Draco trailed his fingertips over the bruised skin. Bite marks adorned Harry's neck, his shoulders, the strong back and the curve of his spine. The rounded buttocks were still unblemished, and Draco sought to rectify that error. He bit down, making Harry cry out, arch back, and trust upwards, his legs parting in invitation and encouragement. Draco lapped on the blood and sweat, slurping and drinking, humming his approval and purring his desire before he moved on to the next spot, unable to get enough.
Moaning and panting, and crying out in pain and pleasure, Harry circled his hips, rubbing himself down against the red silk sheets; red to hide the splotches of Harry's blood; silken to let Draco appreciate the similar feel of Harry's sweat-slicked skin.
"Turn around," Draco murmured; his voice rough and quiet, but Harry still heard him. He shivered and whimpered, probably regretting the loss of friction against his cock, but he obeyed nonetheless, as always. He hadn't just turned around though, but had risen up and straddled Draco's lap, pressing swollen, red lips against Draco's cold, bloody ones.
The kiss was slow at first, just a gentle exploration, but when Harry dragged his tongue over Draco's sharp fangs, purposely cutting himself and letting Draco taste his blood, Draco growled and grabbed a fistful of dark hair, angling Harry's head and pushing his tongue deeper in the sweet-tasting mouth.
Harry moaned, responding eagerly, their tongues intertwining, lips locked together. Draco would have lost himself in the feel of his lover, but something cold, and hard pressed against his chest.
Draco tore his mouth away from Harry's and looked down at the sharp knife placed threateningly against his pale skin.
"I want this. I don't want to lose you," Harry said quietly, his grip strong and unwavering. "Let me," he begged with absolute certainty in his eyes, and Draco could no longer fight him; could no longer reject him. He had always known that one day he'd cave; that one day, having Harry for now won't be enough; that one day he'd want, need to keep him forever.
Draco held his breath, not moving his gaze away from Harry's, searching for any hint of a doubt. Sharp pain followed the quick movement of Harry's wrist, and blood seeped out of the long cut on Draco's chest, redder than the sheets; painful to see because Draco had made a promise to himself and now he had broken it.
Harry moved away, kneeling and bending his head, his warm hands gripping Draco's ribs. As Harry licked the trail of red, thick liquid; first tentatively, then more surely, then hungrily, Draco thought he could feel Harry's body cooling, feel the dark creature wake inside him, hear the blood-craving in Harry's moans.
But when Harry pushed him backwards — his eyes dark and intense, and so very different; teeth prolonging and sharpening, the lines of his face hardening, the familiar gentleness vanishing — Draco had no regrets.
How could he, Draco thought as Harry sunk his fangs into his neck, drank and growled; hips thrusting, their bodies moving together towards completion — when this was all he had ever wanted.
Oh don't sniff! Here ...
Moaning and panting, and crying out in pain and pleasure, Harry circled his hips, rubbing himself down against the red silk sheets; red to hide the splotches of Harry's blood; silken to let Draco appreciate the similar feel of Harry's sweat-slicked skin.
"Turn around," Draco murmured; his voice rough and quiet, but Harry still heard him. He shivered and whimpered, probably regretting the loss of friction against his cock, but he obeyed nonetheless, as always. He hadn't just turned around though, but had risen up and straddled Draco's lap, pressing swollen, red lips against Draco's cold, bloody ones.
The kiss was slow at first, just a gentle exploration, but when Harry dragged his tongue over Draco's sharp fangs, purposely cutting himself and letting Draco taste his blood, Draco growled and grabbed a fistful of dark hair, angling Harry's head and pushing his tongue deeper in the sweet-tasting mouth.
Harry moaned, responding eagerly, their tongues intertwining, lips locked together. Draco would have lost himself in the feel of his lover, but something cold, and hard pressed against his chest.
Draco tore his mouth away from Harry's and looked down at the sharp knife placed threateningly against his pale skin.
"Harry, no," Draco murmured, grabbing Harry's hand.
"I want this. I don't want to lose you," Harry said quietly, his grip strong and unwavering. "Let me," he begged with absolute certainty in his eyes, and Draco could no longer fight him; could no longer reject him. He had always known that one day he'd cave; that one day, having Harry for now won't be enough; that one day he'd want, need to keep him forever.
Draco held his breath, not moving his gaze away from Harry's, searching for any hint of a doubt. Sharp pain followed the quick movement of Harry's wrist, and blood seeped out of the long cut on Draco's chest, redder than the sheets; painful to see because Draco had made a promise to himself and now he had broken it.
Harry moved away, kneeling and bending his head, his warm hands gripping Draco's ribs. As Harry licked the trail of red, thick liquid; first tentatively, then more surely, then hungrily, Draco thought he could feel Harry's body cooling, feel the dark creature wake inside him, hear the blood-craving in Harry's moans.
But when Harry pushed him backwards — his eyes dark and intense, and so very different; teeth prolonging and sharpening, the lines of his face hardening, the familiar gentleness vanishing — Draco had no regrets.
How could he, Draco thought as Harry sunk his fangs into his neck, drank and growled; hips thrusting, their bodies moving together towards completion — when this was all he had ever wanted.
Now, Harry was his and he was Harry's. Forever.