terminus [rhiannon]

[Moore]

"The hero and the coward both feel the same thing, but the hero uses his fear. He projects it onto his opponent, while the coward runs. It's the same thing - fear - but it's what you do with it that matters."

CUS D'AMATO

"Your head! Use your head, Moore!"

Those earliest memories fill the forefront of his mind and sends his heart aflutter, and even to aching and swelling within the core of his chest. The sound of Shamus' frothing mouth works, and all the while chords tighten at the flanks of his throat, projecting one word after another to toil through the air and buffet Moore's ears time and again; use that head of his.

Young and able; of a youth to be molded and taught properly. He tucks the crown of his head tightly to his opponent's chest and his fists fly threefold one after the other. All the while Shamus roars and barks at Moore; he beckons for more and more, and stamps his feet as tightly curled fists pound the apron. He's shouting and those beady eyes of his are alight with passion; with a fire.

Then the square-ring opens beneath his feet and the world gapes at him; beckoning at him with that maw. It swallows him whole and tears him asunder, and within moments, the walls of his mind were slick and covered with blood and the white-slabs upon the floor muddied by offal. All the while Shamus' insistent bark became a steady scream; the sharp keen of women and men both.

...an inhuman scream rips from his own throat.

He awakes with a start and slick with sweat. He lingers tangled bare and naked within the sheets, and slick with sweat, too. That handbreadth of hair settles damp and slick upon his brow forehead; plastered there, even. His mouth falls open to release an involuntary whimper and his eyes flit over the walls of his dark room; illuminated only by the tall street lamp outside of his bedroom window.

He lays there completely and utterly naked as the day he had been born; evenly tanned flesh heated by his terror and fear. Each muscle lingers strained and pronounced beneath his velvet flesh as he shifts beneath the sheets. All the while that more bestial side of him pounds at his walls; begging to be freed as arousal stirs between his thighs and his tongue turns to leather.

He could taste her upon the air so close to him.

"Rhiannon!" He cries out loud.

[Rhiannon]

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us."
- MARIANNE WILLIAMSON

She craved him. Needed him more than she should and knew it. Knew that he was borderline unhealthy for her. This wasn't a poison she could become immune to the more she exposed herself to it. This wasn't a mountain she could overcome if she tried to simply ignore the pain, the knots in her stomach that clutched at her insides so tightly that it left her gasping. As it was she had locked herself in his bathroom and was curled up in a corner biting her lip, trying to keep away the fantasies of her and Moore. Fantasies that would leave him, more likely than not, half dead. In the very least the best outcome she could hope for was that he fought her off and fled, grew to hate and fear her. But it was getting so hard to stop herself. Every time that they laid together and she felt the searing heat of his flesh on hers all she wanted was to drink his warmth straight from his vein. And as he slept in bed in the other room it was far too tempting to try to steal just a sip...

He screamed.

The sound made Rhiannon's bones nearly leap out of her skin and at first she didn't recognize it. It was something she had never heard before and had never imagined, even in her worst nightmares. She was on her feet in an instant, her hand on the knob. Her stomach was still tight and starving for a taste of him but the fear that something had happened...she couldn't imagine what could have made him scream. Socks slipped on the floor as Rhiannon flung the bathroom door open, nearly sprawling head first down the hall in her haste, before throwing open the door to their room. His room. His room.

"Rhiannon!"

"I'm here!" she gasped. A hand slammed against the light switch and the bedroom exploded in light. She had to close her dark eyes against the brightness for a moment before they flashed around the room to find the danger. There was nothing. Only Moore. Immediately she crossed over to the bed, crawling over to him. Her hand reached out to rest her palm against his cheek - he was on fire. Lust flared up and she had to bite her lip, concentrating on the sweat of fear that made his skin slick. She bent her head to his, bumping brows before a thin arm went around his strong, broad shoulders. Closed her eyes as she held him, swallowed hard to hold back that starving hunger.

"Are you alright?" she managed to ask hoarsely.

[Moore]

...light swallows him; brightens the room, even...

It's nigh painful at first as his entire vision becomes overwhelmed. Yet, there she stands swimming within his gaze; standing there at the door and looking all around. She'd find nothing though. She couldn't hear what he could hear. She couldn't hear the snarl and scrape of tooth and nail upon the walls of his mind. She couldn't hear the screams; the endless heaps of victims he had eviscerated and slaughtered. She couldn't hear the laughter that begins to swell with reality within his throat.

