The fashion in which it takes the vampire several moments to seem to remember from which direction he had come and how it was he should move his feet is hardly missed. Dorian, for his part, is hardly of the belief his own skills, especially given the rudimentary, almost teasing nature of the kiss, are so exceptional as the render the vampire momentarily forgetful of his surroundings. More so it has simply become apparent that the other man is easily distracted with such things, perhaps far more inclined to appreciate such simple pleasures and indeed Dorian hardly finds himself displeased with the realisation before gesturing for the other man to lead- falling into step beside him. He is careful, all the same, to assure the vampire remains between himself and the road, storm-cloud grey eyes narrowed warily at the passing cars. He still could not bring himself to trust them, not in full, his mind unable to comprehend what it cannot understand and in that fashion he remains assured that should one of the beasts manage to escape the black path and mount the kerb he prefers to have the other man between himself and them all the same. It is hardly a far walk, Dorian oblivious to the manner in which the vampire retained a rather close eye upon him, the man frowning slightly at the sight of the alleyway. It would be decidedly unfortunate if this vampire turned out to possess a tiny, single room akin to Samantha's. Dorian having ceased to give up his desire for the expansive rooms and often overzealous furnishings he was used too. If this man proved to have little more than a couch to offer Dorian was entirely assured it would be a far less pleasing night then he had anticipated.

It is however, not until they reach the rather bland wooden door that the fae offers any true sign of hesitation, gaze cast up towards the sign above. He abhors witches. They one of the few species he was unwilling to tolerate in any sense of the word. Perhaps it had been several hundred years since he had dealt with them, yet they had left an impression the fae found himself unable to forget even now. A residence thusly named The Witchery filling him with little more than concern. It is fortunate perhaps, that the foyer within so seeks to distract his attention away from the sign, eyes widening slightly at the interior as he moves to follow after the vampire once more. This home is vastly more impressive then Samantha's, the addition of what he believes to be servants only seeming to sooth the man all the more. After all, the notion of a hotel simply does not exist to him, Dorian entirely of the belief the vampire surely owned all this, the fae finding himself at least moderately impressed all the same as they reach another door. That the maid had referred to the vampire as 'Mr Ellington' was something of an oddity and yet even Dorian is willing to admit that many of the social graces he had understood seemed to have shifted entirely.

The pleasantness of what he had perceived to be the entry hall however, was far more readily overshadowed by the bedroom he is presented with now, much of the room decidedly familiar to the fae on some level. There existed within it, some items still, that escaped his knowledge and yet for the most part it was almost akin to the home he had left behind. It was, at last, a level of luxury he was accustomed to, a room he understood, a simper of satisfaction tracing his youthful features readily now. For a moment he wanders from his companion's side, fingers reaching up to trace almost tenderly along the carved wood of the nearest piece of furniture, moving past the ready fire place and towards a tiffany lamp. He glances backward, if only briefly, assuring himself the vampire held no objections before allowing his fingers to trace over the coloured lights of the lamp. It is....fascinating to him. For all he is, for all the years he has lived, there remains a decided innocence to the fae all the same.

"This is very grand, these colors, exquisite."

He does not know quite how else to describe them, affording the lamp several more moments of his time before he moves towards the bed with its crimson satin sheets and feathered comforter, hand running lightly over it with the same appreciation as he had the lamp. Satin always did feel decidedly smooth against the skin, especially without clothing to hamper it.

"This room- I like. It reminds me of my home, in a way."

He affirms his approval as his gaze returns to his companion now, a rather determined ache for what he knew the vampire would provide settling within himself. He moves easily to rid himself of his own jacket, unzipping the simple article, shrugging it from his shoulders- leaving no more than the sleeveless black shirt beneath and the leather strap that attached the sheathed sword to his back. Samantha was yet to convince him he didn't needed it, Dorian oblivious entirely to how unusual an armed fae might appear. Yet for tonight he removes that as well, unbuckling it easily, slinging both sword and jacket over the loveseat beside the vampires own coat- taking the barest moment to appreciate his companion without it on, gaze traveling almost languidly across his form with no effort made to hide it. Lip quirking slightly upward in evident pleasure- though his affords him no outward compliment.

A bare few strides takes the fae back to the bed, Dorian entirely content to make himself comfortable upon it with an easy confidence. The man reclines upon his stomach, head resting in his hand, leaning on his elbow as if he belongs in just such a position, relishing the soft pleasantness of a real mattress before he offers those accented lyrics to the Englishman once more.

"You know, you have not told me your name yet. If, as you say, in the heat of the moment, you should like me to say it, I think you should afford me the knowledge of it."

He grins easily, the words playful as he chuckles softly, still holding perhaps the vaguest doubt the man would be entirely capable of all he promised and yet Dorian is willingly enough to be proven wrong....