#pairing: Drew/Maxxie

[idolatrybarbie]

(belatedly) for my 50 follower celebration! @wannab-urs asked: max phillips and prompt no. nine— "you look so pretty like this." with a twist!

pairing: max phillips x fem!vampire!reader

word count & rating: 1.9k | explicit

content tags: reader is not American/not an "American vampire", porn with mild plot, pet names (honey, baby, sweetie, Maxxie), all the usual vampire genre warnings, including but not limited to - graphic blood and gore, cannibalism, mention of scars, horror themes, love as consumption, smut - mommy kink, degradation (max gets called a slut), cock slapping, dacryphilia if you squint, orgasm denial, handjob, alcohol mention, fluff.

notes: a good ol' hj. this is super belated but life got a little bit better again today so it's time to celebrate. tagging people who expressed interest in this concept at the bottom, mwah <3

He’s got a scar on his left shoulder where you marked him the first time. It seems like so long ago when you’d first taken him into your arms and shown him a new life. A new way to live with the gift he’d been given. Now he has dozens of other scars just like it, bigger or smaller in different places. Still, that one remains your favourite.

When Max wakes, his wrists are already bound together against the winding filigree of the headboard. You considered a hog tie, deciding against it when you got out the rope. For this, you want to see him. All of him.

He wriggles slightly as he comes to, returning from whatever the undead take for sleep. His kind are different from yours. It is what drew you to him in the first place. The great American vampire—you’d never seen one up close. His blood smelled so rich when you first met. You made it your mission for Max Phillips to be yours…and now, he is.

“What’s all this?” he asks, shifting his legs around. They move beneath the covers, rumpling the sheets.

“A project,” you say, sitting by his feet. If your heart could beat, it would be pounding in your chest. The anticipation is everything—this little cat and mouse ordeal being the delicious tip of the iceberg.

“A project?”

“More like a test. Been a while since you’ve had one of those, huh, Maxxie?” you ask.

Max enjoys taking. Pleasure is in the take, of keeping something. This suits you well enough most days; he’s well-behaved and generous. Pleasure is the foreground, but you both know who’s in control behind the scenes.

Some days, though, you aren’t satisfied in being the woman behind the curtain. Some days, you like for Max to give you a little show. Giving for him means giving it all. Today is one of those days.

“Honey,” he says, smugness wiped from his tone. “You know I’m no good at tests.”

“You’re wrong,” you return. “You are going to do just fine.” Max’s brow furrows when you press his nose like a button, grinning down at his body. “I’m going to make you feel good. But you aren’t allowed to finish. Not ‘til I tell you to. Simple, easy. You can do that, Max. Right?”

He wriggles on the bed a bit more, trying to keep his movements controlled and hidden from you. The thought must stir something in his stomach, a whispered yes falling from his lips. You get on the bed properly now, one knee on either side of his legs. Running your hands over the exposed skin of his thighs makes Max shudder. All the silvery marks and mottled skin beneath your hands makes you wet, getting to feel what you’ve done to him.

When you move your hands closer to the hardness in his briefs, Max freezes. He lets you work the piece of clothing from him as he watches. Discarding the underwear on the floor, you focus your attention back on him. The head of his cock is the slightest bit red, the blood he’s consumed flushing his skin.

“Aw, that looks like it hurts,” you say.

“It does,” Max nods. His words elicit no reaction from you, watching him from your seat over his knees. He corrects himself, “It does, Mommy. Sorry.”

You take him into your hand then, the skin of his cock warm against your palm. Another neat trick of the American vampire: warm-blooded. Your skin must feel ice cold against him, but you think he likes that. Max cants his hips up the slightest bit. He’s hoping you won’t notice. Unfortunately for him, you do.

Pulling your hand away, Max groans at the loss of touch. His cock stands at attention, waiting for anything you’re willing to give him. With an open palm, you slap it length-wise. Max draws in a sudden breath, hips jumping.

“Mommy, please. I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” you say with the shake of your head. “Every time you misbehave is just extra time you have to wait. So…one.”

