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To be fair, it's probably not the best idea for them to try anything in the middle of a ritual.
But with Doorman just looking so good laughing and wiping away the blood splattered across his face, dirtying his pure white gloves in the process, then flicking the excess droplets on the pile of bodies belonging to the smarmy ass motherfuckers who thought they could take on a god by dog piling him? Drifter has to remind himself that neither of them care about marriage, and the fact that stepping into a church would probably reduce him to ashes in a blink of an eye.
He whistles to catch Doorman's attention, holding one high note before clipping it off with a short, lower pitched finish. A wolf whistle.
"Enjoyed the show?" The grin on Doorman's face doesn't drop when his eyes land on Drifter, if anything, he seems happy to see the vampire there.
"Very much." Drifter purrs. He closes the distance between them, making himself right at home in Doorman's personal space. After such slaughter, the screams and lingering magic left in the air alone would deter anyone from approaching their location. He takes Doorman's hand, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on the bloodied knuckles.
"Someone's feeling romantic today." Doorman comments, but the way his eyes crinkling up with satisfaction tells Drifter that he's not annoyed by the gesture.
"Just showin' some 'o what ya city folk call 'hospitality'." He keeps eye contact, taking in the pretty visage of the god covered in red.
"Oh? Is this a part of it too then?" Doorman nudges forward with a knee, his raised thigh pushing against the length tenting Drifter's pants, drawing a groan from him. There's already a spot of wetness developing, and it's growing fast. Doorman laughs, the blue of his eyes sparkling with mischief. Drifter's hand darts out to hold onto Doorman's waist, a silent request for him to not pull away. He's rewarded with another firm press to his crotch. Drifter tries to keep down sighs of pleasure. It's been a while since he was last in New York. It's not that he doesn't touch himself when he's alone, but it just can't compare to when Doorman helps him with it.
"Poor thing. Whatever shall I do with you?" Doorman's hand leaves Drifter's hold, coming around to cup the vampire's face. He runs his fingers along the scruffy facial hair down to Drifter's chin, pressing on his bottom lip with his thumb. The blood left on his glove smears onto the vampire's face. Drifter couldn't resist sampling what is left that has seeped into the fabric, his tongue lolling out to lick at the digit. The god takes mercy on him then, pushing his thumb onto the flat plane of Drifter's waiting tongue and letting the vampire close his lips around it. Simple mortal blood doesn't hold a candle to Doorman's divine taste, but at least his scent helps make up for it.
Drifter lowers himself, bending at the knees so he can better feel Doorman's leg, but he nearly collapses when Doorman brings his other hand to grope him through his pants, so hard that it borders on painful, but fuck if it isn't the way he likes it.
"I'm not sure humping my leg like a filthy mongrel counts as 'hospitality'. The one who taught you must have been mistaken." Doorman squeezes him roughly to emphasize his point, drawing a groan from him. "Or do you think I'm undeserving of it, hm, vampire?"