He laughed loudly, mouth filling and then exploding with the mirth at the name she dared give him. His thinned blood may have had something to do with his appreciation of her cleverness, also. At least he was not offended by it. He could feel her tense up in the adamant embrace, and he didn't mind that much. Even his currently filtered mind could remember who she really was. He did not allow her any freedom she was due, though, and enjoyed the reciprocation of her arms and the press of her body into his.<br/><br/>He pretended not to notice her flush when he reveled in her perfume, which was true to her person and not over the top. He kept his face in the swell of her red tresses and his nose against her scalp as he ate her scent. "Fuck, Detective Grey." he complained with a loud sigh at the end of his drag. "I wouldn't mind this deliciousness on my pillow." he muttered. This close to her ear she was bound to hear it. Since she was so gracious, he enjoyed a longer squeeze and an almost weighing of the asscheek he'd set to grope, fingers even sliding to push the dividing seam up between her firm mounds. When he moved back from her, he pretended not to see how her cheeks had deepened in color.<br/><br/>He was happy, then, the image of a content and expectant man as he sat down in the couch. It wasn't hard to notice she fixated on the bottle and glasses and he made good use of them, leaving the two vials generously sloshing from a sloppy pour. "Here you go." he chirped, obviously approving of her new, festive demeanor. He was waiting for her to sit down with him, and it would be hard for her to have the vodka she'd asked for otherwise, since he'd placed the glass beside his.<br/><br/>She had another question too, of course. He shrugged lightly, lifting his polished container, waiting for her to touch it with hers. "Ah, yes." he remembered. "I do have some business with you, but I'm kind of on my free time now, Lyra. Do you think we could just be social for a while?" He liked to push the thuggishness of his reputation, but his choice of words always betrayed something high-brow. It could be intimidation or a clues to his origin. On the other hand, the suggestion in his hand when it placed on her thigh was not so elegant or eloquent.<br/><br/>"I think, until we've taken care of at least half this bottle between the two of us, I won't loosen my lips." He drank a moderate amount. "At least not about our more serious matters." He hummed shortly on that joke before he cackled freely, face to the ceiling. "Comon, Lover." he insisted, scooting closer, pairing his leg with hers and his painted shoulder against her naked arm. "Maybe if you can drink me under the table, I'll be more cooperative. Isn't it your job to get information out of me, anyway?"<br/><br/>The hand not barely holding the glass caressed her ear, to keep it clear from her ruby waves. He leaned in and whispered with boiling, chemical breath into the sensitive shell. "We can be friends, you know." That arm went around her to squeeze her even closer. It would seem he was genuinely interested in more common things between men and women in clubs than something further incriminating. She'd have to be the judge on however that was beneficial to her. "I keep my friends happy. My money's just as good as The Lions's."