Roman (Patreon)

He enjoys the moments where the world seems to stand still.

When the moon hangs low in the sky, full and freezing, and casts its light across the city he’s come to know like the back of his hand. When the very air itself seems tinged with that eerie silver glow, which turns the dark shadows even darker and bathes the rest of the world in a cold, pale light. When his breath, already so cold, becomes visible before him, curling through the air like a spectre before vanishing forever. 

These are the nights that he enjoys. The nights he can’t help but stop and stare at. Though, he thinks they might mean something different to him now then they once did. 

He can feel warmth on his back as he stands and stares out the open window. Behind him, his bedroom glows with the light of the fire that sits flickering in the grate. It has not been tended to in hours and yet it burns on, letting shadows dance across the walls and bringing a warmth to his sleeping chambers that’s so new it almost feels out of place.. 

It’s a stark contrast to the view he sees before him. The dancing, twirling heat of the fire against the still, pale world ruled by the moon. It almost doesn't make sense how they can exist at the same time. They seem so wildly different from each other that any kind of harmony should be unthinkable. Surely one would always snuff the other out, consuming it until nothing is left?

But then he feels the feather light touch of a hand trailing over his shoulder. And he remembers once against why he's so wrong in that assumption. 

“Come to bed, my love.”

Your voice is softer than cotton and sweeter than honey. He can hear the lilt of sleep that still remains within it, a certain heaviness that he has come to adore. You’ve been so diligent in adapting yourself to his schedule but there are still times when you need a few extra hours of sleep. And yet every time he sees you like this, he can’t help but love you even more.

“It’s still early,” you continue on. He feels the weight of your forehead press into his back, as your arms wind their way around his waist. “Lay with me a little longer.”

He turns his head just a little, to look at you over his shoulder. Your face is hidden, resting as it is between his shoulder blades, and for a moment he finds himself frowning. But then you shift and look up at him with a smile so soft and warm it sends a pang through his chest.

“I miss you,” you whisper, silken and smooth. It is the final blow needed to send his resolve crumbling. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips even as he opens his mouth to berate you. His tone, once so harsh and demeaning, now drips with nothing but adoration.

“Such a needy little human. One would think I never give you any attention at all.”

Your laugh is soft and sweet as you tilt your head upwards to press a butterfly kiss to his jaw. 

“All of the attention in the world will never be enough if it's from you,” you breathe. Your lips brush against his skin as you speak and it sends a shiver dancing up his spine. A shiver that matches the sparks igniting in his chest as you so openly express your affection for him. 

“Tch. What am I going to do with you?” Yet, even as he says it, he's turning, putting his back to the moonlit world outside so he can face the flickering warmth that is you. His hands, once at his sides, to find your hips, and for a moment he holds you before him, just looking. He had been sure, back when you told him that you loved him for the very first time, that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful in this whole world as you. And every time he’s laid eyes on you since, you’ve only continued to prove him right. With fire dancing in your eyes and the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips, you let your arms slide around his neck. His head drops and when his forehead meets yours, he lets his eyes drift closed. For a long moment he simply stands there, listening to the sounds of life coursing through your body. And then he says, “I’ll come back to bed.”

Your smile widens and he realises he’d done exactly as you’d intended. He doesn't even mind it though - he's gladly giving up every ounce of control over his own life if it meant having even a second more to spend with you. 

Your hand slips down, your fingers sliding gently between his. And then, slowly, you lead him back across the room to the large, silk covered bed that he hadn't once slept in before you showed up in his life. Your footsteps are barely audible even to his keen ears and mischief dances in your eyes every time you look back at him over your shoulder. He can't help but feel as if you're a siren leading him towards his demise. But oh, it is a demise he will gladly take just to hold you in his arms once again.

The silk of his bedsheets rustles when you slide beneath them. He follows you without a word, and without a word you curl against him, fingers reaching to pull him closer even as his body presses up against yours. Immediately, he is engulfed in the warmth of you - a warmth he has never found in anyone but you. Something so intrinsically human that he barely understands it. And yet, he craves it as he craves blood; with his entire being, mind, body and soul. 

He thinks you might know what he’s thinking as your hands slide up along the back of his neck to tangle in his thick hair. There's a look in your eye, one that’s both knowing and understanding. And he can't help but lean into it, letting his head drop once more to brush his nose against yours. “Well, you have gotten your way,” he says in a voice so low that it rumbles in his chest. “Are you happy, my darling?”

The giggle you let out to feather-light and sunny, and it tickles his skin like a summer breeze. He cannot help but smile as you do, unable to resist the contagious nature of the happiness and contentment that you exude. Instead, he pulls you just a little closer, letting one arm drape lazily over the curve of your hip. Your fingers tighten just a little in his hair. 

“I'm always happy when I’m with you,” you whisper in response, so close that he can feel the brush of your lips against his. “Always.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he murmurs  before he can stop himself. “I don’t deserve you.”

Your smile is gone when he looks at you again, and immediately he regrets what he’d said. Hastily, he opens his mouth, needing to amend the situation as quickly as he’d ruined it. But not a single word makes it past his lips before you’ve taken advantage of the grip you have on his hair and pulled his mouth to yours. For a moment, his breath leaves him entirely, stunned for the millionth time over how soft you are as you kiss him. And then he melts into your touch, letting his body mould to yours as he eliminates any space there might have been left between the pair of you. 

