VARUS
His fangs sink in and alight him with a burning fire that he hasn’t felt consistently in so long. It’s a shock to him, too, to not dive in and give himself into her completely while the sensation rushes on — because he knows that the second he pulls away it’ll become dull and hollow for him, but Varus is nothing if not a man that works quickly on his feet. He could leave her be to take care of herself once he’s withdrawn, but he could also help her along, give her a few moments longer to relish in the presence and all encompassing hands of someone else.
He chooses the latter the second his resolve fractures with the moan she elicits, with the way he can see in his peripheral vision how her thighs press together. And his mind is made up, he withdraws from the bite with a huff of a sound, the grip on her arm growing more possessive, tugging her into him to help her find relief from the bite, aiming for her to either straddle him or whatever she chose to do.
He chooses the latter the second his resolve fractures with the moan she elicits, with the way he can see in his peripheral vision how her thighs press together. And his mind is made up, he withdraws from the bite with a huff of a sound, the grip on her arm growing more possessive, tugging her into him to help her find relief from the bite, aiming for her to either straddle him or whatever she chose to do.
stories without a few let downs are boring when told
perfection and poems are a lie when it all unfolds
perfection and poems are a lie when it all unfolds
