Your breath comes too fast, blood pulsing painfully as you run. Your feet slip on the cobblestones, still slick with the evening's rain, and the air you gasp in is humid and cool. Your lungs strain, footsteps echoing loudly //(too loud, you'll be heard)// off the dark stone walls around you.
You're flagging.
You know it, and you're sure your hunter knows it too.
//Your hunter.// You'd laugh at the thought, if you could get enough air into your lungs for it.
You take a corner too fast, ankle rolling painfully; just barely keep yourself from sprawling across the stone, a yelp of pain escaping you. That echoes, too, and you're sure you can see the smile, the flash of lethal-sharp teeth.
You won't make it. The echo of your steps haunts you, each footfall coming back twice, light and predatory.
You won't make it. The thought burns through you, blood turning to vinegar in your veins, and for a moment - one dark, hopeless moment - you think about letting go. Letting yourself stumble, fall.
Die.
And then, in an act of Providence worthy of any absentee God, you reach a crossroads. At the northern corner stands a church, whitewashed wood against the dark stone buildings that surround it. It all but glows, murky moonlight sinking into pale planks, and the relief that tears through you is enough to draw a sob from your burning lungs.
You hobble onwards, not letting yourself stop. You aren't there yet; already, the footsteps behind you pick up the pace, a burst of frustration as your hunter catches sight of your goal. You don't dare risk a glance back
@@.ind1;//(it's behind you)//@@
@@.ind2;can barely drag in a breath@@
@@.ind3;//(catching up)//@@
but the church is there, dark wooden doors imposing, promising safety.
If they aren't locked.
If you make it in time.
If your ankle holds.
//[[Race forwards|2]]//You drop your shoulder, bracing for the impact. Clench your jaw.
There's something icy at your back, cold fingers brushing your neck.
Teeth clashing, red eyes and blood on its breath.
A whimper escapes you.
Your ankle gives out.
You collide with the doors.
They aren't locked
@@.ind1;//(thank God and all the Saints)//@@
@@.ind2;and you spill through into the church, metal clattering as you fall@@
@@.ind3;//(crucifix bouncing free of its chain, a silver flash swallowed by the dark)//@@
and you roll over, raising your hands in a desperate attempt to ward off the creature at your back.
Silhouetted against the hazy moon, it stares down at you. Motionless. It might as well be a statue, shadowed in black and silver, but for the slow tilt of its head. You're barely breathing, only dimly aware of your pulse pounding in your throat, your hands.
Your crucifix is gone, lost somewhere in the pews. Your weapon, too, lost in that first, disastrous attack. Your ankle throbs, your chest constricts, and you're painfully, horribly, vulnerable.
But the creature doesn't pounce. It doesn't move. You can see the glint of its eyes, moonlight reflecting oddly from that flat stare.
//It had been smiling, when you'd first attacked. You remember that: the razorblade gleam of white teeth, quickly smothered in red.//
It's not smiling now.
It just… watches you.
<<link '"if you\'re going to kill me, do it now."' '2.1'>><</link>>
<<link '"stay the //fuck// back."' '2.2'>><</link>>
<<link '"...well?"' '2.3'>><</link>>
<<link 'stare back.' '2.4'>><</link>>You're not sure where you find the boldness. Maybe it's staring certain death in the face; maybe it's the pain in your ankle, making you impatient. Maybe it's just that someone should say something.
"If you're going to kill me, get on with it."
The words come out more resigned than you'd intended, exhaustion colouring your voice as you gesture at yourself, still sprawled on the cold stone.
There's a soft sound from the creature; it takes you a moment to identify it, and then you realise.
It's //laughing//.
The voice that comes from the shadows is soft, rich and light with amusement. "What else would you propose I do with you?"
<<include '3'>>You grit your teeth, haul yourself a scant few inches away from the gaping hole of the doorway. The monster watches your determined progress with a curious tilt to its head.
"Stay the //fuck// back."
It might be bravado; it might be a bluff. You're not sure if it can enter the church - not much you'll be able to do if it can.
That doesn't mean you'll make it easy, though. Even if you are in agony. Even if you can hear your own exhaustion in your voice.
There's a soft sound from the creature; it takes you a moment to identify it, and then you realise.
It's //laughing//.
The voice that comes from the shadows is soft, rich and light with amusement.
"And if I don't?"
<<include '3'>>You push yourself up, mustering as much dignity as you can. You've never wanted to die lying down; sitting isn't much better, but if you're going out, you'd like your last moments to be //upright//.
The creature doesn't move. There's a curious tilt to its head, but it shows no sign of movement. You swallow hard, think about getting to your feet. As if in response, your ankle gives a painful twinge. You press your lips together against the yelp, and exhale slowly. Despite the thing watching you, unblinking, your heart rate is beginning to slow. Your voice sounds almost level as you manage a single word.
"...well?"
There's a soft sound from the creature; it takes you a moment to identify it, and then you realise.
