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"...What...?" Samael asked quietly, momentarily forgetting about his position upon the much younger man and his ultimate goal. Out of all the names for Errol to whimper, it was his own, and not his full alias but the nickname he urged the Frenchman to call him. The fingers upon the man's eyes twitched. They were wet. Water. Tears. Errol was crying now, wasn't he? He closed his own eyes and sneered. If the man fell apart so easily then why bother with stupidity in the first place? If Errol really cared about anything, he would have been smart about it all. He would not have taken in as much alcohol as he had, never left the safety of the suite (though, really, Samael had been the one to kick him out in his anger), and he would have not collapsed in the middle of the alleyway where he could be raped, beaten, and killed.

A low growl sounded in his throat. "And I ********' told you to speak English, a*****e. Looks like you're screwed. Heh, literally too." The vampire took a deep breath and rubbed against his chest with the fingers of the hand not pressed against Errol's eyes. He was being cruel, terribly so, and as if to prove the point, now the Frenchman was crying. Crying. Men did not cry without a reason. And though he felt bad, somewhere deep down within him, the sobbing angered him further, rivaling his need to comfort him. Errol was one of those people, those humans, that were impossible to not hate, but at the same time, it was difficult to push him away. He needed the man around to ridicule and release his frustrations upon. He had become a stress relief of sorts and when others did him harm.. well... it bothered him. Errol may have been idiotic, but he was Samael's idiot.

Samael pressed his lips to the opposing pair and whispered harshly under his breath, "********' shut up stupid. Just shut up." The taste of the human strengthened, once again tingling his cold labia. He pressed closer, forcing Errol into a rough kiss, lips assaulting lips, tongue turning invasive as it pushes its way outward, pushing up the blond's upper lip. He grimaced when the taste of booze and vomit reached his sensitive taste buds, but he did not pull away. Had he ignored it earlier or did he only detect the nauseating parts of their connection because of how deep it had become? "Mm.."

The combination of teeth digging into his sensitive tongue, the hands pressing hard against his chest, and the vulgar words emanating from the human in the form of a hiss all resulted in a momentary lapse of judgment, strength, and understanding. Errol rarely used American curse words; he said it was vulgar, unneeded, and usually preferred French over English. If the man had any idea who it was he had bitten, his word choice would have been much better. For a new curser, his vocabulary was not terrible, but he had a lot to learn. Samael's mother died many years ago and he did not remember her face, personality, or anything so having her called a b***h did little to him. And hell was nice; he quite liked it. The word was not used to describe a location, but as a demonic creature, the four lettered swear touched him.

The amusement did not last long, however, as it battled and lost against the pain pulsating through Samael's tongue. He threw his body away from the human, hand following and soon pressing itself against the muscle now hanging out of his mouth in a fashion similar to a panting dog. It healed quickly, but the underlying truth of the matter remained; Errol had bitten him. HIM. The unappreciative little b*****d. Would he have rather stayed out in the cold, dank alleyway where groups could take turns gangbanging him after discovering he did not carry a single penny on him? Before kissing Errol, he had shifted it from his mouth to his sleeve--it was a wonder that it stayed in place--and feeling upset for even bothering to grab it for the human, he threw it across the room where it smacked against the wall and flopping over, tumbling twice in the air during its descent until it fell still against the wooden floor.

Samael moved his hand away from his face and gave Errol a smack across the face, nothing to do serious, permanent damage, but he imagined it would sting quite a bit. "Gladly, Errol. This son of a b***h will get the hell off of you." He released the ill man, but did not slide off of him completely (he paid no attention to the fact that Errol had already nearly pushed him away already with his one shove). No, he had to give him one final, long lasting impression. For the bite. The push. The ineffective curse words. He leaned in close, pressing his forehead against the other man's, and narrowed his eyes until they became slits, for once his appearance matching the monster he truly is.