Then she's upon him and her brow presses upon his own. Her arm settles around him, even. If only she knew what she sought to be protective of. Then that laughter bubbles forth but fades as curiosities overtake him and hands lift to tangle within her hair. Those rough and calloused fingers searching and stroking; touching her with all the curiosity of a child...of a wolf.

She's something else then and there to him. What looked at her then...ah, was that Moore peering out from behind those blue eyes or something else? There was no concern then but the moment that he lived. It was only the now as his fingers stroke and pull through her hair only to brush down her cheeks and along the arch of her neck. God! Had she ever felt so cool to the touch?

His mind attempted to place things together then and there; to make right of everything. Yet, he could not recall a time that she had felt so cool to the touch. All he could recall was that slick mound clenching around him and the warmth of her tongue tussling with his own; hips tucking close and hard. How many nights, now, had he rutted deep and spilled his seed thick within her?

How many nights had he made her cry his name?

Her uttered words fall upon deaf ears then and there as his face presses close to her throat. He could smell her then; the scent of her blood lingering still beneath her flesh. He could taste everything of hers; her hair, her skin and the warmth between her thighs. His body shudders and a groan leaves him as hands fall hard upon her hips and his mouth roams over the expanse of her throat. All the while he says nothing but the heat of his body...ah, he's hot to the touch!

Yet, hotter he grows; heated and near burning as a fever might. All the while muscles strain and tighten beneath his skin and his flesh seems to darken as he lifts and lowers her unto his lap. "Rhia...Rhia," he murmurs and trails; uttering incomprehensible words thereafter. Then his touch became painful upon her as fingers bite at her hips and his teeth rake the tender flesh of her neck.

[Rhiannon]

And just like that his hands were upon her. A chill made its trickling course down her spine and she shuddered in his hands from the burn of his touch. Her head tilted to follow the path his hand was taking along her cheek, lips pressing a passing kiss to his fingertips. And just like that she was on fire for him. And just like that she wanted to consume him, down to the very last drop. And just like that...And just like that...His face buried in her neck the way that she had been dying to do to him. The weight of his hands were pressing down on her waist and Moore’s body gave a hard shudder, an echo of the quiver of her own.

Her name was on his lips and she grew heady just from hearing the way he said it. Her lovers’ fingers dug into her waist and Rhiannon gasped at the pinch. She lifted her arms to drape them around behind his neck, tilting her own head to one side as he continued his attention at her vein. So much like Codelious had - so much like a vampire. Would he feel then that she didn’t have a pulse? He hadn’t noticed yet. Prayed he wouldn’t now. Rhia’s fingernails raked over the expanse of his back tensely and she bit down on her lip - hard - at the feeling of his teeth on the skin of her neck. A new yearning blazed through her. The desire to have him feed from her, to drink from her vein. To give and take in sync and with easeful coordination.

What if she turned him?

But then what would Codelious say? What would Venom think? Her grandsire had made it no secret to her how he felt about her - and indeed, he was part of the reason why she hadn’t returned back to Rome yet. For fear of him smelling another man on her. A human, no less. Would he look at her and know she’d given away her innocence? Should any of that matter though? No, because she wouldn’t take away Julian’s mortality. She wouldn’t turn him into a monster like she was. He deserved more. She couldn’t steal away his sunshine and turn him into a prisoner of the moon.

But she wanted him to be more than human, at least with her. That was a wish that could never ever come true. Instead she would be forever haunted by the feeling of his fingertips walking up her spine, hands that could never break her. Her name was on his lips and Rhiannon let out a moan despite herself. Then she felt his teeth graze none too gently over her skin. A loud gasp was ripped from her throat as the vampire in her stirred, craving the same attention that she bestowed on her prey.

“Julian,” she said, his named ragged as he shifted her in his arms easily, lighting her afire.

[Moore]

Mankind separates their life within bits; minutes, hours and days, and thensome. Wolves, though, kill and eat. They kill a rabbit and eat a rabbit. It's nothing else. Yet, when man does so, they call it bones, meat, fur and guts. He's both though, no? He's man. He was born of the flesh as anyone else; spilled deep and thick within the slick womb of his lady mother. Then he died and was reborn as something else entirely. It had been a secret, though, hidden from those he knew best and loved. Hidden even now from the one who had become his touchstone to life.

Hidden from the one he knew cared for him more than he did for himself.