Your fingernails scratch ever so slightly against his scalp and you let out a soft sigh against him. He drinks in the feeling, eyebrows furrowing a little as a pang rushes through his chest. A pang of affection, adoration, love, lust, desire, need, and so, so much more. As his hands travel down to settle on your hips once more, he allows his lips to part and finally takes his first taste of you for the night. 

He feels the curve of your smile as you kiss him back, your tongue ready and waiting to meet his when he dares to go in search of it. You taste sweet and earthy, of honey and wine and something that he'll only ever be able to describe as you. It's a flavour he's become addicted to, a flavour he finds himself searching for in his day to day life. As if there's any chance he'll even come across a substitute for you. 

He knows he won't, of course. Knows that such a search is futile because there is nothing else like you. Not in the thousands of years of history he's lived through, and even before that. You are unique, upon heaven and earth, and it only fuels his desire to keep you close to him. For if he were to ask for anything in this never ending life of his, it would be to preserve the spark that is you for as long as he can. 

The pair of you separate then and he opens his eyes. His gaze meets yours immediately and he finds himself dissolving in the depths of your pupils. So dark in the shadow cast across your face that they seem almost bottomless. And yet he knows exactly what look you've fixed him with; one he both loves and hates with every fibre of his being. 

“You deserve me,” you tell him finally, in a voice so soft it is little more than a single breath. “You deserve me and so much more.” 

He doesn't agree. But he won't say it aloud this time. Because he knows how much it distresses you when he speaks ill of himself. And because his mind is already wandering in a different direction as his eyes follow the line of your neck, down to your shoulder where the collar of your shirt has slipped. 

You are dressed in little more than a simple undershirt of his. The fabric is thin and soft from years of wear, and the collar has been stretched just wide enough to expose exactly what he wants it to. The bite marks that decorate your clavicle are clearly visible to him, even in the relative darkness, and he can't help but admire them. He has never fed carelessly on you and the placement of each mark is careful and deliberate. They tell the story of your time together, of each moment you’ve shared in each other's arms. And he finds himself wanting to add to them, to further expand this artwork you have created together. He finds himself wanting more. 

Without a word his head dips and he captures your lips once again. It’s faster this time, and you open up to him almost immediately as the softest of whines escapes from the back of your throat. He feels your body roll against his and then you've lifted a leg to hook over his hips.

Immediately, unconsciously, he rocks his hips towards yours. The bulge that is starting to rise against the inseam of his pants grinds softly into the space between your thighs. It's soft, subtle, little enough that he could disguise it as a simple change in position to get more comfortable. He doesn't want to pretend, however, not when the corners of your mouth twitch further upwards and you reciprocate the movement, just slightly. You're already burning between your legs, that human blood of yours rushing through your veins and bringing even more warmth to your skin. It feels near feverish against his own frigid pallor. Steaming hot against glassy cool. Once again he wonders how two things, so different and opposing, can complement each other so well. And once again he’s directed by the feeling of your fingers dancing across his shoulders. 

The kiss breaks, finally, and he lets his head tilt back and away from you. A groan rumbles in his throat as your fingertips dance over the skin of his shoulder blades before creeping down his back. And then, without much thought of warning, he seizes you around the waist and rolls, pulling you with him. 

You don't seem surprised. In fact, you giggle, easily allowing him to guide you from his side to sit across his lap. And when you look down at him, with your hair messy and your eyes tired and your smile sharp, his breath is nearly knocked from his lungs by how exquisite you truly are. 

He raises his hand, not quite sure what he's reaching for until his fingers brush the skin of your cheek. And then they slide up further, until he can caress your face entirely, feeling the way your skin warms beneath his palm and your cheek bunches as you smile again. 

You turn your head a little as you cup your own hand around his, and then your lips meet his wrist in a feather light kiss. For a moment he watches, his expression open and relaxed as his eyes follow the way your gaze drops as you trail kisses against his skin. And then he lets his own eyelids slide closed as a sound far softer than anything he'd ever thought he'd make purrs in the back of his throat. 

Your kisses against his hand cease then and he’s already opening his mouth to complain. But his breath hitches in his throat when he feels both of your hands against his abdomen instead, as your weight shifts just a little in his lap. 

Like an uncaring cat, one of his eyes slides back open. He watches, quiet yet alert, as your fingers crawl up his stomach to his chest. For a moment your hand presses flat to the skin of his left pectoral, perhaps in search of the heartbeat he knows you won't find. And then, without warning, you lean down to seal your lips to his neck. 

He can't help it - he moans. Your tongue is so hot as it trails over his icy skin that it sends sparks dancing up his spine. His back arches, just the slightest bit, as he pushes further into your touch, searching desperately for more. And you indulge him as your teeth nip at his neck in a perfect mimicry of how he so often drinks from you. 

He can’t help the way he reaches for you then, hands searching for purchase on your hips as his breath hitches and his eyes squeeze shut once again. His fingers dig into your skin, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake, but you don’t pull away. If anything, you sink into it, rocking into his hands at a pace so achingly slow it draws another whine from his throat. 

“My love-” 

It leaves his lips like a plea and you’re upon him immediately, shifting from his neck to kiss his lips once again. Though it's heavier this time, more demanding and less forgiving. And he matches it as best as he can, his eyebrows furrowing deeply as a pang of unwavering longing shoots through his chest. 