It's //laughing//.
The voice that comes from the shadows is soft, rich and light with amusement.
"Well?"
<<include '3'>>Your nails scrape against the flagstones as you clench your fists. Your heart is beating too fast, ribs aching under the strain, and nauseating pain radiates up your leg from your - sprained? Broken? - ankle.
You meet its gaze as steadily as you can, betrayed by the thundering of your pulse.
Its eyes gleam. The dim moonlight gives them a strange sheen, almost iridescent.
//Poisonous//, you think, and then, out of nowhere: //beautiful//.
You have to swallow that thought, along with a mouthful of bitter blood.
There's a soft sound from the creature; it takes you a moment to identify it, and then you realise.
It's //laughing//.
The voice that comes from the shadows is soft, rich and light with amusement.
"Not feeling chatty, little human?"
<<include '3'>>It steps forward, and something in your hindbrain shrieks, loud enough that you flinch back, hands grasping for weapons you no longer carry, a crucifix lost to the dust and shadows.
Predatory, untroubled, it steps over the threshold of the church, and the last scraps of your hope wither between your fingers. You make a halfhearted effort to scramble back, useless leg scraping the tiles. It steps silently over you, dropping to a careful crouch over your thighs. A slender hand reaches out, and you have to hold back a shudder as icy fingertips brush your throat, lingering over your pulse.
"I…"
The words choke you. The skin feels smooth, polished marble against the rapid hammering of your pulse, brushing lightly over your jaw as the vampire tilts its head.
It's beautiful - painfully so, even smeared in your comrades' blood. Its mouth glistens, smeared red like lipstick, and there's a satisfied gleam to its eyes. Those eyes are red - you know this, saw them flashing crimson as it ripped out throats, opened ribcages like shattering pottery - but the moonlight bleaches them silver. Almost human, if not for that odd flatness.
You wonder, distantly, as its fingers trace your cheekbone, what colour those eyes were when it was human. If the smile was so pretty, the stare so hypnotic.
Unlikely.
This is all predator, your heart jackrabbiting in your chest, frozen in place as it examines you thoughtfully. Paralyzed, you look back.
[[it looks like a man.|4][$his to "his",$he to "he",$him to "him",$His to "His",$He to "He"]]
[[it looks like a woman.|4][$his to "her",$he to "she",$him to "her",$His to "Her",$He to "She"]]Sharp-jawed, long-haired, with a smile that makes something shiver in your gut even as it promises a brutal death. There's a wicked curl to $his - //its// - lips, eyes skimming your face as $he takes in your reaction. Breathes in deeply, almost reverently, and your own breath catches in your throat as $he drags $his tongue over $his lower lip, smearing black blood across the skin.
"Are you afraid?"
[[nod.|4.1]]
[[shake head.|4.2]]You lick your own lips. There's salt and metal on your skin, sweat and blood and fear. You don't want to admit it - never would, never should. You're swimming with a shark, and this is blood in the water.
But you're in a house of God, with a devil cradling your face, and you find yourself unable to lie.
You nod, once, and that beautiful smile grows. $His thumb brushes your lip, tracing the path of your tongue, and there's no breath to disturb your hair as $he whispers, "//Good//."
<<include '5'>>You lick your own lips. There’s salt and metal on your skin, in your mouth, sweat and blood and fear bitter under your tongue.
And yet, you can’t - won’t - admit it. Can’t give the thing that leers at you the satisfaction of truth.
You shake your head, jaw clenched against the sob that threatens to break free.
That beautiful smile grows. $His thumb brushes your lip, tracing the path of your tongue, and there’s no breath to disturb your hair as $he whispers, “//Liar//.”
<<include '5'>>$His nail splits your lip. The pain is sudden, stinging, somehow unexpected. Makes you flinch, pulling away, and the silk-light touch on your face turns to steel, clawed fingers digging into your cheek as $he holds you still.
$He keeps $his eyes open as $he leans in. It's not a kiss, not really: $he swipes $his tongue along your lip, lapping up the warm swell of blood with a pleased sound. $His tongue is cold.
You make a sound, a quiet little whimper: after everything, you're not sure you can bear this intimacy, bloodstained as it is. The vampire pulls back, fangs flashing as $he grins at you. $His grip softens once again, fingers stroking softly down your sweat-soaked spine. Your own hand is clamped around $his shoulder, and you know your fingers would be trembling if not for the death grip you have on the fabric.
You should curse $him. Push $him away, throw $him off.
$His fingers drag over your skin, and all you can do is drag in a shaky breath.
"Why?"
Your voice is a hoarse croak, more plea than question. The creature's smile is lovely, smeared in red.
"Blood," $he murmurs, thoughtful and quiet. "It always tastes better when you're fighting or fucking."
You swallow. Your heart twinges in your chest at the reminder of your folly, but the creature only smiles beatifically, almost kindly. $His fingers on your neck are moving rhythmically, typically, brushing over your vertebrae with slow, deliberate care. The touch makes you shiver.
