Laughing, Alrin pulled away entirely and sat back to admire his work so far: the pale skin flushed shell-pink, hair disheveled, the pupils of his yellow eyes huge, body glistening with sweat, and his fangs descended. Alrin felt a brief pang that he could not provide blood the way Raffé wanted, be a source of sustenance as well as s*x. That he could not let him bite anyway because he could not afford to be left weak.
"Are you going to f**k me or not?" Raffé demanded, reaching down to grip his own c**k, strokes confident and easy, the best contrast yet to the uncertain figure who had not even been able to baldly ask for a farewell f**k from his fiancé. "No one has since you. The Priests aren't really-" He broke off swearing when Alrin knocked his hand away and replaced it with his mouth.