“Mommy—” Max begins.

“Don’t make it worse for yourself, Maxxie.”

You go back to stroking him with light hand movements, watching Max bite his tongue. You pinch the skin at his shoulder and watch his arm jerk away. It makes you laugh.

“You don’t like a little bit of pain?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

Your palm is slick with his precum, lubricating every slide of your hand. Picking up the pace a little bit makes Max part his lips in a moan. When his eyelids flutter, you scrape the nails of your other hand against the skin of his thigh. His breath catches in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling.

“You know what? You’re a terrible liar,” you say.

“I’m not lying, Mommy. I promise,” Max says. Your hand is still on him. His eyes are glued to your face when they open again, resisting the urge to look down at where you two touch.

“Yeah, you are,” you singsong.

You scratch at his thigh again, feeling the skin break. There’s something about digging your nails in and feeling blood and tissue underneath that just does it for you. You rub the pads of your fingers into the scratch, coaxing blood from the wound. Smeared red, you bring those fingers to your lips to savour.

“Fuck.”

“A bad word? That’s two.” Max throws his head back against the metal of the headboard with a light thunk. “You like it. I can taste it,” you say. “Like it when I hurt you a little, huh?”

“Mommy,” Max pants.

“Baby, it’s okay. No shame in that.” Moving closer to his ear, you hum. “It’s alright being mommy’s little pain slut.”

The words elicit begging from the man beneath you, a desperate string of pleasepleaseplease filling the air. You know he’s close. It doesn’t mean much to you.

“No baby.” You slow your hand down, pumping his cock languidly as it leaks across your fingers. “We’re not done yet.” Getting a grip at the base of his length, you squeeze him. He sighs hard through his nose as the building fire in his gut dulls to an ebb.

“This isn’t fair,” Max complains.

“Mmhm,” you purr, cheek to cheek now. “You think that bad boys get fair?” Nuzzling into the warmth of his skin sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” he says.

“I don’t believe you.” So close to his body, your mouth waters at the smell of him. You lick at Max’s jaw, trailing your tongue along the column of his throat before reaching his shoulder. “You want to be a good boy? Let me take a bite.”

“Mommy—”

“Maxxie.”

He takes a deep breath and nods, giving you permission. First you mouth at the skin, feeling it against your lips. Reveling in his heat. You resume the pace of your hand jerking him off, the hard lines of his shoulders relaxing. Max’s cock is wet and sloppy between the two of you, bright red and probably aching. Just how you want him.

The bite you take is small, flesh spongy between your sharp teeth. It’s soft in your mouth, sliding between your tongue and palate when it goes down easy. Max bleeds, a dribble spilling into a small stream across his chest and down his arm. You lick at the crimson, letting it pool in your mouth as you perch your lips over the wound.

His blood slides to the bed, soaking white sheets a dark red. In another life, it would be a bottle of Zinfandel carelessly spilled—a waste of the best wine in the world. In this life, Max is the only vice you need. His flavour, the flow, that potency. The taste of Max Phillips on your tongue makes you lightheaded. Plasma and platelets, sure, but so much more. It’s heady and raw; the tang of a rough fuck and a sweet kill.

That rush of ending a life. Holding someone’s soul in your hands and snuffing it out. You can feel every life that he has taken, theirs for his own immortal one. It’s their blood, truly, but all of it has been mixed up and ran through Max’s body enough to make it uniquely him. What better high is there than ravaging and killing the man who kills, and knowing you get to do it all over again?

You ask, “More?”

He says, “Yes.”

So you take another bite, and another. All of them surface wounds. They will heal and scar. His body will knit itself back together all for you to tear him apart again. Just the way you like it. The way he does, too.

You deny him twice more of his release, tutting carefully as you watch Max reel back from the edge over and over. Your hand on his dick must hurt more than the biting or the denial now, but he hasn’t told you to stop.

“Mommy, I can’t,” he shakes his head. “I can’t, I can’t.”

You love reducing such a smug and self-assured creature to a sniveling little boy.

