Title: Hunger Author: Me.
Pairing: Vincent/Yuffie Warnings: Vampirism. Yes. You saw that right.
Rating: R? ... There's sex, but it's more implied and there's no real graphic content.

Time slowed down to a crawl. He could still hear the soft moans of pleasure Yuffie offered into the otherwise silent room, could still feel every nuance of their coupling, but Vincent knew full well what this meant.

Hunger, cold, creeping and insistent curled around him, rising through his nerves, pulsing through his veins.

His eyes opened, staring over Yuffie's shoulder into the fabric of the sheets below them. Not now.. he pleaded with ... his body? The cold demon that even Chaos' death could not remove from him? His own mind? Whatever it was, it didn't listen. It became more insistent, drawing upon the weakness of arousal, preying on the slightly muddled and weakened state of his mind.

His eyes slid to the side, the red glow of them reflecting on smooth, slightly tanned skin - Yuffie had moved. Her throat was exposed.

He could see her pulse flashing beneath the skin, pulsing fast with every beat of her heart, accelorated with lust.

It would enhance what she feels, that voice inside him insisted. His eyes closed and he concentrated on the here and now, letting his body take over, his mind forcing back the hunger that haunted him.

She couldn't possibly understand this. He would have to get away from her as soon as possible, and she wouldn't understand -that- either.

How could he have been so careless? He knew better than this.

It was no use. He could still feel her pulse, and his moved to match it. He could still hear her beyond the beat, punctuating the ringing in his own ears.

It was a mistake. His eyes snapped open again, dual desires rising with such sudden speed that he was helpless.

He shifted, as if to bite at her ear. Instead, he half-hissed, half-moaned two soft words against it. "Forgive me..."

And even as razor-sharp fangs pierced her flesh, he hated himself, and everything about the last shreds of a secret he shared with no one, dreading even to share it with himself.

The sound it drew from her was somewhat unexpected. Surprise, yes, but not the shriek of panic he expected.

Even as the first prescious drops of blood touched his tongue and the sweetness slid across it, she was pulling him closer, and the signs of impending orgasm were much sharper than he would have imagined.

He tried to draw away; it was enough to sustain him until he could get away. Her hands stopped him; they were tangled in his hair, holding him there even as she shuddered in completion. Soft words, intermingled with soft sighs and moans of pleasure drew him over the edge, and she let him go when he pulled away from her, his pleasure bittersweet.

The punctures healed, slowly, to leave twin pinpricks of scar, and he winced as she turned her head to look at him, staring at him in half-surprise, half-hurt.

Her words cut him to the core.

"Why didn't you -tell- me, Vincent?"