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Errol was fine, at least fine enough to spread his stupidity around the room, extending the reach in which it could grow. Brackish water continued to surface and at an accelerated pace, something that was completely uncalled for and unnecessary. Was the vampire's touch really that unwanted? Well, the Frenchman would just have to deal with cold strong arms, for Samael did not care and was not about to release him any time soon, not for the next few minutes until he threw the man's body upon his bed. He rolled his eyes, an action that had become casual and an everyday occurrence (and it seemed to be some kind of optical exercise) around the human man, and tightened his hold, growing more possessive as if his embrace could ward off whatever evil masked itself as a hangover. He growled softly, but it did not take long for the vibrations within his throat to abruptly cease. What was Errol going on about now? Was he delusional too? He slowly blinked his eyes and raised a brow, lips twitching. "...Huh?"

Ten minutes, ten minutes, ten minutes, what was this talk about ten minutes? Samael pondered for a moment, running over their previously shared conversation, though admittedly most of it was one-sided, in an attempt to translate the other man's sappy comment. And then he had it. Ten minutes, that was the length of time he said Errol had before the earth would be free from the existence of one Frenchman. Errol had actually taken that to heart? Just great. He was even dumber than the vampire previously assumed. By now, the man should know that his undead roommate would not purposely harm him to the point where he would see his life flash before his eyes. This could all have been an excuse to get Samael to continue to hold him. The thought seemed logical enough, albeit sinister for a human.

"Hey, the ten minutes can only be spend doin' things with my consent..." Samael turned while leaning away and lightly flicked Errol's forehead with the index finger of the hand not fully supporting him while taking special care not to drop the weak body. "You're goin' to bed, dumbass. Stop makin' me act like your keeper. You're worse than some dog or cat who needs feeding." With a swooping motion, he lifted the blond, one arm resting against his back while the other positioned itself behind his legs. If Errol was going to act like a woman, he would be carried like one. Again. "And if you don't stop blubbering now, I'll dump you for real. Drop you here, kick you out of my place, and laugh at you when you're on the street. Tch... so damn annoying..." Of course, he would not do any of those things, for deep down, he truly worried for the man past his annoyance, confusion, and anger.

Samael stared at the man in his arms for a long while in silence, his expression unreadable. Though he continued to cry, Errol's response to his threats was unexpected and for some strange reason, he actually felt disappointed. Coming up with a comeback of his own would be difficult. If he declared he would really drop the Frenchman off outside in the street, then he would have to follow through since Errol seemed to be fine with the idea. And if he left him there, the chances of him never seeing the annoying man again were great. On the other hand, if he allowed Errol to stay after making a big deal about it, it would seem that he really did want the human living with him. Which... he sort of did. But he would not admit to it. Finding no way to respond, he ignores the statement entirely, passing it off as if he never heard the idiotic words. In the end, he would only hurt. An internal wound would reopen, invisible to the world but painfully real. He would not lose this man. Was that not why he interrupted his movie to rescue him when he pleaded for help? A hand moved to cover Errol's eyes. What exactly was the vampire allowing to surface? Could his whirlwind of emotional turmoil be seen? It was best to prevent Errol from catching onto something that the undead did not understand himself.

"...Yeah... I don't give a ******** about that. You're gettin' my bed, got it? And you better not do anything funny to it. Like pukin' your guts up or touching yourself." The vampire began the short walk to the aforementioned room, keeping his pace slow. To him, it felt as if he were crawling, but to a human, the gait was a normal speed. For the moment, he would make this sacrifice. It was best to not shake up the ill man's stomach and he would really rather not risk having his own clothes soiled by the other man. Once at his bedroom door, he easily elbowed it open; it was helpful that he had previously left it partially ajar. He slowly inched forward, eventually reaching his bed where he gently placed the other man, allowing his body to sink in the blankets still haphazardly slung here and there from when he awoke earlier in the evening. Next, his hand slipped away from Errol's eyes now that he felt it safe to do so. He had regained his composure and went the extra mile, easily glaring at the man now.

"Baths are overrated and don't you even think you're gonna take one now. 'Sides, I think you shed enough of that.. water.. to count for a shower for both of us." He shuddered. Perhaps this was the reason why he never cried. The saline water was too disgusting for words and there was no reason to bring it into the world. Once inside a body, that was where it belonged. End of story. "'Cause y'know, if you take a bath now, you'd drown. And if you took a shower, you'd slip, fall, and then drown, stupid. Real men don't need baths after somethin' like this." His words hinted at his poor body hygiene, but unlike a human, his body did not sweat (he need not worry about overexerting himself, but if he could become truly tired, this may change entirely) so therefore, he did not have body odor. The only smell released by his body was a sort of pheromone that seemed through his skin without the need of water; it explained why so many were attracted to his kind aside from their good looks and natural charm. Though, of course there are those who were immune to the scent. And strangely, dirt just did not seem to cling to him no matter how dirty he became. It helped when it came to his aquaphobia.

