rein.
There's a moment of pause, and then Jason reaches over and pulls him forwards as he tilts back, until he's lying partially on top of Jason's chest, with just a bit of angle so they're not actually flat. Jason's hand settles on his low back, and then the other rises and carefully pulls his hair away from his neck to leave it bare on the closer side. Fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his skull, holding him lightly in place, and he watches — fearless — as Jason parts his mouth and his canines slide further out into actual fangs. White, sharp, mostly hidden when pulled back but still unmistakable if you know what you're looking for. Almost no true humans have canines that viciously sharp.
He smiles in welcome and lets himself relax, tilting his head a bit more to the side to offer his throat more blatantly. "Go ahead, sweetheart," he murmurs, repeating the reassurance to nudge Jason past that last bit of hesitance.
Jason meets his gaze for a moment, and then leans forward and carefully angles his head so the bite comes natural. He still gasps when the fangs pierce the skin of his throat, dig deep enough to puncture the vein beneath them, and then slide back so the blood runs free. Jason sucks at his throat, muscle flexing beneath where his hands are resting, hand gone tight in his hair. He breathes as evenly as he can manage, feeling himself relax into it as the venom that comes with that initial bite slides through his system, basically sedating him. There are more complicated explanations for it, and he can rattle them off the top of his head these days, but the important bits are that the venom that coats the fangs numbs the human instinct of fight or flight. More than enough to give a vampire an edge, especially combined with blood loss.
He pets Jason's chest idly, eyes closed, mouth parted as the strange, dull ache slides down his neck and partially into his shoulder. Jason starts to pull back and he makes a sharp sound of denial, pressing his hand down against the muscle of Jason's chest.
"That's not enough," he breathes. "Take what you need, Jason. Now."
The order does it. Jason gives a rumbling growl into his neck and pulls him closer, mouth pulling a little harder against his neck, the ache spreading down further through him at the increased loss of blood. He swallows, gasps at the sting as the muscles in his neck shift and pull against the fresh wounds. Jason's hands flex against him, holding him just a little closer, just a little tighter. He can feel the lethargy setting in, sensation familiar almost to the point of comfort.
Then Jason eases back, grip loosening and letting him go. The mouth stays for a moment, tongue licking over the puncture wounds in his neck. He lets Jason lick at the wounds until they seal, then gives a pleased hum and allows himself to be shifted back and carefully laid down on the bed.
He lies still, opening his eyes with a bit of effort to watch as Jason moves away, getting up and leaving the room with a quick stride. He stays watching the door until Jason slips back in and circles around to get on the bed next to him. What he's carrying — a glass of water, a bottle of pills, a bag of pretzels, and a blanket — gets set aside, so Jason can get a hold of him and help him up, leaning him back against the headboard and then carefully pulling in pillows to support his back and give him almost a nest. The blanket gets spread over him, pushed down at his sides but only over his left, faintly aching arm, so his right is still free. He gives a soft laugh when Jason shifts in beside him, the bottle of pills rattling as it's picked up.
"You take better care of me than anybody else," he murmurs, leaning against Jason's shoulder, smiling.
"It's a lot less than what you do for me," Jason answers, and then asks, "Still taking two?" He hums confirmation, and Jason opens the bottle and picks out two of the pills; iron and vitamin C and a whole other cocktail of stuff that helps him replenish blood a lot faster than most humans. "Here, swallow these."
He takes them, dropping them on his tongue and then taking the water when Jason hands it to him. A hand stays carefully on his wrist as he drinks, ready to catch the glass if it slips. He'd be amused, except that it's happened a couple times. Same rules as donating blood to other humans. Drink lots of fluids, eat salty things, don't do any hard labor for the rest of the day, and don't try to get up too fast. Sex is an experience after letting a vampire feed from him, but it's one that he's learned how to manage and enjoy.
Jason opens the bag of pretzels, drops it in his lap, and then shifts closer, sliding an arm around his back and holding him close, still carefully supporting that glass of water. He smiles, nuzzling the side of Jason's head, and relaxes. He drinks the water first, until the glass is empty, and then goes for the pretzels. It takes a while, but his strength comes back before too long, like it always does.
He licks the salt off of his fingers, and then quietly asks, "Fetch me my robe? The actual comfy one?"
Jason kisses his temple before moving to obey, then comes back with the grey, fluffy robe he wears when he's not trying to entice clients and helps him into it. Not that he actually needs the help now, but Jason wants to and he kind of likes being cared for. Jason, knowing what comes next, helps him to his feet — that he does appreciate the help with — and pulls him into a soft hug. He returns it gladly, letting his head rest on Jason's shoulder for a minute as Jason slowly, almost imperceptibly, sways them slightly. It's comforting.
"Is there anything you want me to do before I go?" Jason asks eventually, not pulling away in the slightest.
"No, I've got it." He strokes his fingertips down Jason's spine, and adds, "Go get your clothes back on, Jay; I'll follow you." Slowly, but that goes without saying.
Following Jason isn't as difficult as it could have been. He's tired, and a little weak, but he's not as wiped out as he's been sometimes; he can walk on his own and without feeling dizzy, that's the major one. When he gets out to the living room Jason is tying the laces on his shoes, looking basically immaculate again and way too handsome. Jason meets him, taking his hands and raising them to press a kiss to the back of each hand, one after the other.
"Thank you," Jason murmurs, eyes bright and clear in a way he knows his are not. "I'll see you next month?"
"Next month," he confirms, with a tired smile. "Always a pleasure, Jason."
His hands are released; Jason steps away. Then pauses, hesitates, turns back, and bluntly says, "Roy, I'm about to cross a line."
He blinks, a little confused but paying attention. "What line?"
Jason hesitates another moment, almost looking nervous. More nervous than he's been since their first few appointments. "Roy, I know this is inappropriate considering the client thing, and you can totally feel free to ignore me if you want, but I was wondering… Would you like to have dinner with me?" A pause, a moment where his eyes widen, and then Jason says, "Shit. No, I didn't mean— Obviously I'm not going to— Your kind of dinner." A hand scrubs over Jason's face, and he gives a frustrated groan. "Fuck, can I start over?"
The surprise is sliding into bemusement, and he agrees. "Go ahead."
Jason takes in a short breath, meets his gaze, and asks, "Would you like to go on a date with me, Roy?"
He thinks about that question for a moment, holding Jason's gaze. "There are a lot of legal restrictions about a donator having any kind of personal relationship with a vampire," he points out. "Have you read any of the fine print?"
"No," Jason admits. "Is there a law against it? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"There's no law." He smiles, and reaches out towards Jason, taking one cool hand in his own and giving it a light squeeze. "It's feeding restrictions, mostly. Nothing that isn't manageable." He smirks at the awkward choice of wording. "Yes, Jason; I'd love to have dinner with you."
And Jason… Jason's smile is brilliant.