“Do you want me to stop?”

A cry tears itself from his throat, your hand still moving quickly. Blood has pooled in his lap, streaking across his hips and thighs.

“No, I just—I can’t,” he snarls. Max’s face morphs into that distinguishable frightening form. His true self. That doesn’t scare you, though.

“You can and you will, baby. You’re almost there. So close. You’re doing so good for mommy,” you say. Kissing his cheeks, you can’t help when your tongue darts out to catch a tear that falls. “What do you need?”

“Kiss me. Please,” Max says. His words come out breathy, light gasps punctuating each one. “Tell me you love me.”

“Aw, Maxxie. Of course I love you. You look so pretty like this.”

Pressing a peck to his nose has Max melting. He leans his torso against you when you finally connect at the mouth. The kiss is soft and slow, the exact opposite of your hand around his length. You slip him your tongue, letting Max taste himself. He moans into your mouth before he pulls away the slightest bit.

He’s breathing against you, still trying to participate in the kiss as he falls off the edge; as you push him. He cums quietly, only a low whimper and heavy breathing to show for it. His spend is sticky across the back of your hand. It dribbles down to your wrist. One liquid mixes in with another, semen and gore staining the both of you.

You cradle his cheek with the messy palm of your hand. The haze in his eyes clears and Max refocuses, looking at you.

“There’s my baby,” you sigh. “Do you feel good?”

The wounds have started to clot, flow slowing as blood dries over his skin and yours. He nuzzles into your cold hand.

“Feel great,” he smiles, and you can tell that he’s back to himself.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?” you ask.

“Just a minute,” Max says. He puts his arms around you, holding you tight and pulling your body into the mess. Blood smears against your clothes, but you could not care less. “Thank you. I love you.”

You can feel his words thrumming in your veins.

tagging: @beskarandblasters @covetyou

[gvbejvmes]

Drabble: The Present

Title: Fridays with CeCe Rating: PG-13 Characters: Gabriel James-Michaels, Bella James-Michaels, Constance James, Miss Alison, Andrew James, Maxxie Turner, Jonathan James-Michaels (mentioned), Velvet Starr (mentioned), Tommy “Kid” Kidderro (mentioned) Relationship: Implied Gabriel James-Michaels/Jonathan James-Michaels, Andrew James/Maxxie Turner, past Andrew James/Velvet Starr Warnings: Implied drug use and child endangerment, mentions of canon murder and incorrect medical diagnoses  Summary: Twice a month Bella had a playdate at social services.

Twice a month Bella had a playdate at social services. She called it her ‘CeCe Day.’ He or Jay would take her down there, and she would bounce excitedly in their arms as she told them about all the things she wanted to do while she was there. It was always on a Friday, and it was always four hours in the morning. When they picked her up, she would either chatter on and on at 100mph about what she and her CeCe had done or she would be mopey because her CeCe showed up late or forgot about their playdate. Mostly she loved Playdate Days. Gabe, on the other hand, despised them.

While he and Johnny called them ‘Playdate Days,’ they’d never actually explained to Bella what they were. They would when she was older, but for now, she was too young to understand. All she knew was that her Mommy’s name was CeCe (well, Constance, but she chose to call her CeCe), and she had a standing playdate with her every other Friday. She never asked why it was always in the same room. And she never asked why Miss Alison, their caseworker, was always there. She only knew that she only got to see CeCe in a certain place at a certain time - the specifics didn’t bother her yet. Bella was three months old when Gabe got the call from social services asking if he could take custody of his granddaughter; she didn’t know any other life than this one.

Like most ‘Playdate Days,’ Gabe arrived a half hour early to pick Bella up. He didn’t know why he did it. Sometimes it was because he was already in the area and didn’t want to stray too far away. Other times it was because he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Today it was a combination of the two. He still needed to go to the art store to pick up a couple of brushes he had custom ordered, but something in his gut had told him to stop by the social services building first.

Instead of going in right away and sitting in the waiting room, he went around to the back of the building to the designated smoking area first - and that was when he saw her. 