The older man tugged and pushed at his blankets, trying to make them more presentable, but more importantly, more comfortable. It was hard to tell if Errol was sweating or not in the presence of his tears so he was hesitant about actually tucking in the man, but the least he could do was make his body feel well where it lay. If Errol wished for blankets, he would have to pull them over his mortal form himself. He did not see these actions as being 'too nice.' Surely he could get away with this without having the emotional man look too into it. The guy was probably disoriented anyway. "Now you're really gonna shut up and just stay here... stupid... MonSour..." He hesitated before using the derogatory term and nickname, but in the end, uttered both anyway. It had become a forced sort of habit and helped him show the other man his hatred, even if at times, he wondered if it was feigned. What a silly thought.

The urge to wake the Frenchman, to roughly shake him into a state of consciousness, was great, but one look at the slumbering man's face stopped Samael mid-action, leaving his hand to hover several inches above the tan face while he stared in wonder. When Errol's lips ceased flapping and heavy lids sheathed gray optics, it became difficult to ignore the man's natural beauty. Golden tresses, though matted and filthy, continued to shimmer, glowing in the slightest bit of light penetrating the darkness blanketing the room. Tan skin, though glistening from sweat or water and equally as dirty, looked, dare he think it, heavenly. Despite the human's forlorn appearance and intolerable personality, to the vampire, he looked nothing less than an angel fallen from grace. The comparison sent shivers down his arched spine, forewarning him of the dangers involvement with the mortal being would bring. Religious articles burned him and heavenly beings had the capability of ceasing the devilish being's immortal life. Adding traits belonging to one of God's servants to a fragile creature such as a human seemed unfair, even cruel. For once, Samael was able to come close, but not near enough to truly touch Errol or his beauty. This unnatural obsession left a dangerous curse in its wake; a curse Samael would surely suffer.

Slowly, the vampire dropped his hand to the mattress and creeped closer, eyelids slipping closed until his optics became half-lidded. Even with challenged vision, the man looked beautiful. Try as he might, Samael never did grow immune to Errol's features, but luckily for him, he succeeded in building a wall to mask his emotions and his stubborn nature made it impossible to give in. Well, to give in while Errol was awake. Now he found his resolve slipping away and his instinct kicking in. He may have been a vampire, but a male, no matter what the species, had the same basic wants and needs. Luscious lips curled slightly, begging for an intimate connection. They beckoned for a second pair, yearning for a feeling of completion only obtained through the touch of frozen poison. Innocence whispered to him, begging to be tainted. But this was all a guise; the human was no more innocent than the pale guitarist. And yet, the older man did not care.

Samael swept his nimble digits over one of Errol's cheeks, carefully caressing the warm skin, and pulled his body closer still, now straddling the other man with his legs and forearms. He slowly lowered his body to rest atop the human, using his light weight to his advantage; it seemed unlikely that Errol would wake from something as simple as this. "Mm..." After obtaining comfort, or as much as he could when touching something this wet, he tilted his chin up and kissed Errol upon the lips. His connection was brief, for his labia found another, usual point of interest. They slid to the man's neck, lightly massaging the skin between them before planting another kiss, marking a trail down the skin hiding his carotid artery. The path was as delectable bare as it was when covered in A negative blood.

"Mm.. Oh, right..." Samael rolled to the side to lay next to Errol, fingers doing another sweep of the slumbering man. He smirked at the tired individual, lips eventually tugging to the point where he began to grin. "Can't have you this wet on my bed. And hey... you're ********' dirty but since it has to do with your clothes this time and not your mind... looks like 'm gonna have to take care of it." With those words, he stripped Errol of his clothing, practically ripping each article off of him before tossing everything to the carpet below. "Much better..." He purred, index finger stroking Errol's chin. "Much, much better, MonSour.."

The nude body at his side became far more tempting now that all forms of attire ceased to clothe the warm, tan skin. At first, the vampire had removed everything, feeling that it would help prevent Errol from becoming ill--vampires were not the only ones who had trouble with water--but soon after, his instinct began to kick in, urging him to take his touches further. Dexterous fingers teased the skin of the Frenchman's chest, following every muscle he could detect as his crimson eyes surveyed the form set before him. The man was unconscious, but still seemed to enjoy this sort of physical contact. Apparently, he had found another way to touch his human without the use of alcohol. Surely, Errol would figure this all to be some sort of dream. It would save the vampire from embarrassment, but again, the man would not remember anything. His eyes narrowed. With these abilities, it was a shame to be forgotten. His skills were wasted on this living man.