"Don't you ever ********' do that again if you know what's good for you. You have any idea how annoying it is savin' your tan little a** in the blink of an eye?" Tan little a**. Speaking of rape led to thoughts of other things and since 'saving an a**' was an expression, it seemed only right to slip in the other adjectives. He had seen Errol's rear on a few occasions, many of which the other man was not privy to. "I have a life, man, and if you keep up s**t like this, you won't be in it." He pulled away completely, turned his back toward Errol, and folded his arms. "...Looks like you're... gonna be okay and pull through. Good. I mean, 's not like I have to worry about lugging your dead carcass out of here. The whole room would reek if I kept you." He'll be fine. A dead guy doesn't bite like that, not unless he's a vampire or zombie or somethin'. Man...

A bite and run. Errol was idiotic, but having the audacity to act as if nothing had happened was unexpected. There was no response to the brush of cold fingers against warm skin, a passionately rough connection of lips, or the sight of the nearly immortal being's close proximity. No, instead the human chose to grind his teeth into Samael's tongue, threatening to puncture it, and harshly push him away. It was understandable at the time--Errol did not know who his 'rapist' was--but once the vampire's face and his devilishly good looks were uncovered, he did nothing but talk in French (surely swearing and insulting again) and smile at him as if nothing had ever happened. He was caught up in his own little world, wasn't he? And it was Samael's job to knock him down a few pegs.

"You're a ********' idiot. I brought your a** back here! 'S not like I HAD to go out of my way for the likes of you! You're so--Errol?" The human's real name slipped through his lips, taking advantage of the shock overtaking him. In all of his years of life as a vampire, Samael had never seen a human this ill before and, frankly, it startled him. Errol was not an average mortal. He was a Frenchman, that annoying nuisance of a roommate that could not be rid of; he was Errol. "Hey..." He wrinkled his nose, disgusted by the vile display of projecting bile and partially digested food. The sounds, oh the noises that emanated from the blond--they sent shivers down his spine. And the smell, that hit him equally as hard. If his organs still functioned, nausea would have brought him to join Errol. The two men would have redecorated the room with splashes of color. "Errol..."

Samael hesitantly raised himself from where he still sat upon the bed and walked over to the fallen man. His offer for the vampire to kill him once sounded inviting, though he would never truly murder him, but now it just seemed foolish. Errol was in pain so he would stay in pain. But Samael did not want him to hurt so terribly. However, at the same time, he had no idea how to handle the situation. Human illnesses were not easily to overcome, not when they had reached a severity such as this. His chest quenched his unbeating heart. This was not the beginning of the end, was it? The vomiting could not possibly be the beginning of a long, painfully drawn out death. Errol was still young, practically a baby (compared to the vampire), and had a right to live. Why did the humans he became close to always perish?

He squatted at Errol's side and gently brushed a hand against the man's body. Music from Sweeney Todd's title menu danced within the air and it was tempting, but he would not leave the human man like this. Not when Errol so desperately needed him. How ironic, it seemed, that prey would need comfort from a hunter. But Errol was much more than an easy meal. Samael could not say exactly what it was that the man was, but he knew he could not afford to lose him. From now on, there would be rules. No more than one glass of wine and that would be consumed sparingly. Once every two weeks seemed tolerable. Samael would be giving up the affection a drunken Frenchman showed, but if it meant prolonging the man's life, such sacrifices were worth it. Later, he would dispose of all alcohol still stored within his suite.

"...What did you do to yourself, stupid?" Samael murmured, pulling Errol into his arms and close to his cold body. The pad of one of his thumb lightly rubbed at a warm cheek, caressing the paler than usual skin. "You're messin' up my place. Propelling s**t from your mouth and stinkin' up the place. You know how much that sucks with this nose?" He brushed some of Errol's hair away from his face and sighed. "I'll get you a bowl or somethin'. You better just sleep this off. I swear, if you don't, I'll kick your a**." Smirking weakly--this actually takes some effort--he stood, now holding the blond man against his chest like a husband would hold a bride. He carried him to the bed and carefully set the weak body atop the comforter. "I mean it. I'll kick your a**. And that's not the worst I'll do to you."