Constance James was skinny in a way that didn’t look natural. She had definition around her collarbone and chest that reminded Gabe of bird bones. It was like her body didn’t know how to retain fat or muscle tissue on that part of her body. She almost looked concave, but Gabe wouldn’t go quite that far. Her skin didn’t sit quite right on her bones - like she’d lost weight too quickly and her skin tried to conform to her body, but failed. It didn’t hang, but it didn’t look entirely normal either.

Her long blonde hair was streaked with black dye and was pulled back into a severe ponytail at the crown of her head. A cigarette was dangling from her lips as she texted rapidly on her phone. Her nails were short, and the cuticles looked picked at. Chipped nail polish caught the sunlight as her fingers moved across the screen. 

She must have seen him approach because she suddenly groaned and put her phone away. “Did they call you?” She asked as she pulled the cigarette out of her mouth. Her foot was pressed against the side of the building, which made Gabe think of a flamingo for some reason.

“Should they have called me, Connie?” He asked his daughter as he pulled out his own cigarette and lit up. He leaned against the wall near her, knowing better by now than to try to have direct eye contact with his estranged daughter.

She shrugged and took a long drag of her cigarette. She looked better than the last time he had seen her. A lot of the time she ducked out before Gabe could get a good look at her. Today she was wearing jeans that actually fit without falling off her hips, and a thick gray sweater that fell off her shoulder, but that looked like it was the style and not the size. She looked healthier than the last time he’d seen her. Of all the things to have inherited, she inherited her mother’s terrible parenting and her grandfather’s temper and addiction.

“I dunno. They always seem to call you when I fuck up.” She admitted. “Ari kicked me out of the room.”

That was going to be a fun conversation with the case worker. He nodded and took a drag, using the time to think about what to say to that. “She prefers being called Bella.” He finally settled on.

Connie finished her cigarette and dropped the butt onto the ground before pushing off the wall. “No, you prefer Bella. She’s three. She’ll answer to any name I call her.” And with that his daughter started walking back towards the street. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

He watched his daughter walk away before finishing his cigarette and sanitizing his hands. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but they both knew she wouldn’t listen.  Pushing all thoughts of his daughter away, he went inside to pick up Bella. And sure enough, as soon as he walked into the waiting room, the receptionist led him into a conference room to wait for the caseworker.

“Mr. James-Michaels.” Miss Alison greeted him.  And it was Miss Alison. He’d tried just calling her Alison once and she nearly bit his head off. His husband said it was a Child Services/Social Worker thing and to just roll with it. 

“Miss Alison.” He greeted in return, watching as she sat down at the table across from him. “I ran into Connie outside.”

The younger woman’s face paled. “Did she tell you what happened?” She pulled out her tablet and Gabe knew from experience that she was pulling up their file.

“Just that Bella threw her out of the room. And that she’s trying to make ‘Ari’ happen.”

Miss Alison sighed. “I put in a call to the judge. We may have to terminate her visitation for a couple of weeks.” It looked like she was looking for the best way to explain to Gabe what happened. Technically there was video footage, but Gabe hated watching it and Miss Alison knew that. 

“Miss James has once again refused to follow the rules of visitation. She was thirty minutes late, she insisted on referring to Bella as Ari, even after both myself and Bella asked her to refrain, and she once again told Bella she was going to buy a house and take her away from you. It was at that point that Bella screamed and asked her to go away. We escorted Miss James out immediately. It’s become very clear that the current arrangement is not conducive to Bella’s wellbeing. You and your husband will likely get a summons within the next week or so with a court date to meet with Judge Murphy again.”

Before Gabe could respond, there was a knock on the door, and one of the assistants popped their head into the room. “Sorry, Bella kept asking me to call you. When I let her know you were already here, she demanded to see you because and I quote ‘the connatution says so.’” And he looked like he was trying so hard not to laugh.