At that moment he was losing himself though. It felt like each and every minute blended with the hours and the days; the weeks and months, even. It felt like each and every moment they had known of one another became naught else but a thread connecting to the next. That only the now was what truly mattered. What mattered then was her and the heat of her flesh upon his.

The world seemed to reel within his mind's eye; stirring and shaking beneath their bed. All he could see was her face swimming within his gaze and the way her flesh reacts to each touch. He pins her then and there; pinning her with the weight of his body. His hips nestle flush against her own and the line of his hard abdomen settles upon her flat stomach. That muscled chest of his crushes her breasts and his mouth smothers over the flesh of her throat.

"You're so cold," he murmurs.

So cold. Oh, so cold, and yet, he couldn't help but feel intoxicated and overwhelmed by her scent and taste; lapping at her throat as his mouth trails. All the while his lips trail from her throat to her collerbone, and lower, even then. All he could smell then was her skin and the still blood within; the bits and pieces that made her up.

...could he ravage her?

His hands lift and smooth around her throat only to tighten; palms bearing down and fingers bruising at her flesh. He holds her still and groans as hips stir closer and his eyes flutter. He groans and snarls; a growl hinting at the edge of that sigh of pleasure.

...could he kill her?

[Rhiannon]

He held her down and she wanted nothing more than to feel like she was going to break under the pressure of him. The weight of him on her nearly made her feel fragile and finite, and that inkling feeling of mortality by itself nearly took her over the edge. The only thing that dragged her back was the feeling of his lips moving over the vein in her neck and the words the air in his lungs whispered against her throat; "You're so cold." And just like that she was undying again and the man holding her could be thrown off with only the most mild of efforts. It was the only thing ruining this fantasy that possessed her, body and soul. The only flaw in the perfect world she held in the palm of her hand. Moore's mouth was moving south and away from her jugular and slowly Rhiannon's mind began to forget again that she wasn't human. And that he was just flesh and bone.

Julian's fingertips were biting hard into her skin and she could feel the small blood vessels rupturing. Tried not to think about how they were healing just as quickly, how the marks that she would have borne the next morning were already gone. The evidence of their trysts and hours in darkness were never witnessed and he never wondered why. Every day they woke together and her skin was as unmarred and perfect as it had been when they found their way to bed every night. The sounds he made were almost animalistic. Carnal. That unaltered and unabashed show of his desire.

Her fangs unsheathed within her mouth as a sign of hers. Rhiannon's lips were on his throat now and she kissed his neck with passion and deep bloodlust, breathing growing more and more ragged with every second. Her fingernails dug into his skin, scratching lightly through the epidermis. Mouth opened and closed over the artery, felt it pulsing with the quickness of his excitement. Wanted to feel her own heart racing too, but that thought was quickly lost on her as she felt his heart give another pound. She gasped, tearing her mouth away from him and swallowing hard. Close, too close. How could he desire her so badly? Couldn't he feel the danger he was in?

[Moore]

He could smother her and take the life from her. If only he could find himself and throw himself to the task. All he had to do was to tighten his grasp; to dig fingertips tight at either side of her throat. Then he could feast upon her. He could tear her asunder and find ecstasy within the carmine nectar of her supple flesh. Yet, every time she touched him she made his flesh feel alive with memories of the past. She made him remember all those little things and moments that they had from that first kiss to this very touch with her trembling beneath him as her mouth works upon his throat.

There were too many nights to recall between each time. There were too many nights of victory met with her form falling endlessly within his bare lap. There were too many nights where he had forced her against the hallway wall or bent over the table; the bed, even. All the while his hips fell close behind without shame or even a hitch. There were too many nights of aching comfort and many others when one or the other had come late to their bedroom. How many nights had he awakened her with the brush of his mouth brushing heatedly between her thighs? How many, many, many...There were too many nights to count. There were too many moments of panting and whimpering; too many moments of shuddering ecstasy to recall.

She brushes her lips against his neck and the touch lingers as that of his companion and mate. It lingers and tells him that she's more than some scrap of flesh to savor and salivate over. That she's more than prey. He needs to detach himself and become less than himself. He needs to become the undercurrent within his flesh. He needs to learn to accept and slaughter the lamb...

...I can't...

How can he destroy that which loves him more than himself...?