Even so, Samael could not help himself. The hand closest to Errol wrapped itself around the slightly feminine, though obviously male, body, followed by his leg. Both limbs tightened and pulled, bringing his body to lay upon the other. Cold lips returned to the flesh of Errol's neck, hungrily nipping at the skin, releasing Errol's natural scent and taste, though not a droplet of blood. Causing the Frenchman to bleed now would do nothing but tire the man out further and tempt Samael to drink, perhaps, too much, as terrible hunger set in. He would settle upon this lovely taste within his mouth for the time being. It was addictive enough and set off small explosions of pleasure within his oral cavity, teasing his senses just as much as he teased Errol's body. Aside from Errol being the sickest the vampire had ever seen him, the moment seemed almost... perfect. He could touch his man without hesitation and take in the scent and feeling of his body.

"Mm.." He slowly trailed his lips lower, labia brushing against Errol's collarbone, shoulder, and chest, planting kisses and nipping softly throughout the movement. Tilting his head back, the trail was revisited, now taken in reverse so he could cover the other man's jawbone and lips. Those lips, still addicting as ever, called to him, acting as a sort of magnet for his own pair. Before his mind could catch up with his actions, he already made a connection, kissing the man deeply, but hardly cared. This was how it should be. His mortal and himself, touching and feeling without fear. As long as the vampire remained careful, everything would be fine. Errol would not be hurt and Samael could please himself.

Samael sighed softly and closed his eyes, breaking the connection of their lips so he could kiss Errol's nose, wrinkled brow, and then earlobe. Once at the man's ear, he nibbled upon the fleshy part of its bottom, incisors lightly massaging the skin. "Errol... MonSour..." One of his hands rested upon Errol's sides, grasping it lightly. He felt warm, so very warm, against his own skin. Almost too warm. The vampire could not tell exactly since his body temperature was not on par to a human's, but he knew he would have to pay attention to this. "..********'... idiot..." The pad of his right thumb caressed Errol's cheek. "...So... stupid..." Sliding back down the man's body, he kissed him again.

The last several days consisted of over the top arguments, many slammed doors, and stressed voices typically resulting from what had originally begun as a simple conversation shared with the human man. Samael realized that Errol was not exactly the brightest male around and had come to notice the man's flaws (quite quickly actually), but what he was forced to live with for the past week was completely uncalled for. The blond was manic, shifting through moods in the same way a dealer shuffled through cards, illegally discarding emotions and replacing the empty spaces with what he felt would benefit him if it appeared as if he would lose the game. Stupidity fluttered away, welcoming anger, which soon turned to tears and then evolved into stupid tears with a sprinkle of rage, and then the deck would reshuffle, bringing each into play in time. The vampire had the most awful luck, for Errol's playing deck seemed to consist of nothing but jokers and jokers, like in most games, were wild, leaving him unenthusiastic about what the future may hold for him. Never in his life had he felt so terribly... exhausted. And yet, he could not force Errol out of his home and into the street. Not when the other man was apparently unwell--this was not to be used to explain only his physical condition--and had nowhere else to go.

Oh, Samael was angry; angry was a terrible understatement. He was furious with the Frenchman, upset enough to storm off during daylight hours when the sun shined its brightest in the clear, afternoon sky. Admittedly, he lost track of time during Errol's verbal assault so his afternoon trek was not previously planned and he began to regret ever racing off. No matter how infuriated the vampire became, he would never willingly put his well being on the line. It would be wronging his body to allow it to burn in the harmful ultraviolet rays the sun offered so Samael hurried on his way back to his suite, keeping to shady areas, lest he never again see the gorgeous darkness night carried. How he wished he could cloak himself in the cool evening atmosphere he had grown to love. Slightly covered, pale arms wrapped themselves around his torso, giving his body a sort of awkward hug. The sound of something crinkling brought his attention to his hand and the object he still held.

A translucent bag dangled from between his index and middle fingers, handles wrapped around his digits to prevent him from dropping the plastic to the ground. Since the vampire was out anyway, he had decided to make a pit stop, if only to avoid the golden orb mocking him from above, and it was there that he had come up with one of his usual foolproof ideas. The supermarket offered many goods, catering to all sorts of consumers, even the undead as he soon came to realize. Finding the object he sought was an easy task, but there were so many of the peculiar objects that it was difficult to choose just one, and the correct one at that. Surely it did not matter seeing as how no matter which he chose, the results would all be the same, but it would really grind Errol's nerves if it appeared as if the guitarist put some thought behind his actions. Now he carried the fruit of his labor--two small boxes of the same product, marketed by different companies--with an indignant stride. Errol wanted to swing upon different moods? Well, Samael had a thing or two to say about that.