$His eyes are gleaming again, that predator-shine that sets your heart beating with horror and fascination in equal measure. $His lips are wet //(with your friends' blood)// and full, slightly parted to reveal the savage curve of fangs beneath.
$He's beautiful.
<<link 'kiss $him.' '6'>><</link>>It's a real kiss, this time. $His lips are icy against yours, smoother than marble, but $he parts them willingly, hand curling tight around the back of your neck. $His fingernails scrape your hairline, toying with you as $he tilts $his head. Fangs scrape your lips, stinging against the cut as $he drags $his tongue over your skin.
The kiss tastes like raw meat. The blood on $his skin is drying, sticky and flaky, and you tense up as you remember
@@.ind1;//(torn throats and shattered ribs)//@@
the earlier fight, but the creature just hums into your mouth, adjusts $his angle. Another lazy swipe of $his tongue and you're moaning, fingers clawed against $his shoulder as you press forwards, seeking… something.
It can't be comfort, not from this dead thing.
That doesn't stop your breath from coming harder, a gasp escaping you as $he tugs lightly on your hair.
It can't be vengeance: you're moaning into $his mouth, your friends' blood smeared across your lips as you lick into $his mouth, tasting their deaths on $his tongue.
You can taste salt. You're crying, vision blurred and stinging. The creature pulls back, one hand still loose around your throat. With the other, $he wipes away one tear, leaving a chill smudge on your skin. Raises $his thumb to $his mouth and tastes it, slow and sensual. The flash of fangs and tongue is enough to make you shudder, stomach coiling tight. You must make some kind of sound, because $he smiles at you, and for a moment (just one silver-edged moment) it feels real, warm and amused.
$His hand goes tight around your throat. With $his thumb, $he pushes your head back, and drops $his mouth to your throat.
You go still when a fang grazes your pulse, a sudden shock of very real fear breaking through the haze.
$He doesn't bite.
$He just laughs again, licks at your neck. Somehow, you can't quite bring yourself to drop your chin, to push $him away and protect yourself.
No. Instead, you drop your head back further, breathing hard as $he bites down, not hard enough to break the skin. $His fangs are sharp enough to tear your throat out, leave you bloody and gurgling, but all $he does is tease. Threaten.
You’re squirming, half-pinned beneath $him, your hands buried in $his hair, unable to voice a single coherent thought. With just a few kisses, you’re a wreck, breathing hard, hips twitching with every slow movement of $his hands. $He runs them over your neck, your chest, squeezes at your thighs; brushes them over your belt, tugging lazily at the hem of your shirt. You gasp as those icy fingers graze your skin, breaking the kiss to remember how to breathe, and $he’s smiling at you once again, teeth and blood and moonlight all falling together in an awful silver haze.
Your hips strain upwards, your heart beating so fast you think you might die of it.
$He grins, showing teeth.
The sound you let out is as much sob as moan, pleading and fearful and desperate.
“Please-”
You don’t know what you’re asking for.
@@.ind1;More.@@
@@.ind2;Mercy.@@
@@.ind3;An //end//.@@
For a single, blissful, moment, $he looks away from you, and those dizzying eyes cease their burrowing, gnawing, the fishhooks under your skin stop twitching for a moment.
Your hands fall from $his shoulders as $he straightens, hand curling once more around your throat. $He lifts you, bodily, shoulder muscles screaming and another hot-cold wave of fear and lust washing over you as your air is cut off. $He drags you down the aisle, and you can feel blood beading around $his nails, welling over $his fingers. Your injured ankle flops uselessly as you struggle to get to your feet, to be upright, because you can’t breathe and you’re aching and desperate and still crying, and above it all you want that tenderness back, the kissing, the gentle caresses.
You’re deposited - more gently than you’d expected - on a hard surface. The altar, at the front of the church you’d forgotten you were in. Stained glass turns the moonlight crimson, washes the creature in cobalt and copper, all bleached pale like bones, and $his bloody smile sears you more deeply than any sermon.
[[no. i can’t do this.|6.1]]
<<link 'yes. //God//, yes.' '6.2'>><</link>>There’s a Saint in the glass. He watches you, the benediction in his eyes turned to ash by the moonlight. Your ankle throbs, the pain somehow mundane compared to the beauty before you. Threatening to consume you.
Somewhere in the dark, your crucifix lies. Your friends are dead, your weapon gone.
You have nothing left.
Cold fingers grip your chin. Your eyes are dragged from the Saint above to the Abomination before you, still smiling like a blade in the dark. $He brushes a finger over your lips, smearing blood across your mouth.
“Still with me, little human?”
“I-”
Your voice breaks.
@@.ind1;//With me?//@@
@@.ind2;//With you.//@@
@@.ind3;//Call and response, the ritual before every hunt said like a prayer.//@@
The candlestick on the altar is gold. Silver would be better - but the Church was meant to be your sanctuary, and here it is, hollow and Godless.