He aches at the very core as he looks down onto her. It's after he pushes her away. It's after all those kisses bestowed upon the arch of his neck. He aches with guilt and need. He aches with want and passion both. He aches, wants, needs...He claims; hands seemingly every where at once. His touch reluctantly releases her throat only to separate; one stroking down the line of her body and the other high to cup her cheek and stroke his thumb against her soft mouth.

He couldn't suspend himself to the beast within him. He couldn't, couldn't, couldn't...How could he ever? He had become the architect of his own destruction long ago and now was the very moment he'd put a stop to such a thing. Now, as his hand grasps himself and his heated length buries warmly within her...Now, as his thumb pushes past her slick lips to press against her tongue.

He falls to her with an eagerness and fervor that belongs entirely to Moore; hips rutting forth none too gently to stroke himself deeper and deeper. He presses close and tight to the hilt as every muscle of his ripples beneath his bare skin. He's heated and hot to the touch. He's warming with every passing fall of his hips. All the while thumb strokes against her tongue and his face draws near to watch her mouth work. He watches and watches; savors, even. Then he felt...

The touch comes and goes, and Moore's nigh late to react as his thumb begins to hum with pain. All that he knew then and there was the fact that he was cut. He could feel the life begin to well from him; to leave the pad of his thumb slick with his lifeblood. All the while still lingering within her mouth as his mind attempts to grasp the happenings all around him...

...who's truly the monster...?

[Rhiannon]

Every single moment and event that had passed had led to this. No, not this. Not this moment of being consumed by fire without being burnt. Not the pressure of his hands on her or the feeling of them conjoined at the waist - nor her body beginning to hitch as the rhythm caught on. The way her breath caught for a moment wasn't the goal, not for her though yes for him. She looked up at him from beneath fluttering eyelids as her nails dug in and the way that he gazed down at her, hungry, sent a shiver down her spine. An arc of her back and her neck was exposed for him in offering, an offering that he wouldn't understand. He wouldn't take her blood the way her own kind would and he wouldn't taste her flesh in its rarest, purest form. For a moment the realization of the shortcoming began to break through the heat of the moment and she swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away to concentrate on him.

There was something in her mouth.

She closed around his thumb and eyes shut tight as he scorched her with his flesh. The legs of the bed began to groan with her subtle whimpers, muted by the digit between her lips. Then he gave a small flinch. Rhiannon didn't know what happened at first; he didn't falter in the precision of his movements. Then she felt something hit her tongue. Her eyes flew open at the taste of Moore's blood before shutting again. Lips stayed latched on and she lapped up the taste of him eagerly. Wanted more. The spice of him filled her mouth from tooth to gum and she was gasping, breaths coming short and nails biting into his flesh as she began to shudder, toes curling, every muscle clenching tight and the cry that escaped her lips was more vivid than any he'd wrenched from her yet. Left her mewling beneath him, still sucking on his thumb, as aftershock after aftershock shot through her. The proverbial electric collar she had placed on herself was being blown to Hell with every tremor and quiver.

Her hands seized him and, before she could stop stop herself and before Moore could stop her either, her inhumane strength pushed him off her and pressed him down into the mattress. Rhiannon's eyes were blazing as she took his face in her hands and forced him to look away from her, baring his neck. Then her countenance was buried in the crook of it, fangs exposed and about to graze that burning flesh of his that she so longed to taste. Her small frame was trembling hard as she froze, fighting the monster as she felt his pulse beneath her fingers. Could see the beating of his vein. Knew his taste. She wanted...She needed...

[Moore]

...monster...

It didn't matter whether or not they were man or beast. It didn't matter whether or not they were unlike any other because mankind was filled of monsters even without them. From the start blood was shed over petty squabbles to that of belief. From the start there were people who loathed others over the most simple of things. What made them so different...?

...they are all monsters...

Yet, she's different. There's no doubt about that and Julian could feel that within the span of one moment. That's not to say he felt fear though. Moore had never been traditionally afraid of anything. This, too, was no different. He savors the feel of her working mouth on his wounded flesh but that seems to only last for a brief moment. Within that span of a moment he felt a shudder of pleasure; shivering at the thought of her soft mouth. It's a mistake.

His guard falls open; leaving him open for her to take advantage. She's surprisingly strong and that only sealed what he suspected then and there. He found the bed upon his back but the motion of her body leaves him groaning aloud. The pleasure and heat of her thighs enveloping him leaves him shivering; shuddering, even. Then her touch on him...

Oh, so bestial!

