Originally posted on tumblr, for the prompt: "the things you said with no space between us."
"Sorry," she pants. "The teeth—still new."
He barely feels the sting. One errant, sharpened edge slipping against his lower lip. It hasn't even opened his skin. No venom has leached into his blood—otherwise he would be feeling something entirely different.
He pulls back briefly to run his thumb over her lip, across her teeth. "I'm not afraid," he murmurs before covering her lips once more with his own.
He isn't breakable. Not to her, anyway.
Nor is she to him, not anymore. She told him as much in his dream— I'm not afraid. I trust you.
She's not a dream now. Her body burns against his, her breathing rough and warm and close in his ear.
Her hands are in constant motion, cupping the back of his neck, running up and down his torso, venturing below his belt. Everywhere she touches leaves a trail of fire.
One of his hands threads in her hair, holding her head up to meet his own.
It's a familiar gesture. He remembers it from just days ago, from a millennium ago, holding another woman's hair, positioning her neck to perfectly meet his teeth…
He spasms in a brief panic, his hold on her wavering. Another day, that might have sent him fleeing from her, terrified of himself.
But he doesn't pull back.
All those memories, teeming in his subconscious. Her infant daughter, asleep in the next room. The prospect of her leaving his arms in the morning for another man, for a union born of need instead of desire.
Too many thoughts, worries, and objections rattling in his head. They've held him at bay, stilled his impulses.
Tonight she is his, and he is hers.
They must both savor the taste.
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