Gabe rolled his eyes. “That she definitely got from my husband.” He dug around in his satchel and pulled out a package of freeze dried apple slices and tossed them at the assistant before pulling off his beanie and tossing that to him as well. “Those should tide her over until I’m done in here.” He promised. “I have to go over my and my husband’s availability for the next couple of weeks with Miss Alison.” 

By the time Gabe finished his conversation and went to the other room to collect Bella, she was standing by the door, coat on and his beanie shoved down over her wild hair. “Took you long enough, GG.” She complained as he signed her out and carried her out of the building. “You dunno what I had to deal with today.”

His granddaughter was definitely three going on forty-seven.

After going to pick up his custom brushes, they headed over to the Collective so they could drop them off in his studio and because there were some orders he apparently needed to authorize. As soon as they walked inside, Bella told him she wanted to watch ‘the spinning’. He had no idea what she was talking about, until they walked to the classroom and he saw Maxxie running his beginning pottery class. Bella scampered off to sit near Maxxie and watch him move his clay around. Somehow he had a feeling she was going to wind up covered in clay - again. Shaking his head, he walked out of the classroom to find Andrew James sitting at the reception desk.

His son was twenty-six years old and all dark hair and tan skin. There was something about his hair that reminded Gabe of how his hair had been when he was his age. It was long and hung in his eyes - all the damn time. He was broad-shouldered, but was constantly hunching in on himself. It was like he was trying to make himself smaller everywhere he went. If he had to describe his son in one word, it would be skittish. 

He spent years on medication he didn’t need after he claimed that he saw aliens take his aunt away. It wasn’t until he was older that he finally saw a therapist who saw his story for what it was: a way for his brain to comprehend a horrible thing he’d witnessed. Unfortunately by that time, he’d already spent years on medication he never needed and the side effects were irreversible. Thankfully the worst of it was memory loss and shaky hands.

“What are you doing working today?” He asked curiously as he gestured for his son to let him onto the computer. His son had been working at the Collective since he moved to New York. He’d made it clear he didn’t want any handouts, but he’d connected so well with the others at the Collective that it was strange to think about him working anywhere else. “I thought you refused to work on days Maxxie and Velvet were working.” 

He’d dated both Velvet and Maxxie and now tried to avoid both of them whenever he could. His relationship with Velvet hadn’t been all that serious. As soon as he found out Velvet slept in a coffin, he was out. Maxxie, on the other hand, had been very serious. They’d dated for six months, which was the longest he’d ever seen his friend in a relationship. It had ended badly, to say the very least. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened between them, but fire had been involved somehow. 

Drew made a face as he perched on the desk, shoulders hunched over and ankles crossed. “That’s not true.” He lied. “I traded shifts with Kid. He had his first GED prep class today.”

Gabe smiled at that. It had taken Tommy long enough. He pulled up the order he needed to review. There were still things he needed to do up in his office, but knowing that his son was working made him want to stay downstairs with him for as long as he could get away with it. 

“CJ texted me.” Drew said after a long moment. “She wanted me to talk some ‘sense’ into you.” 

He rolled his eyes. “And how’s that going for you?” While Connie didn’t talk to him, she still talked to her brother, but mostly only when she needed something. Drew, for his part, didn’t take sides. He loved his sister despite her faults, but he also knew how she was and what was best for his niece.

Before Drew could respond, Maxxie’s voice came from the classroom. “Pookie! Can you come get your little sister?! She’s throwing clay on the ground.” And nothing about that surprised him except for…

“Pookie?” He mouthed at his son, eyebrow raised. Maybe there was more to Drew working today than just taking Tommy’s shift.

His son blushed as he hopped off the desk. “That’s the part you’re focusing on? Not the fact that he keeps calling my niece my sister?” He grumbled out. “I’ll watch Bella; just go work.” He waved a hand in his dad’s direction. 

As his son disappeared into the classroom and he could hear Bella squealing in delight, he couldn’t help but to mouth out again: “Pookie?”