He groans and hisses; feeling his senses heighten and falter. His nostrils drink her scent and he could taste her on the air. He could taste the frustration and the fight between their sweat slick forms thumping close. All the while his hips buckle upward not to fight her but to embrace her. Then her face drawing so near to his throat. Ounce upon ounce of him longs to fight her off of him. The wolfish part of him lingers reluctant to submit to her but then...

His lips lift to her ear to tenderly brush against her sense. His hard hands fall to her bare back to rake his fingers down the line of her spine. He pulls her harshly against himself and the core of his strength caresses against her own; every muscle of his rippling and calling toward her.

"...feed..."

It's one word. It's one solitary uttered sound that flits from his heated and working tongue; smoothing along his lower lip and close to her ear. "I will not break," he murmurs huskily. Then, without a hitch or semblance of reluctance, Julian turned his face away. His throat lingers bare for her. It's what wolves were wont to do for their mate; bare their throat as a sign of trust.

"I know," he murmurs. "I know."

All the while his hand tangles within her hair.

[Rhiannon]

The restraint that she held herself back with had been weak. So weak that she was nearly on his vein, sating herself to the last drop. But now with every second ticking by that she didn't act on the impulse her resolve grew stronger. She couldn't do that to him, not to her Julian. Not after all that they had been through. The cameras flashing and fists pounding and the nights that she'd spent awake thinking of him until she'd only by chance found him again and now here she was in his bed about to destroy the only man who'd she'd ever dared to trust enough to be her lover. And she was on the verge of losing him forever as she sat on his hips, shaking violently at how close she'd come.

His lips were on her ear, fingertips grazing down her back; she shivered. The breath she was holding came out of her lungs in a hard rush as Moore crushed her against his hardened form. The body that she knew as well as she knew her own by now. The body that had sated hers in every way but one, and now she was so close to even that.

"...feed..."

The rumble of the word in her ear caught her off guard, but somehow not at all. She knew the world well. But for it to come from him...her all too human lover...It sounded foreign and yet all too right. She couldn't bring herself to do it though. She'd break him. "I will not break." The way he said it made her breath catch. Like he was reading her mind. Without hesitation. Reassuring her even though he was the one in danger. If this wasn't love then she didn't know what love was. Except this wasn't love, was it. Though in that moment as he turned his head to the side and bared his throat she could have been fooled. He couldn't possibly know what he was offering.

"I know," he said. "I know."

"Oh God, Julian," she breathed roughly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry..."

And then she was on his throat. Ran her fangs over the vein while her hands slid over his chest then up his arms, pinning him. Didn't want to hurt him...but in the same breath she didn't want him to run. This is what she had been dying for, craving, holding back from and he wanted it. Knew. Accepted her. This was ownership without owning anything at all. Her lips made a seal as her teeth broke skin. Then she began to drink.

[Moore]

Julian Moore had never submitted to anyone within his life. He had never confessed to any semblance of weakness or a moment of loss either. He had never admitted to being overwhelmed or triumphed over. He had never once bared himself to another and allowed another on top. Rhiannon, though, was something else; she's something different entirely. For the first time Moore didn't hear the rush of another. He didn't hear the bark demanding him to fight and fend for himself. He didn't hear the call to bury one. All he knew was this pleasure.

Who would have thought there would be such freedom of allowing another their way...?

"I'm sorry," or so she says. It nearly falls upon deaf ears though. Truth be told, she didn't need to apologize. It wasn't accepted because such a thing wasn't needed then and there. There's simply nothing else Moore could have wanted than to feel her release upon him; take what she longed for. He longs to watch and feel her shed those inhibitions as he did then and there; baring himself to her without shame or fear. He'd be well. He knew he could trust her.

His arms linger pinned but not for long. They manage to wrestle free of her grasp only for their fingers to tangle; palm to palm. He groans aloud as her mouth works upon the heat of throat. He savors the pressure of her teeth scoring his flesh. He aches when feeling the life flood from him.

"Rhiannon," he utters her name nigh soundlessly. Those blue eyes of his flutter and his mouth works on the open air. All he could taste was her on his lips, and he could only wonder of what she could taste; what she felt, even. It should be as she hoped, or so he liked to think. If he could even think. His mind seemed to be every where at once as he felt her shake upon his hips; tremble, even. All the while his own hips stir and buckle upward almost harshly.