So gold it is.
Your swing connects. Right through the centre of that smile, a fang tearing through the creature’s own lip as $he stumbles, and you take the opportunity - push off the altar and start to run, your ankle giving out almost immediately.
You’re not going far.
You just need your crucifix. Need to ward it off before it kills you, and then you’ll stand a chance.
[[you never stood a chance.|6.2.1]]This time, when $his hands close around your throat, you’re ready. Already tilting your head back, lips meeting $his with a clash that draws fresh blood in your mouth, and $he licks it up eagerly, as keen as any lover you’ve had. $His hands are in your hair, pulling your head back, smearing blood across your cheeks as $he trails brutal kisses down your throat. $He’s murmuring, tone soft and intimate, languages mixing and blending. You catch the words //sweet//, and //pretty//, and what sounds like //devour//, and a thrill of hideous desire spills down your spine as you arch against $him<<if $he is "he">> and realise $he’s <<include '6.2man'>><<else>>. <<include '6.2woman'>><</if>>Not really.
You’re not halfway across the church before a hand grips your shoulder, yanking you backwards. Your cry echoes from the walls. There’s an arm around your torso, an iron grip pinning you against its chest. You kick backwards, regret it as your ankle screams, black spots dancing in your vision. You’re clawing fruitlessly at the hand at your throat, gasping as it closes hard, cutting off your air.
You need to breathe-
@@.ind1;//(just get some air)//@@
@@.ind2;can’t make your limbs work right@@
@@.ind3;//(you’re going to die here)//@@
@@.ind4;but at least you’ll see them again.@@
Lips brush your ear.
There’s no breath to warm your skin as $he whispers to you, low and intimate.
“Wrong decision, human.”
There’s pressure on your throat. Something hot drips over your skin.
Then the pain comes.
$His teeth open your throat like slicing through water, your harsh breathing turning wet and ragged. $He laps at your skin, the blood pouring over your hands - $his and yours, fingers tangled together as your struggles grow weaker.
You slump back in $his arms as hazy silver moonlight fills your vision.
The Saint watches beatifically.
//You’ll see them again.//
[[END.|end]]Thank you for playing! I hope you enjoyed this - if so (and you haven't already), check out my main work, <a href="https://nyehilism.itch.io/project-hadea" target="_blank">Project Hadea</a>!hard, pressing himself into the juncture of your thigh.
You’re desperate, consumed - consumed and //consuming//, biting back against his lips as he grins savagely into your mouth, your hands fumbling at his belt, pushing away silk and velvet to the marble skin beneath. Wrap a hand around him, gasping at the coolness of it, and draw your thumb over the tip. He groans, the sound tinged with an inhuman growl, and a cold hand closes over your wrist. Pins it to the altar, the hand in your hair gripping punishingly hard. His teeth close on your collarbone, fangs scoring fine red furrows in your skin. Blood beads, spills, trickles over your collar, hot and sticky, and you’re sure you’ve never been so <<cycle "$pipis">><<option "hard" true>><<option "wet" false>><</cycle>> in your life. You whine, tug at the grip he has on your wrist. His free hand slides under your shirt, icy fingers splayed wide on your stomach, and you instinctively arch back, pushing your <<cycle "$tits">><<option "breasts">><<option "chest">><</cycle>> forward.
His fingers find your nipple, a sharp nail dragging over the sensitive skin, drawing a whimper from you. You barely have time to protest as he pulls back, hooking his fingers in the collar of your shirt and tearing it apart like tissue paper. The armour - sturdy leather and chain, meant to protect against fangs and claws - falls to the ground with a clatter, leaving you bare in the chill.
He leans back to take you in, and you shiver under his gaze. One cold finger trails down your sternum, pauses over your belly button.
“Well,” he says after a long moment, catching his lip against one fang. Glances up at you, eyes gleaming. “Aren’t you lovely?”
The praise is a fishhook in your gut, makes you squirm and ache, a morphine-sweet tug under your skin. You bite your lip, tasting blood, and dare to reach out, burying your hands in his hair. He tilts his head into the touch, eyes fluttering closed - absurdly long eyelashes brushing his high cheekbone - and leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands find their way to your waist, fingers tracing up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He trails them along your sides, your ribs, up your arms; his hands close over your wrists, and the gasp that startles out of you as he presses his lips to the thin skin over your veins is shaky.
His tongue presses against your tendons. Soft, at first, cool and smooth as the rest of his skin. Then comes the sharpness, nails drawing bloody half-moons in your forearm as he [[bites down|m1]].She hums, still leaving stinging kisses down the column of your neck, blood welling up and dripping into the hollow of your throat. She catches it on her tongue, laps it up and smears it across your skin, and all the while her hands are tangling in your hair, running over your shoulders, your back. She traces the line of your spine, nails sharp even through your shirt, tugs the fabric up and aside and splays icy fingers over your back, your stomach.
