[ Every gesture and movement of Dorian’s felt so carefully planned to catch his eye, to weaken him. Showing off the curves of his body and hints of the shape of his body under the irritants of his clothing. He wanted to experience all of it, all of him, but not in the haphazard rush of a single night. No, he wanted to dissect Dorian, to take him apart piece by piece, just as one would analyse the ingredients of a fine meal.
Taking a ‘step’ closer on his knees he settled back to sit on his calves between Dorian’s legs (this made him seem a little less towering than he had been moments earlier, although he was still broad and tall in this position). His first response was an open-mouthed smile, his features so perfectly balanced on his face he looked preternatural. All pretenses he had had, for so many years, of keeping his fangs concealed had melted away in tonight’s debauchery.
When he spoke it was a veil of composure under which a special sort of shared urgency existed. As if this mutual attraction was a game, a secret bluff they were both playing with one another. The tension underlying it electric and he battled with the desire to carry it on or simply give in, to tear down the illusion and devour Dorian in a heartbeat. He opted for the former, Hoping that resisting would make the final moment of pleasure all the more euphoric. ]
‘The time being’ can be an awfully long time when you’re an immortal.
[ Honestly? It was a threat; a playful, cruel and wicked one bursting with excitement. The threat of: I can outlast you in this game, I’ll make you give in first.. ]
And yes, I’ve always been a slow eater.
Always deliberately saving the best bits until last.
[ God he wanted him, the temptation was enough to drive him mad, and even worse was he suspected Dorian knew as much.
Alucard shot him a cold look before bending at the waist. Requiring both hands he released Dorian’s other wrist. Now all ten fingers were at the lowest point of the neck of that annoying black shirt. He curled those elegant digits around either side and, in a selfish sort of abandon, he pulled the neck apart until the pressure was too much and it tore down the middle with an unpleasant, scratchy noise. Any objections completely ignored.
Oh he felt quite terrible. Don’t let that keen smile make you think otherwise. ]
… That’s better.
[ He insisted, tossing the torn halves of the shirt aside without a care.
For a long moment he looked.
Just. Looked.
Admiring each contour, each dip and rise, watching how Dorian’s chest rose and fell with his breathing, hearing his heart, thinking it was accelerating (probably in anger at the damaged clothing). He wanted to experience each part of him to its fullest. He began by running the very tips of his fingers down his body. Over the shapely line of his collarbone, the curve of his chest, around the particularly smooth skin about his nipple and over his ribs, past the definition of his stomach muscles to pause just above the waistband of his trousers.
This in itself could’ve been enough, this much skin and life and heat.
He didn’t feel like himself, his arousal and lust roiling inside of him. He wanted to do terrible, wonderful things to Dorian. So he shuffled back a little so that as he leaned over he was closer to that exposed chest. He planted a few, cursory kisses down his neck before pausing just over one of his pectorals. From there he looked up at him with a dark, desperate hunger only suited to a vampire. His lips pulled back and his teeth on show, the very tips against his skin but not piercing it.
And there he waited, silently asking for permission. ]
no subject
Taking a ‘step’ closer on his knees he settled back to sit on his calves between Dorian’s legs (this made him seem a little less towering than he had been moments earlier, although he was still broad and tall in this position). His first response was an open-mouthed smile, his features so perfectly balanced on his face he looked preternatural. All pretenses he had had, for so many years, of keeping his fangs concealed had melted away in tonight’s debauchery.
When he spoke it was a veil of composure under which a special sort of shared urgency existed. As if this mutual attraction was a game, a secret bluff they were both playing with one another. The tension underlying it electric and he battled with the desire to carry it on or simply give in, to tear down the illusion and devour Dorian in a heartbeat. He opted for the former, Hoping that resisting would make the final moment of pleasure all the more euphoric. ]
‘The time being’ can be an awfully long time when you’re an immortal.
[ Honestly? It was a threat; a playful, cruel and wicked one bursting with excitement. The threat of: I can outlast you in this game, I’ll make you give in first.. ]
And yes, I’ve always been a slow eater.
Always deliberately saving the best bits until last.
[ God he wanted him, the temptation was enough to drive him mad, and even worse was he suspected Dorian knew as much.
Alucard shot him a cold look before bending at the waist. Requiring both hands he released Dorian’s other wrist. Now all ten fingers were at the lowest point of the neck of that annoying black shirt. He curled those elegant digits around either side and, in a selfish sort of abandon, he pulled the neck apart until the pressure was too much and it tore down the middle with an unpleasant, scratchy noise. Any objections completely ignored.
Oh he felt quite terrible. Don’t let that keen smile make you think otherwise. ]
… That’s better.
[ He insisted, tossing the torn halves of the shirt aside without a care.
For a long moment he looked.
Just. Looked.
Admiring each contour, each dip and rise, watching how Dorian’s chest rose and fell with his breathing, hearing his heart, thinking it was accelerating (probably in anger at the damaged clothing). He wanted to experience each part of him to its fullest. He began by running the very tips of his fingers down his body. Over the shapely line of his collarbone, the curve of his chest, around the particularly smooth skin about his nipple and over his ribs, past the definition of his stomach muscles to pause just above the waistband of his trousers.
This in itself could’ve been enough, this much skin and life and heat.
He didn’t feel like himself, his arousal and lust roiling inside of him. He wanted to do terrible, wonderful things to Dorian. So he shuffled back a little so that as he leaned over he was closer to that exposed chest. He planted a few, cursory kisses down his neck before pausing just over one of his pectorals. From there he looked up at him with a dark, desperate hunger only suited to a vampire. His lips pulled back and his teeth on show, the very tips against his skin but not piercing it.
And there he waited, silently asking for permission. ]