Save him, kill him, stay--the Frenchman had a way of repeatedly contradicting himself and begging for things Samael would not bother doing or listening to simply because Errol was the one who had made the request. If he killed the man or stayed by his side, it would be because he wanted to. It would be hid own choice, not because of Errol's words. He rolled his eyes and sat upon the edge of the bed where he leaned back, sighing loudly. Two of his fingers pressed against his brow, lightly massaging the skin there. How did he manage to get himself roped into this? Was it because he finally used the man to release his sexual frustrations upon? Should he have not let the human consume his body weight--the exaggeration seemed more truthful than the real facts--in wine? It was hilarious at the time, but if these were the repercussions, then he would never ever mention the words 'wine' or 'alcohol,' lest he offer Errol a foolish idea and craving for the drink. Not to mention that he had already sworn to himself that he would get the man to lay off wine completely.

"Just shut up already. How many times to I have to tell you that before you figure it out?" Samael's concern reached his eyes, but he would not allow it to enter his voice. It was easier to look away, which he soon did, to hide it, but voices were more difficult. The smallest waver, the tiniest inconsistency, would give away the feelings he did not quite understand or wish to comprehend. He rested a hand upon Errol's forehead, feeling for a fever though if there was or was not a raise in body temperature, it would be difficult to detect; he had a different tolerance for temperature than humans and could not easily tell the difference between warm and cold. "And next time you feel like spillin' your guts, get your a** to the bathroom. I don't need French puke all over the room. Trust me, it ain't romantic unlike that so called language."

Samael slipped off of the bed and walked over to the doorway where he glanced over his shoulder at Errol, a frown creasing his brow though a smirk remained upon his face--apparently Errol was not the only contradictory one; Samael had become a sort of walking oxymoron "Sleep it off. Prove to me you're not just some weak thing I'm wasting my time with." He grabbed the trashcan and exited the room, quietly gagging from the foul stench. The longer he stayed with the blond, the more he came to find humans to be disgusting creatures. The ones who believed vampires existed commented on how drinking blood was ghastly, but at least he didn't blow it all over the place when it disagreed with him (if it ever disagreed). He disposed of the garbage by opening a window in the kitchen and throwing the garbage can out of it. Like he was going to clean the thing. And it would not be difficult to either buy or pilfer a new one.

Once finished, the vampire closed the window again and brushed his palms against each other a few times cleaning them of imaginary bile and food that never touched his pale, flawless skin in the first place. "That's better. Damn... I swear, one of these days, that guy's gonna..." Sighing again, he shook his head and fetched a glass and a bowl from the cabinet. Food around the suite was scarce, though not so much anymore because a food-eater now lived with him, but he made sure to stock his cabinets with dishes. At times, it was nice to drink blood from a wine glass. There was something oddly sophisticated about it. The glass would allow him to drink while being interviewed without a second glance. The interviewer would assume the liquid was wine. After all, it was a deep enough color of red.

He held the glass beneath the faucet and turned it on, releasing a steady stream of water he would not touch. The glass filled three fourths of the way before Samael pulled it away and turned off the faucet. Then, he took the bowl into his free hand and returned to the room, his footsteps silent. One sweep over the ill man's body with his eyes reawakened the worry gnawing within him and he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. Errol was an idiot. That was all. He set the bowl down at Errol's side and sat next to it where he held out the glass of water. "If you're still up, guzzle this down. Humans need this crap, right? You're no different. Oh, and if you don't take it, I'll force it down." Samael turned his nose up and snorted softly. He would not take no for an answer.

Despite Samael's threat, Errol opted to be difficult, topping it off by throwing a pathetic threat of his own back at the vampire. But unlike the blond, the undead being really saw his words to be more of a promise than just talk. He grasped Errol by a wrist to hold the hand away from both of their bodies while shook his head in irritation. The man enjoyed pressing his buttons and finding different ways to burrow himself beneath the being's cold skin. Too many years passed since Samael lived life as a mortal and he could remember nothing of his youthful days, but common sense told him enough. Humans needed food and water within them. If either were lost, a body needed to be replenished. So therefore--this really did not take a genius to comprehend or figure out; it was not as if he were bringing math into the word equation--water would do the job and efficiently. Wine, again, was and would forever be out of the question.