You’re gone not even a second later, pulling back to look at him from beneath low-hanging eyelashes for a moment. And then you slide yourself backwards, slithering off his lap and onto the bed between his splayed legs. Your hands trail down his abdomen in your wake, light and teasing, and he can’t help but moan again, desperate for more of your touch. You only flash him a smile in response, fueled by equal parts affection and mischief. And then your palms slide to his thighs, rubbing against the clothed skin in a way he’d almost call comforting if he didn’t already have an idea of what you might be planning. 

Your eyes never leave his as you lean down to mouth at the bunched fabric over his hip bone. He can feel the kisses through his pants but they’re teasing, muffled. He wants more from you, needs more. And yet, when he moves to hook his fingers into the waistband of his clothes and drag them down, you stop him. 

“Not yet,” you murmur in a voice like molten gold as you slowly push his hands away. “Have patience, darling.”

His lips curl in a snarl that lacks both bark and bite, his usually sharp tongue dry of any real response. Instead he gives you a nod and lets his hands rest back against his sides. The corner of your mouth twitches in a smug little smile. 

“I will take care of you tonight,” is what you breathe as you lower yourself once again to trail kisses over his hip. “Let me take care of you, Roman.” 

The sound of his name on your lips, barely a breath of air as your eyelids flutter shut and you press your nose against his skin - it sends a shudder through his body. For so many centuries, his name was synonymous with fear. He only ever heard it spoken in a tone dripping with hatred or contempt or pure horror. He has come to think that was simply how it needed to be said. 

And yet here you are, murmuring the name with nothing but pure adoration in your voice. He doesn't think he's heard anything more beautiful in his long life. 

His hand leaves his side and slides downward. He reaches for you this time, fingers brushing over the soft, warm skin of your cheek. His lips curve around your name but no sound escapes him, his chest entirely devoid of breath as he admires you. 

You smile back at him, your eyes knowing. And then you duck your head again, almost cheerily, to kiss at the skin of his lower stomach. 

Your own hands are working this time though, deft fingers curling into the waistband of his pants. And then you're pulling them away, tugging the fabric down his long legs with a precision that's both calculated and eager. He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally feels the night air against his skin. 

You draw back, your gaze sliding first to his face and then down his lithe body to nestle between his legs. He's already achingly hard, his cock flushed pink and weeping against his pelvis. You eye it hungrily, with the air of a starved animal, and he can't help the way the corner of his mouth tugs upwards in a smirk. He may be utterly obsessed with you but he often forgets that you feel just as strongly for him. And seeing the pure, unfiltered need in your eyes brings it all crashing back. 

“That's quite the look, little human,” he remarks, his voice forcibly smug to hide the butterflies that are dancing in his chest. “You're acting as if you haven't had your fill of me every night for the past few months.” 

Your eyebrows furrow briefly and you shoot him that scrunch-nosed pout he adores so much. “Shut up,” you grumble as you settle yourself a little more comfortably between his legs. “You're just beautiful, that's all.” 

He gives no reply because he cannot counter you. He knows he's good-looking, it's near impossible for him not to be. But ‘beautiful’ means something else entirely. He's not sure if he can agree with you on that, but the way you say it leaves no room for argument and he knows - to you, he is beautiful. And there is nothing truer than that. 

A soft sigh leaves him as he looks down at you, watching as you situate yourself. Anticipation is rising in his chest but he refuses to let you see it. He’s needy and desperate, yes, but he's also prideful. And he'll be damned if he lets you bear witness to such a vulnerable side of himself with so little effort. 

His composure almost slips - almost - when you take his cock in hand. Immediately, the warm skin of your palm is so hot against him that he can't help the surprised exhale that rushes from his nose. And then, as you begin to stroke, the lazy, languid movements nearly coax a moan from his lips.

His head tilts back, eyes closing in appreciation as you touch him. It's barely anything and yet he already feels so much - from the way you twist your grip ever so slightly to the soft breaths that intermittently graze his thigh. You're concentrated, determined to unravel him and he can't help but let you. After all, if he's going to allow himself to fall apart at the hands of anybody, it would ever only be you. For him, there is no other option. 

He mumbles your name again and this time it's audible, though soft and breathless. Your eyes flicker upwards and catch his in a smouldering look. And then he has to watch as the ghost of a smirk dances across your face - barely there one second and gone the next, but undeniable all the same. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs softly, because he knows exactly what you're about to do. And he needs it more than he'll ever be able to put into words. 

One last spark of mischief flashes in your eyes. And then you drop your head so you can lick at him, from base to tip. He can't hold back his moan this time and it jumps from his chest, sweet and desperate. And he feels you smile against his cock, already entirely satisfied with all you've done. 

“My love,” he breathes into the cool air, his eyes closing once again as he lets himself sick deeper into the pillows. “More-” 

And you give. More and more, you give him exactly what he asks for. You take him further, one hand steady on his thigh while the other teases what you cannot fit in your mouth. And he moans again, his back arching up off the bed sheets as he feels himself hit the back of your throat. 

“Ah-” he whines and his voice is already shaky and cracking. “Darling…” 

You hum around him in reply and it sends shockwaves through his body. His breath hitches in his chest as for the moment, the pair of you stay completely still. 

And then you begin to bob your head, slow and lazy, taking your time to enjoy his cock as much as he is enjoying your mouth. 

He tries his best to hold himself back at first. Even as one of his hands slides up into your hair, he lets you control the pace. But it's difficult, it's so so difficult, especially when your tongue swirls its way around his tip. And it doesn't take long for him to reach his breaking point.

Gingerly he begins to roll his hips, rocking upwards to meet you in time with the rhythm you've set. It pushes more of his cock into your mouth and for a moment he's almost worried you'll stop. Worried you'll object to this tiny semblance of control he has taken back. 