You’re desperate, consumed - consumed and //consuming//, biting back against $his lips as $he grins savagely into your mouth, your hands fumbling at $his belt, pushing away fabric to the soft skin beneath. She's wet, silky, soft and cool, and she moans as you curl your fingers, desperate to please her in a way that makes you shiver to think about too hard. She drags her tongue over your skin, one long-nailed hand closing over your wrist, her nails biting bloody crescents into your skin. She's pushed your shirt up, hand icy against your <<cycle "$tits">><<option "chest">><<option "breasts">><</cycle>>, the tantalising scrape of a nail over your nipple drawing a soft gasp from your bloodstained lips, and you're not sure you've ever been so <<cycle "$pipis">><<option "hard" true>><<option "wet" false>><</cycle>> in your life.
You barely have time to protest as she pulls back, hooking $his fingers in the collar of your shirt and tearing it apart like tissue paper. The armour - sturdy leather and chain, meant to protect against fangs and claws - falls to the ground with a clatter, leaving you bare in the chill.
$He leans back to take you in, and you shiver under $his gaze. One cold finger trails down your sternum, pauses over your belly button.
“Well,” she says after a long moment, catching $his lip against one fang. Glances up at you, eyes gleaming. “Aren’t you lovely?”
The praise is a fishhook in your gut, makes you squirm and ache, a morphine-sweet tug under your skin. You bite your lip, tasting blood, and dare to reach out, burying your hands in $his hair. $He tilts $his head into the touch, eyes fluttering closed - absurdly long eyelashes brushing $his high cheekbone - and leans forward, pressing $his forehead against yours. $His hands find their way to your waist, fingers tracing up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. $He trails them along your sides, your ribs, up your arms; $his hands close over your wrists, and the gasp that startles out of you as she presses $his lips to the thin skin over your veins is shaky.
Her tongue presses against your tendons. Soft, at first, cool and smooth as the rest of her skin. Then comes the sharpness, nails drawing bloody half-moons in your forearm as she [[bites down|m1]].Blood wells up around $his lips, spills over and down your arm in glistening rivulets. $He tracks it with a groan, hoarse and throaty, and you shudder at the feeling of $his tongue. Flex your hands, and with growing boldness, lean forwards, press your mouth insistently to $his. Taste yourself on $his tongue, lick blood from $his lips, hot and salty and bitter. $He growls, fingers hooking in your belt, and with sudden impatience, hauls you forward.
<<if $he is "he">><<if $pipis>><<include 'm-pipis'>><<else>><<include 'm-pussy'>><</if>><<else>><<if $pipis>><<include 'f-pipis'>><<else>><<include 'f-pussy'>><</if>><</if>>You whimper, rocking against him. Your hand flexes in his grip, fingers twitching; he hums, the sound reverberating up your wrist, through your veins all the way to your twitching twisting heart, and as you tug against him, he grips you harder, until you can feel the pressure of his grip in your bones.
"//Please//," you mumble, your free hand finding its way to his belt, rubbing between your bodies. He pulls back, grins at you, blood turned to quicksilver in the moonlight, and there's a fever in his eyes, vivid and bright and glorious. You fumble for his belt, wrap your legs around his waist as he dips his head to your neck, drags his tongue long your tendons. His cock is hard in your hand, skin like ice, slick and cold and hard. You drag your thumb over the tip, feel a fang graze your pulse in response.
//Want// twists low in your gut, your mouth hanging open as you tip your head back in invitation.
He kisses your throat, the spot just over your pulse. Runs a thumb over it, between his lips and your skin, and pulls back to meet your eyes, still caressing your throat with a single cold finger.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, the faintest edge of a claw biting into your skin. You're flushed, panting, skin too sizes too small and //burning//, and the words are snarled up in your throat, heavy in your chest.
All you can say is //please// and //God// and he //smiles//, bloody and beautiful, tips your head back and presses down on your windpipe.
"Say it," he murmurs in your ear, lips cold against your skin.
"Please-"
"//No//."
You whimper as he pulls back, eyes tracking your tongue as you wet your lips.
"Tell me," he orders, almost priestly as he cups your cheeks, tips your head back until all you can see is silver: silver eyes, silver fangs, silver blood.
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'mp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>You’re yanked off the altar, stabilised against his body (not sure your ankle could take your weight, not with your legs already shaking the way they are) and spun around. The cold stone presses into the tops of your thighs, and you bend willingly as he splays one hand between your shoulderblades. Your nipples graze the stone, bitten wrists smearing crimson on the pitted surface. You grip the other side, arching your back as he drags his nails down your spine, scratching searing furrows down your skin.
His thumbs skim your ass as he lazily kicks your legs apart. You’re exposed, breathing hard - can feel yourself <<switch $pipis>><<case false>>dripping down your thighs<<case true>>leaking, thighs clenching around nothing<</switch>> and bent over like this, you can’t see him, can’t see what he’s doing behind you.