Samael looked at the water filling the glass in his hand and grew slightly paler. In small quantities, the liquid was not dangerous, but it still chilled him. There was a human saying (he swears it) that said a person could drown in a couple of centimeters of the devil's creation. It looked innocent, reflecting all but the vampire, but he knew better. Oh, he knew its true intentions. Shuddering, he shook his head again, this time to stop his train of thought before it became too bizarre and he began to mentally comment on the clear substance and respond to himself. His eyes returned to Errol's feeble form, showing the man boredom with borderline annoyance. Thoughts about the water had extinguished the flickering flames of anger.

"You'll get sick on me? After all I ********' do for your sorry a**?" He growled his words and leaned closer, holding the glass away from the ailing man. The grip upon Errol's wrist loosened until it released him completely, arm now snaking itself around the man's back and pulling him close until their chests touched. "You'll drink it even if I gotta kill you to get it down. Then at least your body'll get cleaned out. And hey, I'd get rid of your annoying voice so it looks like I'd win."

Crimson optics, now trembling slightly, glance at the water held an arm's length away from their awkward embrace. Samael groaned softly, realizing what he had to do. If he forcefully pressed the glass against Errol's lips, the man could easily clench his teeth and pucker his labia to prevent even the smallest of droplets from entering. Then there would be a mess on the bed. Errol would complain, Samael would shout, and everything would grow messy. One of the men would have to change the sheets since the vampire turned away the maid service (and for a very good reason) unless he needed it. Calling someone into the room now would do more harm than good. No, there was no other choice.

The rim of the glass clinked against the white teeth of Samael's upper gums, hinting that the cup would have to be lowered slightly. Begrudgingly, Samael not only lowered the water's holder, but also tilted it forward, filling his oral cavity with the cold, repulsive beverage. Before he could spit everything out onto the bed or over the floor, he pulled Errol closer and pressed his lips roughly against the other man's pair, hoping to catch him by surprise, and enough of it, so that the Frenchman would unknowingly and unwillingly drink the vile, unwanted drink in the vampire's mouth. This brought them to make an awkward connection, for Samael did not wish to drip water if he could help it and he did not give Errol any previous warning.

The vampire had definitely done smarter thing in the past, but he honestly could not state he had done dumber than his current action. Water itself was nauseating enough, but to add a pair of lips to the mixture, two labia normally terribly addicting though now stained by the taste of vomit, was not a stroke of genius. Luckily, the taste of vile and partially digested food did not hit him as strongly as it was capable of. The water seemed to have some sort of use for once; it helped to dilute the nauseating connection. He closed his eyes tightly and groaned softly, water bubbling within his oral cavity from the air escaping his chest. Each popped bubble smacked against the roof of his mouth or the upper portion of the inner sides of his cheeks. This was most uncomfortable, especially when the thoughts of drowning filled his mind. Strange how the smallest of differences between his usual choice of drink and what currently filled his mouth resulted in a negative reaction. After all, blood was made up of mostly water. The demonic creature would forever remain oblivious to the fact or live in denial.

Samael grabbed Errol by the top of his head and rotated his hand a few degrees to one side, turning the human's head in the process. Afterwards, his face turned slightly, tilting to his right to counter the face tilted to his left. This brings their lips to create a sort of an 'X' through their connection. The position would prevent water from dripping onto his bed, or more importantly, the guitarist's clothes, and would prevent any sort of choking. Or so he hoped. Errol was a stubbornly annoying Frenchman and could very well kill himself. He already showed Samael how capable he was at putting his own life in danger. The man needed to be constantly watched over like a pathetic child and the vampire did not enjoy being a sort of baby-sitter for him, but if left alone, the blond would perish and then Sam would grow angry. Very angry. And he would rather not face that because when a vampire turned irate, things tended to happen, things he would not remember because of a blackout.

"Mmph..." Using the muscles in his cheeks, Samael pulled them in, lessening the area the water had to settle and thrusting it out of his body and into Errol's mouth, past his lips. He hoped that the other male opened his mouth during the kiss so the liquid would have a place to travel because having the water move through small spaces between teeth took more effort and pressure. If it backfired, he would still find a way. It was easy to force a human's mouth open. A kick or a well-placed hand would result in noises and in order for said noises to be released, a jaw needed to be dropped.

