A/N: I was in the mood for something drabbly and fluffy, but apparently not enough to write it. *sigh* Please--criticism is gratefully received!
I can feel lips, warm, soft, and moist, caressing my neck. Beneath them, I can feel the teeth, sharp, waiting, ready to pierce, to seek blood. It makes me shake, it makes my knees weak, it makes my breath hitch in ways that make the lips chuckle softly.
I feel hands, gentle but firm, sliding up my sides, holding me close against the torso behind me. The callouses make the sensations so much more real, somehow. I love the hands as I love the lips and the teeth.
A few seconds later, I feel one hand reach up to my chin, tilt my head to one side. The lips on my neck are sucking slightly, now, and I can feel the teeth, no longer hidden behind them, pressing slightly into my neck. I moan. I shake. I tremble and quiver and melt.
The hands press me against a wall. I am flipped around so that the torso is pressed, not against my back, but my chest and stomach. One of those hands catches my wrists and holds them against the wall now behind me. The lips draw back in a slight chuckle and the teeth are once more against my throat, no longer a veiled threat (promise), but a soon-to-be reality.
Then one sharp fang is piercing my throat in a quest for blood, followed in quick succession by another. I can feel the blood being taken from my veins, but . . . it doesn't . . . seem to . . . matter. . . . It feels . . . so . . . good . . . the kiss of . . . death. . . .
And then I can't feel anything but the draining blood, I am drowning in pleasure and darkness, and I somehow don't think that I will wake from this slumber. . . .
content