But you don't. If anything, you welcome it, your fingernails digging into the skin of his thigh as you take him in graciously. You’re moaning with each thrust now, the sounds a constant vibration in your throat, and it has him squirming. Squirming and whining under your touch as, slowly, he's drawn closer and closer to his release. 

“My… love-” his voice catches around the words as once again his breath leaves him. You've pulled back to kitten-lick the tip of his cock, eyes up and watching him carefully as you do so. The sudden lack of stimulation is almost more overwhelming than the presence of it and his hips buck involuntarily, his body desperate for more. You seem pleased with yourself at his reaction, satisfaction dancing in your gaze as you start to use your hand on him one more. And then you lean up and forward until you're hovering over him, your face close enough that he can feel your words against his lips as you speak. 

“Roman,” you breathe to him, saying his name again with so much affection. “Roman, will you cum for me?” 

He groans, both loving  and hating how innocent the question seems to be. The simplest request and yet complying would mean so much. Would reveal so much. 

He won't deny you though. Not now and not ever. And so, as you lean down to kiss him,  filling his mouth with the taste of himself, he finally relaxes the last webs of control that he has over himself. 

The rush is immediate and sharp, and so overwhelming that it forces his back to arch and the hand which is still at his side to fist tightly in the silken bedsheets. He groans low and long into your mouth as he rides out his release. And then, once it's finally faded, he allows his eyes to slide open so he can meet your gaze head on. 

There's a fire burning in your eyes. A flame that he can watch flicker, clear as day. You seem both satisfied and not so, proud of your work yet desperate for more. And even as he looks at you, he can feel that same need burning deep within him. Without a word he reaches for you and draws you back into him, fitting his mouth to yours with a desperation he would have been ashamed of if it was anyone but you. 

It's your turn to moan now, as his hand slides from the side of your face down to grip securely at your hips. He can feel the way your body responds to his touch, the shiver that rushes up your spine, the way your pulse jumps. Immediately the smell of both your blood and arousal grows thicker in the air, your heart rate speeding up to a point where he can all but feel it pounding through your entire body. He can't help but inhale deeply, his keen scenes plucking your scent right from the air and devouring it. You have always been intoxicating to him but at this moment, he thinks he'll surely die if he doesn't have you. And so, as gently as he can in his predatory state, he manoeuvres your body until you're straddling him, legs parted wide around the girth of his abdomen. 

It doesn't take him long to rid you of your clothes entirely, and then you're sitting naked and glistening over him. His eyes trail up and down the work of art that is your body, his fingers twitching with the need to touch, to feel, to appreciate. 

But he's able to restrain himself when his gaze slides back to your face and he notices that you're practically panting, eyebrows furrowing in a desperation he's only ever seen in one other place - himself. 

You need him as badly as he needs you. And while he may be selfish, he is not cruel. Not to you. 

Never to you. 

“Relax,” he tells you in a voice so soft it almost doesn't sound like his own. “Let me take care of you, my love.” 

You whine, a beautiful little sound which has every instinct in him pulling taunt. He needs to give you what you want, there is simply no other option. However, he must also have patience. Because there is something else he must do first. 

His hand sneaks down then, from your hip to the inner curve of your thigh. You graze drops a little, following the movement curiously. And then, when you seem to realise what his intentions are, you moan outright and let your legs spread wider, pressing yourself even further into him. 

“Roman,” you say and it's a demand. “Touch me.” 

And he does. Without a second's hesitation. 

You're already hot and waiting as he slides his first finger inside of you. Something he's done many times before and yet it still has your head tipping back, your eyes rolling as a hot moan slips from your lips. You start grinding against him almost immediately, the rock of your hips pressing his middle finger deeper and deeper into you. And he encourages you, curling his finger in time with your movements until he finds that delicious spot within you. 

The moment he hits it, your entire body tenses. For a moment, you falter in your movements as your fingers scratch down against the skin of his abdomen and you moan his name in a way he'd kill anyone else for doing. And then, just as suddenly, you've started up again, grinding yourself against him with more vigour as you let yourself tip forward. Your hands hit the pillow on either side of his head and suddenly he's caged in by you, entirely. And yet all he can do is stare into your eyes and smirk as another desperate whine escapes you.

“Ro,” you whisper then, and it's barely a breath against his lips. “More. Please.” 

He kisses you, little more than a tilt of his head to press his lips to yours. And yet the kiss holds promises - promises of pleasure, of pain, of desire, of ecstasy. You whine against his lips when he slides another finger into you. He's sure that the stretch burns you just a little; after all you've always been so incredibly tight around him. But as you pull back to let your forehead rest against his, and he glances up into your eyes, he sees nothing by hazy satisfaction staring back at him. 

The corner of his mouth jumps in a smirk. And then the praise that he’s about to offer you is entirely swallowed up when you kiss him again, deep and hot in a way that entirely knocks the air from his lungs. 

You don't let him go, your tongue rolling over his just as your hips roll over his hand. You’re fucking yourself on his fingers now, your pace desperate and demanding. And it's all he can do just to let you, waiting all the while for you to take all you need from him, bleed him entirely dry. 

After all, you've offered your body and soul to him already. It'd only be fair if he gave you everything else in this universe in return. 

He whispers your name, soft and sweet, and you drink it in, moaning as you kiss him deeply. On either side of his face, your hands are so warm they almost hurt him. And he can't help but roll his hips in time with yours, letting the rhythm press his fingers into you again and again and again. 