You can feel it, though.
Feel his thumbs drift down, cold fingers brushing over your core, and you can’t help but flinch, twitching away. His hands clamp around your hips, hauling you sharply back towards him; the stone is rough on your chest, has you hissing in that mixed pleasure/pain that’s beginning to take root in your spine. His hand drifts lower, brushing barely-there over your labia, making you shiver. He drags his nails down your inner thighs, drawing a moan out of you, before up again, parting your lips to press his thumb against your clit. The cold of his skin is intense, and you make a sound, pulling away instinctively. Find yourself dragged upright, a hand around your chest, teasing at your nipple, his mouth at your neck as his other hand drifts around your front. Over your stomach, your twitches held in check by the arm that pins you against his chest. He slides his fingers downwards, through the curls between your legs, and this time as he drags them through the wetness there you’re prepared, throw your head back on his shoulder with a moan. Roll your hips into his touch as he lightly circles your clit, slowly increasing the pressure of his hand. Your next moan echoes from the walls, a broken gasp following it as he slides a finger inside you, curls it lazily. His lips brush your neck, the sharp edge of a fang scraping the tendons.
You whimper, leaning back against him as he slides another finger into you, crooks them enough to send a shock down your nerves, a high-pitched gasp startling out of you. You raise one hand - blood still flowing freely from your wrist, smearing across his cheek as you bury your hand in his hair. His hand doesn’t stop moving, drawing tight circles around your clit, dragging against your skin where you’re clenched around him, panting hard, but he turns his head, seals his mouth to the wound once again and sucks, a painful pressure building in your wrist.
It’s all too much.
You come with a hoarse cry, eyes rolling back and your spine arching as you fall back against him, let him take your weight as your legs give way. He holds you up, pinned against his body, your fingers tangled in his hair and your breath coming hard and fast as white spots dance in front of your eyes.
He holds you through it, surprisingly gentle, pressing sticky-red kisses to your wrist, your throat, your cheek, murmuring praise into your ear as you come down. Your thighs ache, your stomach too; there’s blood smeared across the both of you, your head swimming, and your lips are numb. Your legs won’t support your weight: as he pushes you down, a hand splayed between your shoulderblades, you slump forward over the altar, too exhausted to make a performance of it. Press your forehead to the cold stone, hoping (//fruitlessly//) it will ground you.
“Please,” you whisper to the altar, a prayer in blood and sweat and sin, and the Devil at your back laughs softly.
Your body is littered in cuts, your wrists still sluggishly leaking blood. His fingers, still wet, play through the mess of your hands, lift away from your overheated skin. The sound of him sucking them clean shudders through you, makes you groan softly. Your thighs clench, heat simmering under your skin as you look back over your shoulder.
He glows in the moonlight, angelic and perfect. All the colour is bleached out in silver and crimson, your blood smeared black across his lips. He slides his hands up your spine, curving around to cup your $tits, thumbs lazily flicking your nipples. Bends over you to scatter cold kisses over your shoulders, the back of your neck. Pinches until you gasp, squirming, unsure if you're trying to get away or get //closer//.
“...are you going to kill me?”
You’re not sure why you ask: not sure what the point is, except that it would be nice to know if $he’s a liar.
$He laughs, leaning forward to press his lips to the back of your neck. You’re covered by his body, pinned to the stone, and if it wasn’t for the cold, it might almost be comforting.
“Yes,” $he murmurs, scattering light kisses against your shoulders, “But not yet.”
“When?”
A sharp bite to your shoulderblade makes you gasp, biting at your lip.
“When you ask me.”
The sound that escapes you then is half-groan, half-sob, forced out through numb lips.
You always knew you’d die— perhaps not like //this//, but at the hands (fangs) of a monster.
Perhaps you’re grateful $he seems determined to make it pleasurable, as $he shifts $his hips, rubbing against you.
Inch by agonising inch
@@.ind1;//(drop by crimson drop)//@@
@@.ind2;$he’s inside you and around you, buried deep beneath your skin@@
@@.ind3;//(cock and teeth and nails)//@@
@@.ind4;and you’re gasping, sobbing, begging, your short breaths echoing from the cavern around you.@@
All the Saints watching, and all you can do is cry for $him.
It doesn’t take long.
It takes an eternity.
You’re not sure. You’ve come, over and over until it hurts, low in your stomach, until you can’t support your weight and your thighs are soaked and the sounds choking from your body are obscene, unholy, unbearable.
@@.ind1;//please please oh God ''please''//@@
@@.ind2;and perhaps you're crying, or perhaps that's blood trickling down your cheeks@@
@@.ind3;//tell me//, $he orders, and you could no less disobey than disbelieve, damnation approaching with a sharp-toothed smile and cold hands on your throat@@
@@.ind4;and you cry //please// and //do it// and //God//-@@
$He closes a hand in your hair, and you sob as you’re pulled upright, hands finding their way to $his arms, shoulders, face, gripping $his jaw to pull $him into a kiss that’s more teeth than lips, as much blood as spit.
