John wrinkles his nose but his bastard dick twitches again and makes a liar of that exaggerated distaste.

"Yeah, probably, if that's what you're into. But you'd get sick." Of his vampire lovers, he only ever let Eddie drink, and he couldn't handle the small sip he had. Armand is older, but there's a lot of blood in a hard dick.

John takes a step closer, feet right up against Armand's knees, and threads a hand into his soft curls. It does make him feel a little better, such venomously willing devotion. "You don't have misophonia, do you?" he asks idly, thinking about peanuts in the Admiralty meeting, the narrowing of luminous orange eyes. As with everybody Armand wants to love him, he's got other things on his mind.