Author: Simply Kelp
Summary: He stares at you with blank eyes. They are not fully red, but a deep, bloody brown. Like the blood from your neck were smeared into his eyes. B/E-ish.
Disclaimer: Thank god I didn't write Twilight-- although the cushy cheques Meyer receives would be nice…
A/N: uh… I think the reason my muse deserted me for X number of months is because it was off fangirling over Twilight…
He loves you so much. You're sure of it. This thing, it has to be love. This sting at your neck. The dizziness-- blood loss. The feeling like your whole world is being ripped apart. Stitched lovingly back together as he runs his white hot tongue over puncture wounds. (How his mouth manages to almost scorch your skin while is fingers feel like icicles is beyond you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.)
He stares at you with blank eyes. They are not fully red, but a deep, bloody brown. Like the blood from your neck were smeared into his eyes. He'll have to eat again before he sees his family.
He'll run. And run until he finds a bear, or a wolf. Something fierce. He's told you about it; how he'll grab it by the jaw, and tear it's throat open. He'll drink it's blood until his eyes return to their normal perfect ochre.
But he'll think of you. You know it. You may not be anything special, but you have a hold on him. He'll think of you in the dark hours of the night. When the world is silent, and asleep. Of your hot blood lapped into his mouth. Of your prone form underneath him as he possesses you.
So he will come to you. At night. While you are sleeping. You might wake-- or you may not; it depends on whether he wants you to wake. He will slither through your window, and alight onto your bed.
He will touch your cheek.
If he is feeling bold, he may even chance running his mouth along your neck. And that will wake you.
You will beg him. He won't refuse you. He can't refuse you. And it feels so good. Hurts so good. You don't fight him; even when he digs his fingers into your ribcage. There will be bruises in the morning. Big, black things to mark you as his. You imagine pressing them, pretending it is his fingers tearing at your side.
This thing… it must be love. What else could it be?
Thanks for reading.