He can hear your blood pounding in your veins by now, as your heart speeds up in anticipation of your climax. It's nearly too much for him, especially as the scent of it gets thicker and heavier with every whine you let out. He's drowning in it, entirely suffocated, and for one brief moment he wonders if he can continue to hold himself back. But then you turn your head a little and, as if you know exactly what he's thinking, offer your neck up to him so sweetly he can't help but whine in desperation. 

“My love,” he chokes out, even as every nerve in his body screams for him to surge forward, to take what you've so lovingly offered. “Are you sure? I drank from you just a few days ago.” 

You shake your head a little, your eyes already turning glossy with your impending orgasm. “S'okay,” you mumble back to him, voice strained by pleasure and desperation. “Drink more. Please, Roman.” 

He can't resist, not when he's already on the end of his rope and you're begging him so nicely. In one swift movement he tangles the fingers of his free hand deep into the root of your hair and uses it as leverage to tilt your head even further to the side. The line of your neck flashes in the moonlight, the thump thump thump of your pulse point calling out to him. He doesn't hesitate for even a second as he leans in to sink his fangs deep into your skin. 

He's not surprised as he feels you fall apart around his fingers. You've always loved the feeling of his bite and you were already so close anyway. If anything, he’s surprised that he himself didn't cum entirely untouched, simply from the euphoric feeling of your blood bursting over his tongue. 

He laps at your skin, both soothing the wounds from his sharp fangs and coaxing more delicious blood from them. The taste of it alone forces shivers throughout his entire body and as it drips down the back of his throat, as he consumes a piece of you, he feels that familiar fire spark alive in his gut. 

He's always so deathly cold. Always… except at times like this. When your warmth burns through him from the inside and his entire body purrs with pleasure. 

His hips rut unconsciously against yours as he drinks, his rhythm matching that of your heartbeat. And even though you've just cum and are no doubt pushing into overstimulation territory, you match him thrust for thrust. 

He groans darkly into your neck one last time and finally separates himself. His lips remain parted as he sucks in a deep breath, your blood still burning within him. He can feel as a drop of it spills from the corner of his mouth, trickling in a slow line down his chin and no doubt leaving the most beautiful scarlet trail in its wake. 

He also gets to watch as your eyes follow the droplet, your gaze heady and desperate. You only hesitate for a moment after that before you lean in to run your tongue up his skin, licking away the stain your blood has left on his pale skin. 

When you look back at him, scarlet paints your bottom lip. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything more beautiful. 

He drags you into him then, leveraging his grip on your hair once more to seal your mouth to his. Your tongues tangle, that distinct sweetness of your usual kisses now dulled by the tang of your blood. And yet you don't seem to mind one bit as you moan, grabbing at the strands of his hair as you grind yourself desperately against him. “Roman,” you whine between kisses, your voice so strained it is almost unitellable. “Roman.” 

He murmurs your name in response, says it like a prayer. And he can feel the way you smile into his kiss each time he does so. 

It doesn't take long before you're shifting to the side, leaning far enough for gravity to take hold and roll the both of you over. He finds himself on top of you for the first time tonight, a position he’s familiar with but never fails to appreciate nonetheless. 

You look ethereal as you push yourself back into the pillows. The moonlight that shines through the massive windows hits one side of your face, illuminating your eyes as you stare back up at him. And then he gets to watch as the corner of your mouth curves upwards in a smile so heartbreakingly beautiful he almost can't stand to look at it. 

He leans back in to kiss you again, though it's far gentler this time. One of his hands rests against the side of your neck, his touch so light it'd be a miracle if you can feel it at all. And his lips pressed to yours are so soft, as if you'll shatter at any moment. 

In some ways this seems to rile you up even further. You whine into the kiss, though soft and breathless this time, as your hands snake up his chest and then over his shoulders until you're clinging to his broad back with an iron grip. He almost wants to ask you to dig your nails into his skin, to force pain from his immortal body. But he knows you won't, not if he requests it. So he lets the idea fade from his mind. 

Instead, he takes the opportunity to explore your body. He knows it like the back of his own hand by now, each curve mapped to perfection in his mind. And yet he still can't ever get enough, still enthralled each time he has the privilege of touching you. 

Still in awe of how such a delicate being as yourself lets him run his hands across your skin as if he couldn't end your life with a single flick of one finger. 

“Love-” he murmurs against your lips as his hands trail down, over your shoulders, your collarbone, to your chest. He gives one nipple a playful squeeze before moving on, relishing the soft squeak you let out in response. “Love you.” 

You groan into him at that, low and desperate, before pulling him closer. As his hand slips to your outer thigh your tongue invades his mouth. And then you're both moaning against each other when his cock finally, finally, rubs up against you.

“Roman!” you gasp when he finally separates from you. “Please-” 

He knows just what you want because he wants it too. So he presses one last kiss to your temple before tilting his hand down slightly as he can watch as he takes himself in hand. 

His cock is throbbing again, achingly hard and flushed deep purple. He can’t resist giving himself a few languid pumps as he does his best to line himself up with you. You both moan at the sight, watching as pre-spend drips from the tip for just a moment. And then he's pressing himself into you and every single thought seems to leave his head in a rush. 