Upon reaching his hotel, Samael chose not to use the entrance intended for hotel staff and guests. It would take too long. He was tired, hot (and not in a good way, though the other definition of the words still held its ground), felt as if he was burning, and wanted to upset Errol as soon as possible. This time, his actions would have a valid point. The blond man really WAS beginning to act like a PMSing or pregnant woman. After looking around to assure himself that no one would see him take his special route to the twentieth floor, Samael ducked into another shaded area on the side of the building, placed the handles of the bag between his teeth, and began to climb. His ascent did not take long, but by the time he reached his balcony and thrust his body over the railing, he began to feel woozy. That stupid sun was toying with him now. He needed to get inside and fast.

Samael pushed open the door, pleased to find that it was still unlocked and opened a crack from when he attempted to bring some fresh air into the suite to relieve some of his stress (obviously it did not work), and stepped into his bedroom, closing the glass panel behind him. Silent strides led him to the main room of the apartment where he immediately spotted Errol sprawled out on the couch. The smell of chocolate was so strong it became nauseating, but he would not complain about that. Not now. His eyes slowly surveyed the relaxing male's body while he scoffed. Normally, the sight of a shirtless Errol would please him (and actually.. it does, just a bit...), but at the moment, his sexual impulses come second to his revenge.

The vampire stepped in front of the television and turned it off with his pinky, hoping that cutting the box's power would result in gaining Errol's full attention. Slowly, he turned to face the Frenchman, eyes narrowed, lips thin, and revealed fangs, though instead of downright scowling, a smirk showed itself. "Who the ******** gave you permission to mess up the room, huh?" Samael moved closer, quickly closing the distance between Errol and himself. "And here I was, out gettin' you a gift 'cause 'm a nice guy. The least you could do is say, ''Sup' or somethin'." He threw the bag at the other man, tossing it so it would reach him without accidentally landing a blow to his head that would knock him out. The items remained hidden within the plastic carrying device. "I think you'll appreciate it." He folded his arms and shifted his weight to one of his legs. "But that's all 'm doin' for you. Don't think I'll fetch a robe and slippers, princess. Or food."

For a human, Errol's aim was precise; the thrown objects successfully thumped against Samael's chest, their impact light, enough to simply brush against him, yet still rough enough for him to realize what hat happened and feel the action. After touching the much older man's shirt, the thin cardboard fluttered to the ground, followed by the heavier stick. The vampire had quickly retreated, taking no more than three steps away from the dangerous materials, and winkled his nose in utter disgust while skeptically eyeing the feminine product now resting upon the his previously cleaned floor. It seemed innocent enough and posed no eminent danger, but the liquid he knew had to have touched it was another story. "Man, the ********?! You pissed on that, didn't you?!" Ever the germaphobe, though illnesses could not affect him, he quickly rubbed his sleeve against the precise area where his personal space had been invaded, fruitlessly ridding his shirt of what he believed to be urine.

Slowly, hesitantly, Samael approached the pregnancy test and squatted at its side, inspecting the object further before grasping the cleaner of the two ends between two fingers. "Man, I can't believe you actually went and tried it. What? Are you actin' so much like a woman that you had to check for yourself? Of course you're..." He rolled the item in his hand, turning it right side up to see the telltale symbol. An X. Not an O. AN X. A grin stretched across his face. The blond male really did not know anything about the United States or simplistic items such as these, did he? Obviously, the X meant that a child was on its way. Errol had become more of a woman than he had let on. A snicker followed the arrogant look overtaking Samael's features. How hilarious. If he had not already experienced death in his life once, he would have easily laughed himself to the afterlife here and now.

Samael raised himself and held the stick next to his face, though far enough away from his skin to not risk spreading germs, now grinning madly while gesturing to the symbol as if he were one of those cheeky women put on game shows to demonstrate prizes for contestants while also succeeding in upping ratings because of the eye candy. "Ohhh? What's this MonSour? To me, it looks like an X. Tsk, tsk, did you not read the directions? 'Cause every woman knows that this fella right heres what you really gotta watch out for. But hey, at least you have an excuse for your mood swings and chocolate binge now. Haha!" He clenched his teeth in an attempt to quiet himself down, but this did nothing more than create a humorous sort of hissing noise from the air passing between his teeth.