That second wind comes to him within the moment. It was sudden explosion of strength that found her hefted within the air as he sat up. The motion thereafter seemed to happen too quickly as he back found an even and unforgiving surface; not the bed but the headboard. He lingers upon his knees with her balanced upon his hard lower abdomen and hips; hands still tangled with hers as she fed from him. Yet, never was he drained. In fact, he seemed to grow stronger.

The bed groans; shuddering beneath them. It nearly gives under their weight as the headboard bump, bump, bumps against the wall. All the while his breath rushes out nearest her ear with his heart accentuating their passion; thump, thump, thumping against her breast. His hips buckling harshly between her soft thighs and every muscle screaming out at him.

"...I will not break," he murmurs huskily.

...but would she?

[Rhiannon]

There was fire in her veins and it was Julian Moore, searing her down to the marrow of her bones. Trembling and shaking she took him into her, symbiotically. Needing him and having him the way she had been dying for. Every time she'd bitten back the urge she had destroyed a little part of herself, ignoring that instinct to take what she wanted. Given the cold shoulder to the heat he could provide. His blood was an inferno and her body burned with his warmth. Warmer than any human had ever made her. If only she knew...

His hands pried free of her grasp, only to lace fingers together. That small action, that small gesture, combined with the sound he made only served to make her body ache for him. The passion between them was enough to set the room alight. Fate hadn't been working on a whim when they had laid eyes on one another in that humid stadium. There was something more in this room lying in this bed with them than mere chance. Maybe this was destiny. Maybe this was...This is what she had wanted. This is exactly what she had wanted all along.

Rhiannon gasped as Moore manhandled her, repositioning them both in one fluid motion. Even as she dominated him, he was still a vision of masculine strength - and she needed him to be strong for this. Could taste the virility in his blood. Still she kept her mouth over the wounds, drinking, swallowing him down in rhythm with the bed. His breath in her ear. His fingers between hers. His body under her form. His voice reassuring her; "...I will not break."

How was he so certain?

It didn't matter. She was there. What had happened before with just a few drops of his blood paled in comparison to this now. A veritable earthquake. A beautiful disaster. Every muscle clenched and released, then clenched again and she cried out against his throat. Once. Again. Again still. Didn't notice her head slamming against the headboard, nor the quick moment of pain as the skin of her forehead broke and blood trickled down the side of her face from the impact. All she knew was what he was doing to her and him. Her hands pressed hard against Moore as she became vulnerable in her strength. At her weakest as she dominated him to her utmost. But this is how being a predator worked, didn't it? It was in the consumed that they were consumed and destroyed.

Could he destroy her?

Was this how vampires loved?

Her tongue ran over the incisions as she withdrew her mouth, collapsing on him in a fevered, fragile state. Breathing ragged. Lips, teeth and tongue stained with his blood. Rested her forehead on his chest. Panting and slick with sweat. Realization slowly pumping into her veins as the adrenaline pumped out.

Oh God. She'd bitten him. Fed from him. Had she imagined his encouragement? Had the demon of what she was been the voice whispering in her ear; "Feed...I will not break...I know...I know..." He couldn't know. He couldn't possibly have known. Her poor mortal Moore. Rhiannon's breath caught; had she killed him in her frenzy?

"Julian?" she whispered, not looking up. Afraid to see if she'd left him dead.

[Moore]

If he had been any less of a man, or beast, then he wouldn't have survived. Yet, Julian's something else; even for a man and even moreso for the beast he had become. There's not one moment where Moore wavers nor even regrets what they have done. No; as soil thirsts for the rain, Moore swallows Rhiannon whole and beckons for more. How Moore longs to drown...!

He doesn't stop Rhiannon at any moment. He didn't wish to. Truth be told, Moore had become addicted to the feeling of being controlled then. Despite the fact that he held her -- and mercilessly stroked himself within her -- she held him within her soft hands; molding him. He groans aloud and utters her name to accentuate each cry with her birth name.

The truth was, was that Moore wasn't sure of his own limits then and there. How long would he survive with her suckling upon him and draining him of his life? Would she stop short of his end to assure his safety or would she take from him entirely...? No. She wouldn't. He could feel that within her. He could feel the human within her. He could feel the part of her he knew since that once upon a time ago; when that cinderella man stole a kiss.

Then she was releasing him. He hadn't realized how spellbound he had become until that very moment. At first he had been teetering and now he falters; falling toward the world and the feeling of realization dawning upon him. He feels worn and aches; shuddering between her thighs. Yet, she tends to him like a mate should. Her lips and tongue soft upon his wounds.

