Maybe Mikail was trying to control every aspect of Colin's life, disguised as caring. Maybe he actually cared more than he was supposed to. Regardless of what it was, in the end, it would reflect on him in ways that he should regret. Not only being associated with a witch whom he had no intention of changing into a vampire, who also happened to be close to an enemy... wasn't a good look. But he'd be damned if he could stay away. It led to the games in the first place, the delicate dance of carefully erasing Colin's memory while manipulating the very identity that made him him and pretending to be friends just so he could come back every time for even just a morsel of the liquid gold in the witch's veins. Colin knew it too, understood the gravity of this... attraction that would eventually keep them colliding into a Big Bang of limbs and fangs, despite the fact that Mik always drew the line at taking only his blood. The witch's last statement, however, caused the vampire to go still– fingertips tightening as the air between the two stretched as taut as the restraint he still managed to hold; close to snapping completely, only measured by the slight tightening of his fingers on Colin's wrist. "Don't say take me unless you understand what you're offering. Unless you're prepared for me to stop holding back." Mikail's free hand slid to the witch's waist, grip pressing into him with barely restrained possession. He pulled Colin closer– close enough so the witch could feel the unnatural coolness of his body through the thin fabric of their clothes. "You want to know how the other you felt? How you unraveled with nothing more than my hands and mouth touching you?" The words fell between them as Mik rotated the two of them, walking the witch backwards until his back met the wall, with the vampire following, pressing his body into the witch; no more space between the two. "He felt chosen." The hand holding Colin's wrist pressed his arm against the wall above the witch's head, holding him there while his other hand moved on his waist, following the lines of his body up his arm to grasp Colin's free wrist long enough to secure it with the other, pulling his arms taut. "Claimed." His eyes dropped to the witch's neck, his fingertips brushing along Colin's jawline, holding his head just enough to the side so he could bury his face in the crook of his neck. Ambrosia, it was the closest concept that made sense of what Colin's blood was to him– the taste infinitely more ethereal than he could ever describe. A slow inhale at Colin's throat was the only sound for a moment, the press of his lips to the witch's skin giving way to the slight pinch of Mikail's fangs scraping against his pulse point, not enough to draw blood– yet. "If I take you, it won't just be your blood," he finally said, voice dropping to something almost feral beneath the carefully constructed control. "Say it again."