Notes: Mostly a prelude to Negative Soul.

Love Bites

[beautiful] you taste like wonderful, i taste like fire and sulfur [akuroku au] come play with me sweetheart, come play with me [blood with kisses]

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Slick, sticky and sweetly toned that perfect crimson colour.

"Beautiful," you whispers into the boys neck, "you're so beautiful when you bleed."

A hiccup, strained distraction of fact as the boy moves against you.

Realization rises like bile in the back of your throat, burning its way past the sticky sweet of pure flawless blood.

"Baby, no one tastes as good as you," you promise and lie and mean.

You can't remember never-land like this, can't remember that sweet sweet almost-feeling ever tasting quite so...

But then, you forget a lot of things in your 'old' age.

"...break me..." the boy whimpers, soft and pathetic against the smooth charcoal of his midnight cloak.

Fangs glint in a semblance of a smile, "all in good time love, all in good time."

You lap up the mess you made, loving the thrill of surprise your victim gives as reaction. You press your lips against the still leaking marks on the pretty boys necks.

"I've never kissed a boy before, " you whisper, gentle like candle light in the shell of a pretty little ear, "you taste like wonderful."

"...hurt me..." the boy demands, harsh and husky from a throat that just begs to bleed.

You slip your hand between the hot hot skin he has and whatever is left of the blue cotton dress shirt he was wearing, "all in good time princess, all in good time."

His eyelids finally part as your fingers ghost a nipple, taunting and teasing you both for what may come next.

Such a pretty, pretty blue.

"Beautiful," you whisper into the strands of his platinum hair, "you're so beautiful when you glare."

A inhale of surprise fighting apathy, he hadn't seen you move.

A sigh of worn acceptance breathes out as it was freed from uncaring lips, pushes like a soldier breaking rank to save an ally.

"...bite me..."

You lean in to catch a whiff of his sent, taste his breath lingering on your lips, "come play with me sweetheart, come play with me."

Your hand slides past belt line, lowering with full determination to a half noticing beast with a crown of platinum-blond curls.

"I taste like fire and sulfur baby, like nothing you'll ever taste again," you tell him, letting your quirked lips again trace the marks on his neck, and his lips touch the pale porcelin of your own, "I promise I don't bite."

Eyes flutter closed as your fist tightens around the only part of him still feeling, "...your a demon..." he murmurs "...with siren whispers and devils touch..."

You grin, fangs pressing against his neck, "anything for you dear."

"...taint me..."

And the boys world crumbles to pieces in light of the now. The oath whispered in the darkness of an alleyway he should have been smarter then to walk through. The lies of promised thrumming from the perfect killer pressed against him.

He hesitates only a moment more, procrastinating the end of his life, the last of his death, but the strain of his slowing heart is a motivation, as is the thrill of your hand down his pants.

His teeth are sharp as razors, but not as sweet. They sting and sear when they tear apart flesh.

You stroke anyway, calling that beast under the surface of denim and silk. That beast with wiry curls that calls you in a way no other had ever dared.

He sucks then, half minded and clumsy, blood-loss and the copper taste of crimson making his head sway and his tongue lazy.

It's a beautiful feeling anyway, motherhood in a way no demon was allowed anymore, in a way you never dreamed you could want before.

"Harder," you order him, "faster."

Before his cock can rise to fast for willing venom to make a difference to the lack of sustenance pumping in his veins. Before a spectator could wander in and see what law you've broken. Before you can't keep the blood-lust at bay as your own blood leaves you so painfully slow.

He obliges, instinctive now the venom starts to spread. Enthused, now the fire burns his veins.

You grip harder, stroke stronger, building up the pleasure before the pain.

When he arches away from your neck in a silent scream you know he's had his fill. You thrust one last time and pull him close as orgasm ripples through him and he coats your hand in utterly releasing warmth. As he tenses against agony, the venom turning his heart to stone.

"Axel," he breathes, hands gripping like iron on the midnight of your coat. Digging and panting and so very close to his breaking point as acid seems to play with his insides.

You coo something garbled, knowing he doesn't hear you anyway. Your mind more concerned about any spies in the woodwork's then the pain the blond in your arms was feeling. The last pain that he would feel, excepting only thirst.

Roxas grips ever tighter as pain floods his every inch, twisting him into immortal and demon, dragging him through hell as he tosses his soul to Satan in exchange for never seeing him again.

And your focus is again ensnared, gaze locked on the agony filled baby blue eyes as the transformation rages, like poetry, and beauty only becomes more so in the moment.

"Beautiful," you whisper into the pale boys neck, "you're so beautiful when you die."

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