$His hand closes over your throat, nails digging in, and as he claws the last of your moans from your larynx, all you can do is cling to him. Your throat opens as easily as your mouth, your legs, and he buries his face in the gaping hole, tongue cold against your carotid as darkness clouds your vision.
[[END.|end]]"//Bite me//," you breathe, and his smile is //divine//, an act of God written in blood and moonlight. His hands tighten on your face, the kiss raw and metallic as he licks into your mouth, fangs scraping your lips.
You're gripping his waist, knuckles aching as he slides his mouth over your neck, hands drifting over your chest. He lingers over your $tits, one thumb brushing over a nipple, making you gasp as he rolls it between his fingers, kisses his way down your neck. It's intimate, almost tender, the blood smearing from his lips and sticking to your skin. He scrapes his teeth over your collarbone, <<if $tits is "breasts">>the swell of your breast; cups it in his hand and lets one fang pierce the sensitive skin, a bead of blood welling up. You groan as he licks at it, instinctively spreading your legs wider, thighs clenching as you roll your hips.<<else>>claws drawing red furrows in your chest, blood beading in the scratches he leaves behind. You groan as he laps at it, draws a cross in your skin with one fang, thighs clenching.<</if>>
Your hand closes in his hair as he drops to his knees. You're hard, achingly so - have never been so hard, movements jerky and erratic as you raise your hips, let him drag your pants down and press his cold mouth to your thigh. One hand works your aching cock as he mouths at the juncture of your legs - then, without warning, bites down.
You groan, low and guttural, as you feel your skin give way, slim fangs penetrating your body. Your femoral artery, a sudden snap and release of pressure as he bites through tissue and muscle. Blood wells up around his mouth, spills over his chin, and you come so hard your vision goes white, eyes rolling back in your head.
You slump back on the altar, feel it cold against your back. Your heart is slowing, spots dancing in your vision, and upside down, the Saint's beatific smile is a damning scowl, a hideous grimace as the Sinners before him.
The pressure in your legs doesn't abate, his hand pinning you to the stone, and as your vision darkens, you feel his hand close around yours.
[[END.|end]]You let her push you back, spine arching against the cold stone of the altar. Her thighs bracket yours, bare and gleaming in the silver night, your blood black on her lips. Her hand is at your throat, her breasts brushing your chest as she licks her way up your neck with her cold tongue, lapping at the blood that still oozes from your wounds. Her nipples are hard, dragging over your skin, your shirt open around your elbows, trapping your arms behind your back as you tip your head back, eyes half-closed, granting her access, acceptance, awe.
She moans into your clavicle, scrapes a tooth over the protruding bone. She rocks against you, dragging herself up the length of your aching cock, cold and wet and inhuman, animalistic in the way she bites at you, nails carving furrows into your shoulders as she lowers herself against you. You gasp - moan, helpless as she opens your vein and takes you inside, sucking you down, engulfing you, encompassing you: your lungs burn, your vision frayed lace at the edges, and your hands smear her thighs red as she lifts herself, drops. Her knees are precarious on the marble altar, her muscles flexing like a panting wolf, all bleached bone and teeth.
Your muscles are spasming. You're not sure whether that's blood loss or the ache that's curling up your spine. She opens her mouth and laps at the blood that pools in the hollow of your throat, tongue cold against the burning black, and another moan is wrung from your chest, somewhere low and guttural like a dying animal. She sits back, eyes never leaving yours: her movements intensify, her eyelashes fluttering with every vicious stroke downwards, and you know you won't last much longer.
Her hands come to your neck, leave little trails of pain in their wake. She cups your throat, pressing against the puncture wounds there; draws them up your jaw, a sticky trail until she reaches your lips.
You open your mouth willingly.
Blood tastes sweeter like this. Fresh, thick, syrupy down your throat, a touch of salt against your tongue. You swallow it down, her icy fingers pressed against your soft palate. She's still fucking you, movements slowing, now, less frenzied. You're encased in cold, wet silk, a funeral shroud drenched in blood, and everywhere you touch her, you leave smears of glistening black. Her breasts, her thighs, her stomach: you raise your hand to her face, trace her lips and with a fanged smile she opens her mouth, kisses your bloody palm. Your wrist, where your pulse struggles weakly.
Her tongue brushes the delicate skin there, her words a razor over your veins.
"Do you want it?"
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fpp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>Your thighs clench around her waist, hips rolling shamelessly against her, and though you can feel her grin through the kiss, messy and wet and sticky, you can't bring yourself to stop, don't //want// to stop.
Want //more//.