You're almost painfully tight and so warm it seizes the breath in his throat. His hand, once resting on the bed by your head, now fists tightly in the sheets, his grip so strong that his knuckles turn white. His eyes are squeezed tight shut and he can't help the groan that rumbles in his chest as he continues to sheath himself within you. You aren't doing much better, fingers clawing at his back as you body arches up. He hears you choke out his name, barely a desperate whisper, and it tugs at something deep inside him. With a strained whine, he leans down to kiss you again, focusing all his attention on the feeling of your lips beneath his as he tries desperately not to cum on the spot. 

It seems to take hours before his hips finally press flat to yours and he can stop moving. And for a moment the pair of you just stay like that, panting against each other as you adjust to the feeling of the other’s body. 

Then he opens his eyes and looks back down at you. Only to find you're already staring up at him, your gaze hazy and full of affection. 

“Roman,” you say, quiet enough that he's the only one in the entire world who can hear it. You hand slides from his shoulder up the back of his neck until you're stroking the back of his head soothingly. He drops his head a little, his forehead pressing to yours as he nuzzles at you adoringly. When he catches a glimpse of the grin that flickers across your face, his heart aches with adoration. 

“I love you,” he whispers to you then, voice unsteady with emotion. “More than anything.” 

You smile for real this time, and it’s so beautiful it almost breaks his heart. “And I, you,” you whisper back to him. And then you're kissing him again and he doesn't think he could possibly be happier than he is now. 

It takes a few more moments of needy kisses before you start to get impatient. Your legs come up to wrap around his hips as you bite teasingly at his bottom lip. And then, without warning, you rock your pelvis up into his. 

He growls low at the feeling, teeth clenching over how the simple movement has you tightening up around him. And then he braces himself, one hand on your hip while the other bears most of his weight beside your head. One last kiss and then he's pulling away, drawing himself almost entirely out of you before canting his hips and pressing right back in. 

The both of you let out simultaneous moans at the feeling. Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as your lips part in ecstasy. It gives him such a perfect view of the newly made bite marks on your neck that he can't help but lean down to kiss them again; sure to keep his fangs away from your skin, he drags his tongue up the line of your throat and smirks a little over how violently it makes you shiver. 

“Fuck,’ you whine as he starts to set a rhythm, rolling his hips at an angle he knows you particularly enjoy. “Ro-!” 

He sucks a mark into the skin of your neck in response before pulling back to admire you. You're already a mess, eyes clouded by need and pleasure as you stare right back up at him. It's irresistible and he's sure he falls even more in love with you as he looks on, watching as you reach for him, as you drag your hands down his back to dig your fingernails into his skin. 

What little damage you've managed to do before now has already healed entirely, and so the scratches you drag down his cool skin are untainted and fresh. He groans at the feeling, loving the fact that even something so weak as you can harm him like this. Unconsciously, his hips jump, forcing his thrusts a beat or two faster. You all but shriek as he hits that spot deep inside you again. 

“Roman!” You're chanting now, saying his name over and over. “Roman, Roman, Roman!” And it's all he can do you sing your name back to you, his voice growing weaker and weaker as you tighten deliciously around his cock. 

“Shit,” he chokes out eventually as his hips stutter and jump. “My love- you're so tight!” 

You whimper in response and scrabble at his shoulders desperately. “M'close,” you whine then and fuck, he can feel it. “I'm so fucking close, Roman.”

He presses his forehead back to yours as his hand, previously grabbing at the bedsheets, now finds yours. His fingers intertwine with your own and he squeezes comfortingly, reassuringly. You squeeze back not even a second later. 

“I'm here,” he tells you then, soft and loving. “I'm right here, my darling. You can let go.” 

You keen desperately, tears starting to bead at the corners of your eyes. He kisses them away before they can fall, his own desperation mounting. Your legs are trembling from where they're hooked on his hips and he can feel the way you jump with each powerful trust. You're so close to release and, fuck, he wants it. He wants you to let yourself fall apart beneath him. 

“I'm gonna-” you stutter then, your hand grasping at his so tightly it'd hurt if he was anyone else. “Roman-!” 

He leans down to suck at your neck again and it seems to be the final straw because just like that, you're coming apart. Shivers rush up and down your spine, violent enough for him to feel them, and a long, low whine leaves your lips. He doesn't slow his movements even as you thrash beneath him, fucking you through your orgasm as he employs every ounce of self control he has in him so as not to cum too. 

You curse violently before going limp beneath him, your chest heaving. He lets his pace fade to a gentle grind for the time being as he allows you a moment to recover. His head remains where it is buried in your neck so he can pepper kisses up and down the curve of your shoulder. And then, as you let out a final long sigh, he pulls back to give you a knowing look. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, little human?” 

You make a face at him, though it holds almost no weight with how fucked out you seem otherwise. And he can’t help the smirk that curls across his mouth as his chest floods with a certain kind of pride. 

“Stupid vampire,” you grumble even as your free arm wraps back around his neck. “So smug.” 

“I simply can't help it when my human falls apart so perfectly for me,” he murmurs back to you, pressing a kiss to your temple. You smile for a moment, in a way he can only describe as adorable, before your eyebrows furrow just slightly. 

“But my love,” you mumble out, turning your head so you can breathe your words right against the shell of his ear. “What about you?” 

He opens his mouth, ready to give some excuse. Ready to tell you that your pleasure matters far more than his own. But then your teeth close around his earlobe and every thought of denying himself disappears from his mind. 

“Fuck,” is all he can groan out as you continue to nibble at him. “Darling-” 

You roll your hips up into his and he jumps, not expecting the sudden stimulation. His cock is still throbbing with need and unfettered desire, and as you clench and pulse around him, it's all he can do just to grit his teeth and bear it. 

