This was interesting pillow talk indeed. It was nice to have a match of wits, even as he longed to put his hands down Marius' pants, to feel him. "I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair," he whispered, finding more poetry. "Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets."

He could feel the whiskey wearing off, replaced by the heady dizziness of lust. The kisses, soft along his neck, brought a flush to his skin that rose up in goosebumps when a kiss brushed close to the bullet scar in his shoulder. "Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day...I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps."

Predatory, wanting, and longing to be wanted. It pushed his resolve away.