[juletheghoul]

👀👀👀

Ok so. Max has always been very enthusiastic about anything that has to do with our little witch. He just loves everything. All of it. And I'm picturing this moment, you know, when the sun is setting, and it's oranges and reds and yellows across the sky, and the two of them are just lounging around and she's perhaps reading or practicing a new spell and he's just gazing at her like she's the sun herself and she looks at him and let's go of everything and saunters towards him and sits on his lap and he's just 😍😍 and she asks him if he can describe to her what he likes about her and he just gets overwhelmed because there isn't a single word that can describe what she means to him and he's a little embarrassed that he's so speechless and she takes notice so she asks him if it's possible to tell her what she tastes like to him since he always waxes poetry about her when he's feeding and honestly, this can be as smutty as you want it to be or as fluffy. I'll drink it down in a second....but like, you know...there's nothing better than fluffy smut where Max bites her skin over and over again and he sort of tells her that depending on where he bites her, her taste changes just a little bit...and he looooves biting her in certain places *wink wink*...BUT I'LL TAKE ANYTHING I PROMISE

Okay - so you know I love writing about our vampy bf Maxxy but sometimes it seems like I have no inspo. BUT THEN you come into my asks and drop something like this and it's like a manchurian candidate phrase in my brain and BAM - here I am 1500 words later. lmao.

Enjoy babe this ones for you.

Pairing: Max x F!witch-reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: **TRIGGER WARNING** Max is a vampire so there will be a lot of blood talk, some of it sexual in nature, fluff, language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), slight dirty talk, (Again, blood play but it should come as no surprise)

Read Domum here

---

Max had been a lot of things in his life, it was unavoidable when you’d been around as long as he had. He’d been headstrong and stubborn. Impatient and terrible; a monster. He’d been violent, yes, horrible and malignant - all of the terrible things one could be but that wasn’t all. He’d been sweet, to his younger sister - she who he imagined as all of the good parts of the world until she passed from sickness in the bloom of her youth. He’d been trustworthy to her and safe - a protector.

When he’d been turned - he’d been obsessive. Bloodthirsty and murderous. How far away all that seemed now. Here with this woman who possessed his still heart.

If that foolish boy of my youth could see me now, he’d think me weak.

It almost made him laugh, how wrong that child would be. Now Max knew himself to be kind, and gentle. Loving - generous and tender and it was all for her. She made him better. She made him love not only her, but himself.

He watched her as she stuck her tongue out in concentration - a habit she’d deny - while she wrote in her journal - marking down the results of her spells and he couldn’t help but smile.

-

“You’re staring Max.” You spoke although you didn’t face him. The sun was low in the sky and there would only be an hour or so left of light bright enough to write.

“I am indeed.” you smiled to yourself, he was lounging in front of you under a massive oak tree not far from your cottage - choosing like always to dwell in the shade. “I like the look of you.”

“Yes? And why is that?” You closed your book, carefully setting aside the inkpot and quill before facing him. His expression almost made you laugh - it was a confused frown.

“Why do I like the look of you..?” He quirked his head to the side inquisitively.

“Yes, well - not just that in truth. What do you like about me Max?” Now you were curious. His frown deepened.

“I- well, I … I love you.” He floundered, seemingly lost in thought.

“Yes, I am aware and I love you also but, what drew you to me? What do you love about me?” You made your way over to him, straddling his lap so he could hold onto you. He stared up at you with narrowed eyes, pursed lips and you couldn’t help but kiss him chastely before letting him answer. He was quiet for a long time.

“What I feel for you is indescribable.” The words came out reverently. “Your question, although simple, has left me silent because there are so many things I love about you.” He placed a kiss at the hollow of your throat before continuing.

“At first, it was your scent. It drew me in from miles away. You smell of high summer - sunshine and decadence and I had never been called to something with such intensity in all my years. I had to have you. Would’ve drank you dry had I been younger.” You could tell this disturbed him. “I love your tenacity, the care you have for everything you put your energy into. I love how you protect the people of this village, although we both know they don’t deserve it-” You slapped at his chest playfully. “Very well - most of them don’t deserve it.”

He pulled at the strings of your corset, revealing more of your skin for his mouth.