“It's your turn to feel good, my love,” you murmur in his ear then, your voice soft and silky smooth. “Take what you need from me.” 

His hips cant against yours, his rhythm replaced entirely with sloppy, desperate thrusts. Hearing your purring voice is almost enough on its own to send him over the precipice of his own orgasm, never mind how good you continue to feel around his cock. He won't be able to hold himself back for much longer and you both know it. 

“You're so perfect,” you start to mumble now as you hold him close to you. “So perfect for me, Roman. There's no one I love more in this world than you.” 

He whines, desperate and needy. The corner of your mouth flicks upwards in a smile. 

“You deserve so much, sweetheart,” you tell him. “And I want to give it all to you. So cum for me. Fill me up, and make me yours, over and over and over again.” 

Something snaps inside him then and he sinks his fangs into your neck as he buries himself as deep inside of you as he can and releases. You moan with him at the feeling of him spilling inside you, the heat of your body becoming almost unbearable as he continues to bite down on your soft skin. He doesn't drink, even as your blood fills his mouth once again - in truth his head is far too clouded to even think of it. All he knows is the warmth of your skin and the pounding of your heart, which he feels as if it's his own from where your chests are pressed right together. 

It takes a moment for him to come down from that, his muscles gradually beginning to relax as the tension ebbs from his body. Eventually his jaw unlocks and he pulls back a little to lap apologetically at the new puncture wounds left on your neck. You don't seem to mind though, as your fingers stroke gently through his soft hair. And once he's finished and draws back completely, you lean up to kiss him. 

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips as you do. And he says it back to you just as sweetly. 

Your body is already starting to relax beneath him as he draws himself up and away from you. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you let your head loll, a happy, contented sigh leaving your lips. You don't protest as he pulls himself out of you, though your teeth do sink into your bottom lip as you stifle a soft whine. And then, as he rises to kneel above you, your back arches beautifully as you stretch like a sun-warmed cat. 

His eyes travel down your figure appreciatively, lingering at your neck once more. Just as the others did, the new bitemarks only add to your beauty, reminding him of an intricately designed piece of art. And then, further down, he takes in the gleam of sweat across your skin, the curves of your muscles as you relax once again into the mattress. And finally, his gaze settles between yours legs, where his cum is starting to leak back out of you. 

Something tightens in his chest, a passive instinct that has only ever been triggered by you, and he has to resist the smirk that's trying to spread across his face. He doesn't own you, he knows that. But you're still his in all the ways that matter most to him. And to see such physical evidence of that satisfies a craving he didn't even realise he had. 

Without thinking, he dips forward again to press a kiss to your shoulder. You don't move, staying splayed out against the bedsheets, but he feels the hum of approval that vibrates in your throat. As he takes it as a sign as he begins to move downwards, trailing soft warm kisses in his wake. 

“You look so pretty like this, little human,” he murmurs into the skin over your sternum. “So fucking perfect. But… I do need to clean you up a little.” 

You shiver at his words and he smiles against your stomach, pleased that you've understood him exactly. His hands slide down quicker than his mouth does, already pushing your thighs apart once again as he continues to kiss across your hips. And then, when he reaches the meat of your thigh, he gently guides your leg up to hook your knee over his shoulder. 

“Just relax,” he breathes, voice little more than a whisper against your burning skin. “Let me take care of you, my love.” 

You sigh again, breathy and warm, and he knows it means he can continue. And so he drops down to seal his mouth between your legs, his eyes staying fixed on you all the while. 

You back arches immediately upon contact and you let out a strained whine. He can feel the way your thigh tenses beside his head immediately and so he slows his movements right down. His tongue drags up over you at barely a snail's pace, and yet it's enough to have him moaning softly as he laps up his own cum. 

The taste of you and him mixed is always so perfect, he thinks as he gives you another long lick. Your natural sweetness combined with his tang. It's not quite as addicting as your blood but it's enough to have him trembling with glee as he drinks in more and more. 

Above him you're squirming and cursing, hand scrambling for purchase in the bedsheets as he pushes you into overstimulation. You bite down hard on your bottom lip as your thighs clamp around his head, your entire body pulling taunt all over again. But not once do you tell him to stop and so he keeps pushing, keeps lapping at you until you're entirely clean and there's nothing left for him to consume. 

He turns his head then, to nip at the skin of your thigh playfully. He means very little by it, entirely satisfied with all that you've given him tonight. But before he can pull away, your hand has shot down to tangle in his hair, as, with a strength that is surprising to him, you hold his head in place. 

“Ro,” you whimper, your chest heaving with unsteady breaths as you tilt your head to meet his gaze. “Drink.” 

His eyes widen just slightly in surprise. “But-” 

Only you cut him off with a firm shake of your head, your eyes burning with a fire that sends him reeling. 

“It's okay,” you reassure him, soft yet determined. “I feel fine. So please… drink from me.” 

It's so difficult for him to resist when you ask him so nicely. So, so difficult. And so he turns his head back towards your inner thigh, letting his lips brush lazily along the soft, warm skin. At the same time, his hand comes up to hold the other side of your leg, steadying it in preparation for his bite. 

“Thank you,” he whispers then, his eyes falling shut as he nuzzles into your skin. “I appreciate it, my love.” 

And he truly does. Because there is no greater honour in the world to him than being allowed to consume a piece of you in order to keep himself alive. 

