Vampyr

His window has been left open for me, as it always is every night. This invitation allows me entry into his home. I make myself lighter than the air and I hover upwards onto the windowsill. Even though the room is pitch dark, I can still see as clear as one would in broad daylight. He is lying in his bed on his side, turned so that his back is faced to me. The white cotton sheet is pulled up over his legs, the pale flesh of his buttocks exposed.

I cross the room and lie beside him. It isn't until I stroke the golden strands of his hair and whisper into his ear that he is stirred awake. Once his eyes open, they immediately brighten when he realizes that I am here with him. His fingers reach out to find my face.

"Is it really you?" he whispers.

"Yes," I tell him, reaching to pull the chain of his bedside lamp so that my face may be visible to him, "It's me."

His arms entwine around my neck to bring me in closer and our lips meet. In the heat of our kiss, his hands work to remove my clothing so that I can be naked as he is. His arousal presses against me, as mine presses into him.

Like so many others, he was mesmerized at first sight by my external beauty, my raven-black hair, flawless white skin like marble, and perfectly sculpted body. All of this adds to my allure, made as a snare, the same as all those like me. Our appearance, along with many other gifts, were granted to us once we were made into what we are now to be used as a lure.

Louis is one of the only humans I've ever known to be more beautiful than even one of our kind. Just as he had been enchanted by me, I had as much been so by him. At first sight of him, I was captivated by his angelic innocence and purity and youth, so full of warmth and life. And his blood is accordingly sweet.

My lips brush across his cheek and along his jaw. His pulse quickens as I print kisses down his chest. I can feel his heart pounding harder and harder, ready to burst through his sternum. His legs wrap around my waist, his hips thrusting up against me with need as he whimpers my name, pleading for me. As my teeth graze along his collarbone, my hand travels down his smooth, quivering abdomen, and my long fingers enwrap his erection alongside mine to stroke us both at once. He gasps aloud as his fingernails dig into my back. My other hand tightens its grip on his hair, pulling his head back so that the veins in his throat is further exposed, while the hand that holds our cocks together releases his so that it can aim mine at his entrance.

"Please..." he nearly sobs, his legs opening wider, craning his neck further for me, "Please..."

I feel for a good and prominent vein with my lips. Finding one with a strong flow, my teeth pierce through like a razor through warm butter, allowing his saccharine blood to flood into my mouth. In that same moment, when my canines penetrate his skin, my cock does the same to his ass, sliding inside him down to the hilt in one single steady plunge. His mouth falls agape, moans of ecstasy being sounded, both from my feeding on him coupled with my making love to him so very slow and deep. His warm tightness gripping my cock is almost as incredible as his blood.

Despite the hunger, I draw back on my intake after three or four awesome mouthfuls, not wanting him to lose consciousness or God forbid die. Now I only lap up the crimson that leaks from the puncture wounds, licking them swiftly with the tip of my tongue then kissing the small, but deep, holes.

"Oh, Louis..." I breathe into his ear, "Oh, you taste so good, love..."

His hand moves so that he can touch himself. In a fraction of a second, I have both of his wrists pinned down above his head. He then gasps and cries aloud as I pound into him harder and faster, my hips curling so that I hit his sensitive prostate with each thrust.

"Oh, god!" he whispers, his breath coming and going in short heavy pants, "Oh fuck me... Fuck me..."

My lips curl into a snarl as I growl with the voice of a starving, rabid wolf. The smell of his delicious blood still flowing from him floods my nostrils, threatening to overtake my senses. The desire to shred his throat and drink him dry is near impossible to resist, but I will not allow that to happen. Instead, I answer his pleas and fuck him, as hard and as deep as I know he wants.

I look down on him, our faces aligned, nose to nose, eyes to eyes, mouth to mouth. His lips are parted as he pants and whimpers. His face is flushed a deep shade of pink and glistens with sweat. My hand releases its hold on one of his so that I can touch his beautiful face for myself, wiping the dampened strands of hair from his forehead, stroking his cheek with my thumb as I cradle the back of his head. His now freed hand does the same, touching my face, dry of any sweat, unlike him, feeling the tightened muscles in my chest, stomach, back, and buttocks.

With my face so close over his, his tongue flicks out to lap at his blood, which is still wet on my lips and running down my chin. He cleans my chin, then connects his mouth with mine, sliding his tongue inside so that he may feed me his own blood. The act, along with the taste of his blood over his velvety wet tongue, excites me so greatly, further tests my already straining resolve, that I groan like a wounded animal back into his mouth. After breaking away, Louis uses his fingers to wipe his neck and slip them between my lips so that I may suck them clean.

"Let me taste you," he whispers, rubbing his wet fingertips across my bottom lip, "Please."

I kiss his fingers, then with the point of my tooth, I slice open my tongue, allowing my own blood to spill. I let it drip over Louis' parted lips, like feeding a hungry young bird, then I snake my tongue into his mouth, allowing him to drink from me. I am careful not to accidentally cut his tongue as we kiss. Tasting my blood will heal his wounds and intensify his pleasure, along with bestowing other gifts to him, but the mixture of his blood with mine will turn him, and I do not want that to happen.

