Work Text:
Baz
My fangs are out. I try to squeeze them back into my gums but they refuse. The part of me that's a monster refuses.
Simon peers at me from the corner of his eyes, his head tilted back exposing the smooth flesh of his neck. I swear I can see his vein pulsing. "Please," he urges. "You know you have to drink."
We've been locked in this dungeon for at least two days. There's always a dungeon. At least they're keeping Snow fed, but they obviously don't know I need a bit more than sandwiches and tea. I don't know if I've ever been this thirsty but… "I can't, Simon. I can't hurt you."
"You have to drink. I want you to drink. And there's no alternative."
Cerce, he's right. I know he's right. I can already feel the beast clawing its way up. It's taking everything in me not to leap at him.
I remember eons ago Snow making up some scenario where I'd have to drink his blood because we're underground and being held captive. I shut him down then because it seemed ridiculous but I should've known the man's a walking Murphy's Law.
I don't think I can last another day. I clench my fists and take a tentative step forward from the corner I'd relegated myself to.
"I trust you." Snow says.
I don't.
But I continue walking towards him, one measured step at a time, fighting to maintain control.
And then I'm standing in front of him. My mouth feels so full of teeth that I swear I must be drooling. Like a dog. Like a creature. Like a bloodthirsty monster.
Simon clears his throat. "So, uh, how do you want me?"
Christ, I want him without puncture wounds in his neck and full of all ten liters of his blood. I meet his eyes.
Simon
Baz's eyes are a deep, dark black. I swear they're like swirling vortexes. I couldn't look away, even if I wanted to (I still think this is all very hot but maybe not the time to say it.)
As if by compulsion, I rise to my feet and we stand face to face. He's so grey he's ghostly. It terrifies me. I always tell Baz that just because he's a vampire, that doesn't mean he's not alive. He breathes, he eats, he sleeps just like the rest of us. But with his skin so sallow and the circles around his eyes so dark… I never want to see him like this again. Looking so… not alive.
I would do anything to bring the color back to his cheeks.
Maybe it's the desperation in his eyes or his vampiric coercion, but I'd let him drain me dry right now.
My fingers graze the back of his neck, and gently push his head down.
Baz
This can't be happening.
I don't want this.
But as Snow lowers my lips to his neck (the smell of blood and sweat and ash is dizzying), I know I have no choice.
I part my lips against his flesh and he shivers. The kinky bastard is probably enjoying this. "Count to 10, Snow."
"Hmm?"
I pull back enough to look him in the eyes. "Count to 10 and then pull me off no matter what."
He nods.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
I hold his eyes for a moment longer, wondering whether or not he said that of his own volition. Then I lower my mouth and sink my fangs in.
It's…
It's heaven.
It's hot cocoa on a frigid, winter day.
It's a cool shower after a long day of aching work.
It's orgasmic. (I will NEVER tell Snow this. I think he'd actually let me kill him if he thought it'd please me.)
It's Simon. Inside of me. Filling me up in ways I never dared to imagine.
I drink deeply. (Too deeply?)
I lose track of where I end and he begins.
I lose track of time. (Is he actually counting? Should I stop? He probably isn't even counting.)
I pull back.
Simon
Baz releases his hold, trembling with the effort, but doesn’t look at me. "Simon?" His voice his thick and wet.
"Hmm?"
"Were you counting?"
"Yes" I lie. "I was only at 5. If you wanted more."
He's silent for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"Mmm." I place my hand back on his neck, but I don't push. I just play with the hair at his nape.
Slowly, cautiously, he lowers his lips to my neck. "Don't forget to keep counting." And bites me again.
Six . And it feels good.
So good.
My vampire boyfriend.
Seven . His mouth is working on my neck. I can hear him drinking, taking great big gulps of me.
Eight. I'm starting to get lightheaded, as if I'm floating away on billowing clouds. It's nice. I don't have to think. Just be here and let him take what he needs.
Nine. I feel like my body is merging with his. Like I'm closer to him than I ever thought possible.
Ten. I don't want this to ever stop. But I'll be good. For him.
I leave one hand on his neck, but move the other to grasp his shoulder. I nudge him back gently. He complies.
He straightens his posture so he's not leaning over me but keeps his head down.
"Baz?" I say as I try to catch his gaze.
He won't look at me, but I can already tell the life has returned to his complexion.