Author: Lipstickcat
E-mail: [email protected]
Fandom: Vampire Game
Pairing: Duzell/Rishas
Rating: Nc-17
Warnings: Angst. Blood drinking (well, they are vampires�)
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, they don�t belong to me. *sigh* I�m totally falling for my Rishas muse, poor guy�
Notes: Rishas POV. Up to �Never mind� is taken directly from the end of book 1. I�m assuming that he�s a *he*, I haven�t found anything to confirm or deny this belief as yet in the books�
Thanks to M-chan for beta-ing
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�Rishas�.�
His voice is so soft, contemplative. It�s a voice that he keeps for me, when we�re alone in his bed. All the harshness of his everyday voice slips away, until all that�s left of that commanding bark is a soft mewl.
I stir, pulling myself away from the embrace of the night and her children; death and sleep. He makes me question which I lie with when I�d rather not think about it. I partially roll over and lift myself up to give him my attention. Through a half-lidded gaze I look at him over my shoulder and smile sleepily.
�Do you think humans really can�?�
His hand brushes his chin in thought, elegant fingers flexing, almost touching my shoulder in an intimate gesture as he leans close to talk in hushed whispers. It�s hard not to close my eyes and wait. I want to feel him touch me like I�m precious to him.
�Yes, your Majesty?� I press hopefully, wanting him to finish the sentence.
He sits up, the moonlight falls through the opaque curtain, it highlights his skin and makes it glow. He turns away from me and smiles knowingly. It�s a soft smile and I would love it, if I didn�t know that it accompanies thoughts that question how I should be able to understand his feelings. I am only a puppet, after all.
�Never mind.�
And with that, he moves close, kissing across the curve of my shoulder, seeking my neck. I slip down onto the satin sheets and tilt my head back. Cool lips and a hot tongue trace to my jaw, and then he�s shifting, settling above me as his mouth finds mine.
I fool myself that this means something; I am the only one he allows to share his bed. I am his favourite. But a favourite amongst toys is still only a toy.
His flesh is as cool and smooth as the sheets I lay upon, but as he moves against me, chest against chest, thighs against thighs, arousal against arousal, I can feel the heat rising. I get his blood pumping as if he were alive again; it colours his skin, flushing in all the right places. Perhaps that is the reason I am here. It must count for something.
He sets the pace hard and fast as he consumes my mouth. I return each hot sloppy kiss with equal passion. There is hardly any challenge when his tongue seeks access to my mouth, I wouldn�t deny him, even if he wanted me to. I soak in the probing muscle, absorb the taste as I run my own tongue along it. Even as I focus on the slick dance we perform in my mouth, I�m aware of him shifting, pushing my legs apart and repositioning himself between my thighs. He drags my legs over his hips with a rough jerk and I can�t bite back the guttural moan that spills over our tongues. He smirks at the sound and I love the feeling of his mouth curling over mine.
Pulling back, he offers me his hand and I lick it with vigour, coating the palm and fingers with saliva. He in turn licks it himself, slower than me, watching me with sly golden eyes as he tastes me and adds his own spit, sucking on his middle finger for effect. And then he takes his erection in hand and coats it carefully. His head is bowed, hair spilling over his shoulders like the flow of mercury, as he watches his own purposeful strokes. Looking up through the mane that has fallen in his eyes, he offers me the hand again; I suck his finger into my mouth. The salty taste of pre-come lies on my tongue, even as he reaches down and inserts that finger.
It�s only a convention, not a necessity. I�ll heal, and pain comes with the territory. And perhaps he doesn�t really care, although I prefer not to linger on such thoughts. His preparation is quickly over, and the pace picks up again as he leans over and impales me. I call out at the searing, tearing feeling inside of me.
It�s always like this, always hard and fast. Never slow, never tender. I know he yearns for love and compassion, I�d give him affection if he let me. I have it all tucked up in my heart, waiting for release. I�d hold him close to me. I�d be slow and gentle. I�d let him gather me up into his arms. I�d kiss him all over.
But he doesn�t think I�m capable of that. I don�t think that he truly believes that he�s capable of that. He can dream about it, but he�s afraid to achieve it.
As he rocks his hips, I can�t help but respond. I groan and mummer and beg for more. So he rams in hard. The dull pain that throbs inside me is overtaken by a wave of electricity that starts in my lower stomach and spreads throughout my body. I call out again, the sound is sweeter in my mind, but in the air it sounds the same whether I�m writhing in pain or pleasure.
Leaning down, his mouth is against my throat once more. His flesh moves against me, burning and slick with sweat. My hands move to grip his forearms as his teeth break through my delicate skin, and I screw my eyes up at the initial popping feeling as the flesh gives way. Then it�s the movement of his lips, so thirsty, and the touch of his tongue; it soothes me, takes away the pain, just knowing that it is him. It does him no good to feed from me, but there is no harm either; it's intimate, and I�m grateful for it.
His body still moves against me and within me, a rhythm set to his own pace, as if he�s following a heartbeat that I don�t have. I move my legs up higher around his waist, pulling them in tight so that my hips are off the bed, so that each thrust carries a wave of white lightening with it. I know that my fingers are gripping his forearms tight enough to leave bruises for half an hour or so, fingernails digging into the skin, drawing rivulets of blood to mingle with the beads of sweat.
There is a rumbling sound, and I know that he is purring. I echo his pleasure in pants and sighs and gasps. When he pulls up and lingers in front of me, ruby stained lips close enough that I can smell it, I lunge forward, capturing his bottom lip between my teeth. I bite and suck it into my mouth, and we consume each other in burning kisses.
If I am an animal, he makes me so.
But, I am more than that. I am not merely a shadow of him, a shell filled with his essence. I am more than a marionette. A part of me may be of him, but I was once a person, an individual. I was capable of love, and I still am. I show him that I am full of passion, he must see it. Why can�t he believe that I am capable of other emotions as well?
He comes with a cry, head flung back, neck bared to me. The sight quickly pushes me to the edge and I moan as I follow, body twisting beneath him, savouring the last moments of contact. For a moment, he is too tired to move and he lies against me, letting me wrap my arms around him.
Then he rises, moving away with speed and grace. He settles on the bed, facing away from me, death and sleep already catching up with him. I wipe away the drying blood with my hand, and thoughtlessly lick it clean as I watch his back. I want to put my arm around him and go to sleep so close that we could be one being.
But I won�t. To him I am just a puppet.