Having him taste my blood brings me closer to climax. I part my mouth from his, my tongue healing within seconds, and reach down to pump his hard and dripping cock while my other releases its hold on his arm so that I can raise his lower back, giving me a better angle to pound his swelling prostate.

"Oh god! Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!..." he gasps, clutching tighter to me as his orgasm builds, "Oh god, I'm coming... I'm gonna come... I'm gonna come! Ahhh!"

With his final outcry, his semen erupts, coating his chest and stomach with his warm fluids. When he reaches his peak, I bite into him again, tasting the flavor of his pleasure in his heated blood. In doing so, I come with him.

When the rush of our mutual orgasm subsides, I pry my lips away from his neck and we share a post-coital kiss before I cut through a vein in my neck with my fingernail and let Louis drink from it so that he can heal.

He wipes himself off with tissues from the box on his bedside table, then lays curled up against my chest, a satisfied smile across his sweet face.

"I came very close this time," I tell him as I pet his soft hair, "To killing you. Closer than ever before."

"But you didn't," he replies, his arms tightening around my ribcage, "I know you won't hurt me."

"It's getting harder and harder to resist, though."

He looks up to meet my eyes, and he reaches up to touch my face. I hold his hand against my cheek, soaking in his warmth. "You won't hurt me," he reiterates. "We've been doing this for this long, now, haven't we? And you've been able to restrain yourself so far."

"True. But I'm afraid that one of these nights, I will not be able to control myself."

"You know, if you turned me, we wouldn't have to worry about that."

"I told you Louis, I am not going to turn you. Ever!"

Louis huffs, frustrated by my denying his request yet again, and collapses to the bed, lying on his back, looking up to the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest. I turn over to my side so that I may face him.

"We have had this conversation over a hundred times..."

"A hundred and six," he retorts, turning his head to me.

"Yes, exactly. So you must understand by now why I have chosen not to make you like me."

"Just because I understand it doesn't mean I have to like it." He turns over onto his side so that his body faces mine. "If I become like you," he says, "You won't have to worry about restraining yourself so much. I can see how painful it is for you. It's like an anorexic watching the cooking channel. I can't stand seeing you suffer like this."

His hand rubs my chest, the sincerest look of sympathy in his eyes. I take his hand and kiss each of his fingers.

I respond to him by saying, "What relationship doesn't have its conflicts?"

He sighs, defeated.

"Come here," I whisper, pulling him closer so that I can hold him to me. "Are you not content with the way we are now?" I ask him as my fingers curl through the strands of his hair.

"Well, yes, I suppose I am," he sighs, "Content, I mean. I like it when you feed on me, and I suppose we couldn't do that if I was a vampire too, could I?"

"No," I chuckle, "we couldn't."

"It would be nice to at least be on the same sleep schedule, though."

"Perhaps. But I enjoy watching you sleep. You're always so peaceful, so serene."

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he then asks, looking up to me.

"Don't I always?"

"Will you?" he repeats.

"Yes, Louis, I will."

His face beams with a smile and we kiss. In the moment we separate, our lips still barely touching, I whisper to him, "I love you, Louis."

To which he whispers back, "I love you, Magnus."

In the remaining hours of the night, we spend it lying side by side in bed together. I read to him Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, one which he has already read three times, yet still enjoys, until he falls asleep. I myself thoroughly enjoyed reading it when it had been first published.

In the last two hours before the sun rises I linger in bed with him so that I may enjoy the sight of watching him rest. He is truly beautiful when he sleeps. Lying nude beneath the covers, his chest rises and falls with each deep, steady, rhythmic breath. Like a napping infant, so soft and innocent; an earthbound angel in the flesh.

This is why I could never allow to become like me, because moments like these would be lost. Instead of innocent, peaceful sleep, he would succumb to the slumber of the dead, forced to lie cold and still in the earth as I do. He would no longer be able to consume the food and drink he so enjoys, he could no longer sit and bask in the warmth of the sun; all the pleasures of humanity that I am deprived would be taken from him, and I could not live with myself if I did that to him. I care for him far too much to be so selfish.

But we have been able to meet halfway. Though he technically remains a mortal, he is not a slave to time as others are, thanks to me. One of his greatest concerns was becoming "too old for me", growing worn and decrepit, but we have a way of working around that. Louis is, what my kind refers to as, my "familiar". This means that because my desire for him is so great, and because we regularly feed on each other's blood, he is bound to me, just as I am bound to him. Not only this, but because of our bond, he is incapable of aging, just as I am. Louis has, in fact, been twenty years old for over sixty years.

And now, the sky is turning a lighter shade of blue. The sun is beginning to rise. As much as it saddens me to leave him, I must. Careful not to wake him, I softly step out of the bed and retrieve my fallen clothing, slipping back into them.

I kiss him on the cheek and whisper, "Sweet dreams, my angel," before I descend from his window. From there, I return to my resting place beneath the grounds of the cemetery. There I will rest until the sun sets once again and night will return, when I can return to my love again.