“I love your face, the state of your hair when you’ve slept a tad too late. I love the way you smile after your first sip of tea at night. I love the way you speak to Ambrose as though he were a newborn.” His confessions made your heart ache- that he would notice these trivial little things about you and love you all the harder for them.

The sun was dipping lower now, bathing all in a golden glow and you listened to him speak as crickets sang, as deer moved just beyond the trees; as fireflies danced around you.

“I love the way you hold onto me tight as you sleep - and the way my name fills your mouth. I love the way you taste - you’ve ruined me for all the world.” He grazed his fang against the vein in your neck and this was something you suddenly needed to know.

“What do I taste like to you Max?” It was your turn to tilt your head now. He closed his eyes as he thought of how to answer, his bottom lip between his sharp teeth.

“Oh my love, how to describe it to you?” He took your wrist and brought it up to his mouth, licking at the skin and when you nodded he pierced it - drawing forth a droplet to sample. His pupils dilated, his cock hardened between your legs and a contented sigh slipped through parted lips. “You taste like heaven. Like ripe pomegranates and the finest wine one could imagine.” He licked at the wound and it healed before your eyes. “You taste like passion and a field of wildflowers, rain and the ocean and all of the things that make life worth living.”

“Do I really taste of all that to you Max?” You were soft for him, pliant and needy of his love and attention.

“Oh yes. That and so much more - especially when you are aroused, when you come it’s even better.” His eyes darkened now, flashing unnaturally in the low light like a predator. “When I bite here-” He opened the shirt even more now, baring your breasts to him in the gloaming “Here you taste of summer storms.” He licked at the stiffened peak, always making sure you welcomed his bite and when you pulled him into your skin he sunk his teeth into the flesh with a groan.

Your cunt ached at the pull of it, the emptiness calling for the thick pillar of him to fill it like only he could.

“You taste of divinity, of the sacrament and all things holy.” He licked at the ruby trail and closed the tiny wound before moving to the other side. “You taste like home.” He bit down again, harder this time and it drew a moan from you.

You pulled his face up to crash your lips to his and although the coppery taste of your blood was in your mouth it didn’t bother you. You could feel the click of your teeth against his in your passion, he matched your intensity, you purposely grazed your tongue against one fang, giving him more of what he craved and it was like a dam burst. One minute he was docile and gentle underneath you, the next you were on your back in the soft grass. His eyes almost glowed as he pulled at your undergarments roughly, all but ripping through them in his haste to reach your wet centre.

Wordlessly you helped him, pulling and bunching up your skirts while he rushed to free his cock.

“I need you Max.” You made space for him between your thighs as he finally grasped himself in hand, the drops of his arousal coating his length. “Take me.” You called to him, spreading the lips of your cunt to his gaze and he moaned at the sight.

The stretch made you gasp, the thickness of him making you clench around him, tightening your hold on him before he could snap his hips.

“I love the way you feel, the way your pretty little cunt gets so wet for me. The way it swallows my cock when I fuck you.” His words were clipped, spit out through gritted teeth.

He held both your arms above your head, making your breasts jut out for him. He punctuated his words with each punch of his cock. It made you moan, made you forget you were outside where anyone could come upon the two of you. Nothing matters when he loves you like this.

“I love the way you feel too-” Your words were cut off by his kiss, his tongue an obscene thing in your mouth as the wet sounds of your coupling ring out around you. His fingers found the swollen bundle of nerves and the wet glide of them had you at the knife's edge of your release.

He moved his mouth down, his nose plotting the course before arriving at his destination and when he sank his fangs into your breast the coil snapped. Your body curled into his, your cunt clenching around him and he groaned into your skin - your blood in his mouth as he chased his own pleasure.

“Drink more - take it, it’s yours.” You pulled him to the vein in your neck, relishing the way his hips stuttered, the way he bit and spilled his release inside you almost at the same time.

It was full dark now, the moon glowing in the sky as you both lay there on the soft earth, catching your breath; content to hold him close for as long as he needed.

---

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