He doesn't bite as hard this time. The skin of your inner thigh is velvet-soft and sensitive, and it feels wrong of him to use the full force of his power to break it. No, instead he drags his tongue over the chosen spot a few times before pressing his fangs to the skin, just enough for it to give way. The blood that flows from the wound is untainted, even by the arousal from before, and it sends a shock running right up his spine as it hits his tongue. The feeling is so different now that he can focus entirely on the sensation of drinking from you and it sparks an entirely different kind of warmth deep in his chest. His predatory urges rise, once more demanding to be given control. But he forces them down again, feeling his adoration of you overpower the thousands of years of instinct in a mere second. 

It's only when your fingers start to grow looser in his hair that he pulls away from your thigh. He trusts the fact that you say you're fine, however, he also knows the dangers of pushing a human too far past their limits. And so, after licking over the wound a few times, he sits back on his haunches so he can look at you properly all over again. 

“My love?” he questions softly, reaching a hand out to brush a few strands of your hair back from your face. “Are you alright?” 

You nod in response and grab at his outstretched hand. With a strength you really shouldn't have after all that's happening, you tug him back to you, until he's laying right on top of you again. 

This time though, as soon as he settles, you simply bury your head into the cool of his shoulder and let out a long happy sigh. 

A moment of silence passes as the pair of you simply bask in the feeling of each other. He can hear your heartbeat when he focuses, and he listens to its rhythm gradually slow as the last of the adrenaline leaves your system. 

“I had planned to get a bit more sleep before we had to get up,” you mumble into his neck then. “But this was pretty good too.” 

He lets out a soft huff of amusement and presses a playful kiss to your temple. “You say get up as if you have something to do today,” he points out. “I'm afraid none of the books in my library will be upset by tardiness, my love.”

He’s sure that you'd flick at him if you had the energy. As it is your eyebrows furrow a little and you pout like an angry child into the skin of his neck.

“Shut up.” 

He snorts and pulls you even closer, one arm sliding around you back while the other gently cradles your head. 

“You know I’m teasing, darling,” he says softly as he lets your warmth envelop him entirely. “You are at liberty to spend your time however you want while you're here. I am happy to accommodate.” 

“I know,” you say back and for the first time there's a hint of sadness creeping into your tone. “But still I… I don't want to let you go.” 

“Oh?” 

You shift a little, though continue to keep your face hidden from his gaze. If he were to judge by the burning feeling of your cheek pressed to his shoulder, he'd almost think that you're blushing. 

“I can laze around here all I want but you have a job to do,” you murmur then, and he understands immediately. “I don't like it when you're gone. I want to spend every second I have with you.” 

He feels the same way, though he doesn't say it out loud.  If anything, he has a strong suspicion that he thinks about this very issue even more often than you do. Time is a finite resource for the pair of you, after all. Every second not spent by your side is a second wasted, as far as he’s concerned. And so having to leave you each day in order to tend to various clan matters hurts him. It hurts him a lot. 

You're well aware of all of this though, so he doesn't say it again. Instead he just tightens his grip on you and then rolls the both of you onto his back, so he is now the one looking up at you.

“I understand,” he murmurs to you then, an unspoken apology. “I understand, my love.” . 

“Just promise you'll stay here for a bit longer,” is all you have to breathe back as you settle yourself across his chest. “I want to cuddle with you.” 

He's sure that less than a year ago, before he'd first met you, hearing such a request would have sent him reeling with disgust. Now though, he realises there’s nothing he wants more at this moment. And so he wraps both arms around your waist and leans his head back so he can rest his chin against your hair. 

“Of course, my darling,” he says, so softly it's barely a whisper in the darkness. “Anything for you.” 

You relax entirely against him, your body moulding with his so perfectly that he eventually stops being able to tell where he ends and you begin. He listens as your breathing events out, becoming deep and heavy as sleep drags you under. His eyes remain open though, even as the minutes of silence stretch on and the night outside the windows gets darker and darker. Partially because he has no need to sleep. Mostly because he doesn't want to let this moment go just yet. 

He knows he will need to leave you eventually. Both now, in this moment, and on a far broader scale. He knows this can't last forever, unlike him. It's a fear he has had to overcome in being with you, in allowing himself to love you. And even now as he holds you so close to him, he can still feel it sitting in the pit of his stomach; that never ending dread of the fact that with each passing second he's that much closer to having to say goodbye. 

But then you shift a little in his arms, squirming into a new, more comfortable position. And as he looks down at you, he remembers the conversation you'd had. So long ago it seems like, when he’d shown up at your apartment, ashamed and guilty but still so determined to tell you. 

You'd made it known to him that night that the pair of you don’t need an eternity. No amount of time may be enough but that only gives each second that much more value. 

He presses his nose into your hair with this thought, his arms around you tightening just the tiniest bit. And then a small smile spreads across his face.

“I promise,” he mumbles to you, knowing you cannot hear him but saying it anyway. “I promise to make you the happiest that anyone on this planet has ever been. I promise to show you every inch of the love you deserve, from now until the day we part.”

His eyes slide closed and he takes one last deep breath in, drinking in your scent so that it might fill every crevice of his body. 

“I promise to make this life we will have together worth ten thousand times more than that which we would have spent apart.” 

He slips from beneath you, resting your sleeping form gently on the sheets so that he can leave the bed without disturbing you. The cold of the night air hits his skin all over again and a shiver brushes up his spine. Carefully, he turns to take your hand, bringing it to his lips. 

“All this, I promise,” he whispers as he kisses your knuckles in farewell. “I promise it on my name.” 

Roman.