You slide your hand down, pausing to cup her breast through the thin silk of her shirt, find her braless and cold, her nipple hard. //Silk and marble//, she purrs as you drag your thumb over it, drop your head to close your mouth around it and suck, hard, teeth biting down on flesh and fabric until her hand goes tight in your hair, until the fine silk is soaked and clings to her nipple, until she drags you forcefully away and claims your mouth once again, one hand clamped around the back of your neck.
Her other drifts down your chest, your stomach, nails digging lightly into the sensitive skin below your navel. You pant into her mouth, clinging to her shoulders, and she toys with your belt, nipping at your lips.
//Please//.
You're breathing too hard, heart beating wildly in your chest.
There's sweat on your skin and salt on your lips, blood raw in the back of your throat. Something frantic beats in your chest, a trapped bird breaking its wings in an attempt to get free.
You've never felt quite so //much//, overwhelmed and intense. Desiring and //desired//-
@@.ind1;-and she's look at you like she wants to devour you whole.@@
@@.ind2;You're looking back like you //want// her to.@@
@@.ind3;//please//, you say, and she smiles, angelic. Beatific, sacramental, sacrificial.@@
Her hand drifts lower, finds you wet and desperate. You sob as she curls her fingers, icy against your clit, nerves screaming as you writhe on the altar, body torn in two.
You want to pull away.
You want //more//.
You want her teeth in your neck and her fingers in your cunt and her soft, throaty laugh in your ear, taunting and rich and decadent, dripping down your spine alongside your sweat, and when you try to bury your face in her neck she grips your hair and tugs your head back.
Keeps you exposed.
Keeps your //throat// exposed.
You can feel something hot slide down your pulse, chased away by a swipe of her tongue.
Her fingers twist inside you, and her teeth close on your throat, and the cry that tears from your chest is a desperate prayer as you come, hard enough that the Saint in the window is lost to the twilight haze, hard enough it //hurts//. She lets you go, and you slump back - arched over the altar, limbs loose like you're already dead, save for the heaving of your chest.
You lie there, limp and willingly helpless, as she kisses the bite mark on your throat - now pulsing blood over your chest, you can feel it pooling in the hollow of your collarbones. She makes her way down your exhausted, dying body, pushes your clothes aside to bury her face between your legs, and if her fingers were too much, her tongue is a //crisis//, her hands keeping your hips pinned as she licks you, makes you squirm and sob and whimper.
You can't breathe. Can't think. You're adrift, the world behind your eyes bright and soft and undefined, your body wracked by tremors as she pulls you to the edge again and again. Her tongue's soft, her teeth sharp as she bites at your thigh. The sensations blur, pleasure and pain all washing over you in wide brushstrokes until you're totally lost to it, sprawled like a sacrifice across the bloodstained altar, legs and lips parted, wet and bloody.
She pulls back, looks up at you, and her face is smeared red and glistening. She licks her lips - you //whimper// - and rubs one sticky cheek on your thigh. Your hand is tangled in her hair, and you can't speak. Can't make a sound, paralysed by the vision beneath you.
"Do you want it?"
Her voice is soft, intent, a hoarse edge to it as her nails drag red lines into the meat of your thigh.
The words unlock your ruined throat.
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>
<<linkreplace 'fuck me'>><<link 'bite me' 'fp2'>><</link>><</linkreplace>>"//Bite me//," you breathe, and her smile is //divine//, an act of God written in blood and moonlight. Her nails dig into your thighs, blood welling up black-silver-black as she licks her lips again, eyes dark and predatory. She skims a fang along your thigh, drags her tongue from your cunt to your clit, and you gasp, oversensitive, overstimulated, over//whelmed//-
-and she bites down.
@@.ind1;Just above your clit.@@
@@.ind2;The pain is excruciating.@@
@@.ind3;You scream, and it bounces off the wooden rafters, echoes from the metal framing the windows.@@
@@.ind4;You come, and it wracks your failing body, your spine arching so hard you think it might snap.@@
She pushes your legs further apart, and the sounds that come from between your thighs are obscene, your legs jerking and twitching as she laps at your skin.
Your vision's going dark, your body going limp and lax.
Overhead, the Saint watches, and upside down, his beatific smile is that of a malevolent God.
The hair between your fingers is silky, the tongue between your legs warm as it's bathed in your blood.
[[END.|end]]"//Bite me//," you breathe, and her smile is //divine//, an act of God written in blood and moonlight. You're too far gone, now, to feel the pain as she bites you: feel only the sweet release, the //opening//, blood flowing freely from you to her.
It's enough, in the end, to push you over. Her fingers in your mouth, your wrist a pulp of tendons in hers, you come hard, shocks running the length of your failing body as you empty yourself into her, as she takes her fill.
Your hand drops from her mouth, and you don't have the strength to hold it up. It falls on your chest where you lie, sprawled naked and defiled on the ruined altar. Still with you inside her, she lifts your hands gently, lies them across your chest as though you were already in your coffin.
Touches your forehead, your cheeks, a soft red baptism.
Your eyelids.
Overhead, the Saint in the window watches.
[[END.|end]]