Had he died...? It was hard to tell. Yet, when her voice came through...ah! It seemed nigh second nature by then as his hips roll and stroke between her thighs; pressing himself deep. He groans suddenly and his mouth falls open soundlessly. His length nestles deep to the hilt within her and ripples; tip swelling against her womb. Then her name...

"...Rhiannon...!"

She'd feel the heat of his seed spilling thick within her. All the while those hips of his pinning tight against her own; bearing down upon hers. His hands continue to hold hers pinned against the headboard then as his face tips and chin tucks toward his chest. He could smell her upon the air. He could taste her on his tongue. His nose bumps softly against her brow and he could feel the wetness of her blood. He shudders and shivers; whimpering, even before running his tongue over the break of her flesh...oh, so sweet ambrosia...

He could crush her now while she's weak. He could smother her with his flesh and eviscerate her. He could eat her whole and no one would ever know. No one would ever question him. He could taste her now, truly. He could feel her essence coating his tongue; leaving his mouth wet with her lifeblood. His hands release her own only to cup warmly over her cheeks. He upturns her face to him and bumps his brow against her own wolfishly.

"Rhiannon," he begins, "I don't wish to hurt you."

[Rhiannon]

He was alive. His body wasn't cooling under her; it was getting warmer. His heartbeat wasn't slowing. It was getting stronger. He should be weaker. He should be pushing her away, crying monster in fear and horror. Instead he was clutching her closer. Tighter. She could barely believe it as he pressed on into her body again, so very much alive. Rhiannon whimpered in his arms, clinging to him as he fulfilled himself by filling her. He said her name.

He'd said it before. Many times. Often. Groaned against her shoulder or in a husky breath in their moments of passion, beautiful bodies entwined in each others arms like a piece of art. But this was different. Something about the way he said it was different. She almost felt her heart pound out a hammered beat, but that would have been a lie.

"...Rhiannon...!"

"Julian," she whimpered back.

Then he ran his tongue over her skin, lapping up her own blood. For a moment she felt panic, but in the back of her mind she knew there had to be more in the exchange than that to turn him into a vampire. She couldn't do that to him. Not to her Moore, her beloved Moore. He held her face then.

"Rhiannon," he said, "I don't wish to hurt you."

"If you have to," she found herself whispering back, "I understand." And how could she blame him. She had bitten him. Fed from him. Drained him. Probably damn near killed him. How could she hold any violence against him? Hell...it would probably be better if he hurt her. "I'm yours to hurt."

Would she eat those words if she knew what permission she really gave?

[Moore]

"I'm yours to hurt."

It's not the same. If she knew what he was capable of then she'd change her mind without a hitch. He knew that without a shadow of a doubt. Yet, one part of him ached for her. It accepted her uttered word without shame and he felt himself begin to salivate at the thought. He wants to crush her. He wants to claim her and feast upon her flesh.

He wanted to tear her to bits; to tear the flat of her bare, sweat slick stomach, and feast ravenously upon her innards. He could do that now. He knew he could. He could kill her. No one would ever have to know. It could be his dirty little secret. He could feast upon her and savor the feel of her blood running as rivulets down his chin and upon the ridges of his hard muscle. He could bathe within her blood as he beat on her and filled himself with her essence.

The thought frightens him suddenly. It leaves him shuddering and shaking. He needs to stop. He needs to fend such thoughts off. Yet, he doesn't. At least not then. He could feel her body clench and tighten; milk him, even. Reluctantly, though, his hips shift to slip free of her. He hisses with the sudden feeling of being parted from her. Yet, his grasp on her slips, grasping tight upon her throat, then pinning her onto the bed without a word but a heavy groan.

"You don't see, do you?" The query seems strange and misplaced. Did she understand him? He knew her now. He knew her for what she was and didn't push her away, but him...He's different, too, but not as she'd expect. Would she loathe him? There were those like her that didn't associate with beasts such as him. He's foul. He's dirty and unclean. He's meant to destroy and kill cleanly. He's meant to eat and procreate; little else, really.

His face lowers near her own only to dip further. Then his mouth presses against the front of her throat. He breathes her deep and his eyetooth score against her slender throat. His hands lift then to tangle within her hair harshly and pull only to bare her throat further.

"I'd be the death of you," he breathes out.