Made by noaluvjames
Made
by noaluvjames
And he wears it so well.
Pale skin gleaming like white marble in the moonlight. The holes on his chest and stomach, holes made by her stake, leaked blood and only enhanced his perfection.
The reddened cross had been her crowning touch. She’d taken the blunt end of her stake and dipped it in holy water. His blue eyes had watched her warily as she’d approached him with her weapon. Fading briefly to amber at the first touch of the blessed water placed against the middle of his chest.
It fascinated her, the way his skin began to sizzle and burn as she drew the cross on his flesh, and how he just stood there stoically, but for the tensing of his body, and let her do it. Deep blue staring down at her, understanding her need.
The bastard.
Why was he the only one that could see?
She hit him twice. One time catching the outer edge of his lip, the other, just beneath his eye.
“Grab yourself.” Her voice was harsh, all Slayer.
She watched as he looked down at his dick. Her own eyes followed his hand, and she licked her lips at seeing him hard. At the way he gripped his cock.
“No. Don’t look at me,” she told him when he made to raise his head. “Put your other hand over your head. Good. Now don’t move.”
The camera whirred to life, forever capturing him like this. A study of pain.
Her pain.
Buried deep inside.
Unable to show her friends, her watcher.
Just the vampire who was here with her now. He understood her pain. Felt it. Took it into himself so that she could function at being back.
She took a few more pictures then shut the camera off.
Methodically, she stripped off her clothes until she was as bare as he. A secret smile came to her lips as he caught wind of her arousal – nostrils flaring, his hardened length pulsing beneath his motionless hand.
She had to give him credit. He’d not made the first move towards her, continuing to hold the pose she’d left him in, leaning there against the wall, his wounds seeping blood.
Her fingertips caught the end of one red line, drawing it back up his body, feeling his muscles ripple beneath her touch. She pulled her hand away to stare at the reddened tip of her finger. Starting when her wrist was suddenly captured in a cool grip and lifted to equally chilled lips and licked clean.
The action seemed to wake her from her trance, and Buffy stared, horrified at what she’d done to him.
His face.
The holes where she’d driven her stake into him.
The cross.
‘Oh god,’ she thought. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
The question went unanswered as she felt herself enveloped in his arms and carried back to his bed. Afterwards, too exhausted to even remember the question, or the actions that elicited it in the first place.
For once, relaxing in the arms of her vampire lover.
The soft rumblings of his chest oddly comforting while she drifted off to sleep.
The End
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