"How often do you need to, well... Eat?" As usual, Phantom hardly cared about the tact of his own words, as long as they didn't cast him in an unrefined light.
It was the day after when they had ventured back to Evan's house, or rather, night. Evan was in the bed upstairs in the house they had returned to, hopefully asleep, while Phantom and Freud once again sat on the old, dusty couches and made discussion.
Freud grimaced, "Do we have to talk about this?"
"It's my blood that you're asking to take."
"Who said I was asking?"
Phantom's eyes narrowed. "Freud."
"Fine," The experiment answered the earlier question. "At least once a week."
"At least...?"
"Or else I start to turn as mindless as them,"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Phantom abruptly held up his hands in a halting gesture. His lip curled in distaste as he narrowed his eyes. "I am not letting you play tonsil hockey with my neck at least once a week."
"And if I say, 'yes, you're going to'?" Amusement flickered in Freud's blue eyes.
"Bite my ass."
It occurred to Phantom too late that that had been the wrong choice of words. In a moment that happened too quickly, Phantom was pinned face down on the couch with Freud straddling his thighs. He let out a muffled yelp into the couch cushion as the experiment's clever fingers hooked into the hem of his tightly hugging jeans and tugged down.
Phantom felt a flash of cold air against his ass, before he felt sharp teeth sink into his right cheek and a warm, wet tongue flick out. The blond let out a strangled moan. And just as suddenly, the sensation was gone, and the weight was lifted off the backs of Phantom's legs.
Phantom flipped over, his body hot with embarrassment and arousal, and was ready to chew Freud out when he saw the redhead raise a finger to his lips, a cocky smirk flitting about them, "You wouldn't want to wake Evan, would you?"
And for once in his life, the clever-tongued blond was tongue-tied.
Phantom let out a frustrated growl and stalked off. He had finally met his match in someone as infuriating as he, himself, was.
Phantom inevitably came back. He always did. This time, Freud's voice took on a more serious tone.
"If I remember where the lab is, will you come with me?"
Phantom temporarily ignored the question in favor of his curiosity. "Why don't you remember?"
"The scientists, well... They worked for the government, and the government was corrupted. They were members of an organization called the Black Wings, and... They were doing things. Things that they shouldn't have. Things against the public," Freud grimaced, rubbing at his temples with the effort it took to recall just that.
"They erased parts of my memory in order to protect theirselves. But... They weren't bad people," Freud murmured sadly. "They just worked for the wrong place. And in the end, they were trying to create a cure."
Freud met Phantom's eyes, then. "I could use your help in finding the cure."
"...I'll come. It's better than just staying here," Phantom hated the idea of being stuck in a single place. Losing his freedom. The thought made him want to shudder.
"Thank you."
