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Summary
He feels his own breath catch, everything slowing down ever so briefly only to rush forwards again in ultra high definition technicolour. He can hear the rustle of Wille’s fingers tangling in the sheets, the soft pants of his breath as he waits in anticipation. Fuck, he can smell him. He can smell his sweat underneath his expensive deodorant, the spearmint gum he chewed in the car. He can smell his arousal, the precome already leaking out into his boxers and
Simon’s fangs grow longer in his mouth. Blood. He can smell all that blood pumping faster through Wille’s veins so close to the surface.