"Looks like you're preeegnaahnt, " another bark of laughter escaped him when he spoke the word, mimicking Errol's previous attempt at reading about the small 'gift' he had received, "you lucky little b*****d you. What're you thinkin' of callin; him, hm? Ah, I know. Junior! Apparently 's not so inconceivable, huh? A MAN! Pregnant! HA! And it's you. YOU! Who says I still don't got it, huh? Apparently the little guys still got some spunk." He pointed down at his crotch while speaking, using gestures to explain exactly who, or what, it was that he spoke of. "Pregnant, haha..."

And then, Samael froze, crimson eyes widening. They slowly turned to the X, shifted to Errol, and then looked back at the X again. His face fell, expression growing confused, yet somber. "Wh-What the ********?! That's not possible! 'S like.. Man.. This thing... This thing must be busted." He shook the test and threw it to the floor, awaiting for a sudden message to appear . Something along of the lines of, "You're on Candid Camera" or "Are you afraid? Well, you shouldn't be because you're on fear factor,' but nothing ever came. Yes, it truly was amazing how it took this long for him to understand what the symbol meant, but once his mind was focused upon one thing, such as revenge, he tended to speak without listening to himself. "You... You didn't get... y'know... a change, did you?"

Laughter, not sobs, not whining, reached Samael's unsuspecting ears, erasing all previous thoughts and disturbance from his mind. The man was pregnant and was laughing about it. Errol was pregnant. Errol was laughing. Pregnant. Laughing. His head began to throb, brain desperately working to compute the equation presented to the guitar player while sifting through possible solutions to the puzzling variables. Yet, nothing offered itself to clear the confusion now reaching Samael's eyes and face. Pregnancy affecting a male was unreasonable, but the addition of laughter to an already troublesome scenario was illogical. Unbelievable. And oh so, so very confusing.

The vampire watched in bewilderment as Errol left the room, having to resort to using furniture to guide his legs to the bathroom while practically tripping over his own feet. Unwanted sounds reached his ears after the blond reached his destination and Samael shuddered. That laughter was still present throughout the entire brush with discomfort. And that, quite frankly, angered him. The man saw this pregnancy as nothing more than a joke. Upchucking hardly seemed comical, but Errol found great enjoyment in expelling partially digested food into toilets and trash cans (as he had well learned a week ago). The man had become quite the masochist, had he not? No sane human willingly welcomed the pain dry heaving must have brought. It sounded disgusting enough so surely it was uncomfortable.

Samael felt face growing heated, though no blush surfaced. Thinking that Errol enjoyed his predicament at all was positively infuriating. Snarling to himself, he approached the bathroom, stomping more than walking. Was there no end to that laughter? Was Errol TRYING to send him over the edge? The pregnancy test may have been pushing things too far and Sam stepped over a line he should not have crossed, but the Frenchman should have seen it coming. He was acting like a damn woman. Real men did not cry and experience mood swings (and no, he himself did not experience crazy moods, he just reacted to everything slowly and based his feelings upon the most prominent emotion he felt in the whirlwind of many that surfaced) like this. Only pregnant women were this insane. Pregnant. Errol, a man was really pregnant.

Another growl vibrated his throat when he pounded a fist against the bathroom door and leaned forward into the room, dark eyes growing darker, more animalistic. Errol had done this on purpose. He somehow bent the laws of nature in order to impregnate himself, creating a connection between the two men that should never have been born. It was sickening and low, and yet the man still did it. He wanted to stay with Samael so he let the man plant a seed within him, creating a sort of monstrosity. Not human, not vampire, just a monster. This was a way to make the guitarist wait on him hand and foot. <******** that, Samael thought, 'S not gonna happen.

Samael opened his mouth to shout, but emitted no sound, having to regretfully close it again, lips sealing off his oral cavity. Anger began to subside, replaced by stoicalness, but anxiety began to grow. He could not remain unaffected by the sight of the hurting man in front of him and some part of him, however said part was very small indeed, wanted to take him into his arms and hold him close. To offer comfort while assuring himself that the human would be fine. To do something, anything but just stand here.

"...Stupid.. idiot... MonSour..." Muttering soft, intangible words, he sauntered to the toilet and kneeled at Errol's side, resting a cold hand atop his head. Eyes narrowed to hide his concern, but he had more difficulty masking his voice. "You're gonna get Errol germs all over this thing.. and make a toilet indention in your face. Or somethin'." He ran his fingers through the other man's bangs, pulling them back so he could look at his face. "Instead of goin' mental here, get off your a** and do something about it."