The plan backfired and somehow, he had not seen it coming. After being pushed away, the hand holding water rotated, tilting the glass enough for the cool liquid to spill. If the now very wet spot on the bed, disgustingly imitating the appearance of a mess a child may have left behind, were not bad enough, when his hand moved, the glass rolled down his fingers, landing upon the ground where it shattered upon impact. The lovely way he set up Errol's room was destroyed. He was WET. That disgusting substance managed to soak his right sleeve. And that made him PISSED.

Samael closed the distance Errol created between their bodies and straddled the human so he could easily glare into his eyes. His upper lip curled into a bit of a snarl, making his growl sound all the more feral. His hand roughly grasped the man's chin and pulls it closer. "You think you're so ********' cool, don't you? Think you can get away with doin' crap like that 'cause you're sick, huh? Well, it's not gonna work." He released Errol's face and climbed off of the bed, heals failing to miss the glass shards. Luckily, his light weight prevents him from cutting himself severely and the small slices that he does gain are smaller than paper cuts and are hardly noticed for they heal quickly.

"Stay in here and think about what you did. Oh, and while you're at it, go ahead and enjoy the last ten minutes of your life. Trust me, if you don't spend it how you want now, you're gonna be screwed." The vampire bent over and picked up each and every small piece of glass and then left the room to toss it into another garbage since Errol had the nerve to ruin the one in the blond's room. Before tossing out the trash, however, he releases a long string of profanity. He rescues Errol from an alleyway and a shady man and he gets pushed away and practically attacked. He gives the hung-over man water and he ends up being pushed again. Not a single finger would ever again be raised for the human. His free hand slides open the window, giving him room to toss out the broken glass in his other. The man could not think logically while mulling over irate thoughts and another trashcan was too far away to fetch.

Errol's voice held many powers. It had the ability to pull on Samael's nerves to the point of bending each molecule until it snapped. It could bring joy (rarely) or sorrow (often but never shown) depending on the emotion portrayed. Different tones triggered a single, strong emotion, but the voice did not stop there. No, on rare occasions it had the power to force a combination of everything upon the vampire at once, sending him into a state of confusion and eventually, an irate anger he and those around him failed to escape from unscathed. And now was one of those common times when the sound of the other man sent bolts of annoyance throughout his body, prickling at his spine, arms, and legs. At least until he felt something peculiar. Something... wet. Oh great.

Samael took a quarter turn, curiosity and disgust telling him to see what it was that began to seep into his shirt, and pressed his hands against Errol's shoulders to prevent the other man from toppling over once his support had shifted. His nose wrinkled upon seeing the Frenchman. He should have realized that the sudden addition of light weight upon his body in addition to words floating toward his ears meant one thing and one thing alone--Errol was being an idiot and crawled out of bed when he needed rest. His health was of importance to the guitarist (well, since Errol was sort of a convenience, a sort of blood bank on hand) and when it was challenged, his blood figuratively boiled.

"What the hell do you think you're doin' id--" He slowly blinked and pushed back Errol's forehead to get a good view of the man's face. Then he saw it--unnatural brackish water flowing from his tear ducts. The title 'Frenchman' entitled that the human was a man, but if so why did he shed so many tears? There was something wrong with his mentality. A finger lightly traced Errol's lower lip, wiping away some of the disturbing liquid. He flicked a few droplets off of his digit and sighed loudly. "And here I thought humans needed brains to function. You proved me wrong, stupid."

One of his arms snaked around Errol's back and pulled him close, acting as both a support and an attempt at this thing called comfort. Samael hated physical contact like this, but if he left the blond alone, who knew what could happen? "Are you gonna walk around like this all night or are you actually gonna sleep? Or sleep eternally? You know, choke? Die? Pass on? Go to hell? 'Cause, hell, I know you're not gonna go to that other place." The phrase may have sounded cruel, but coming from a vampire, talk of hell really should be seen as more of a compliment than insult. "Get your a** to bed before I have to carry you like a rag doll again. And before I do things to your unconscious body. Dangerous things you don't even wanna imagine."