Belong To The Night
Title: Belong To The Night
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Inspired by The Vampire Diaries (specifically the character of Katherine), but not exactly a TVD fic.
Pairing: Het! That's all I'll say. There aren't really names.
A/N: Oh my god, I wrote het. I don't know what's wrong with me.
Inspired by the two videos under the cut.
&
Her laughter rings out through the empty church, his lips quirking into a smile at the sound even as he whispers, hush, we’ll get caught. The thought seems to feed her delight, though, another giggle escaping before his lips are on hers, half a kiss and half to quiet her.
She makes a noise of surprise and smiles against his mouth, arms curling around his neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. His hands trail down her sides, coming to rest on her hips as he draws her in, breath catching as her fingers twist into his hair. This wasn’t part of his plan, but he knows she has the upper hand- he’s helpless like this, lost in her arms, her kiss. But they shouldn’t, at least, not here, and he forces himself to pull back, resisting the urge to moan as she nips at his lower lip.
We can’t, he groans, but he doesn’t let her go: his hands tighten in the light cotton of her dress, the feel of her breath on his lips intoxicating. She grins knowingly, disentangling herself to lace her fingers between his, eyes impossibly dark as she gazes up at him. But why not?
Because- but then she steps away from him, disappearing into the darkest shadows of the cathedral’s arches, just the glitter of her eyes left to entice him, to pull him in.
He goes.
Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt, pulling his body flush against her own without hesitation. For a moment, all he can hear is the sound of his own heart, his ragged breath, her proximity exhilarating and terrifying at once. Then her lips are on his, biting and licking into his mouth, and he forgets- everything.
The taste of her lips, the way her tongue dances over his teeth; it’s all too much and nowhere near enough, even when he’s gasping for air and trying to get closer still. Her back is pressed to the wall, her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulls him down hard, drowning her senses in the scent of his skin and the feel of his hands slipping down her back.
He groans against her lips and lifts her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as one hand slides around to undo the first buttons of his shirt. They never break the kiss, even as his shirt falls open and the material of her dress bunches around her waist, her fingers tracing the contours of his chest, teasing, tantalizing. Then her hands slip lower and he can’t breathe, has to pull away, to stop her or maybe to tell her to keep going, please, I need…
Then he catches sight of her face in the glow of the candles that line the altar, and all that escapes is a gasp.
Her eyes are nearly black, empty pools of ink that draw him in and smother him at once. The faintest hint of red lurks behind her gaze, so subtle it could nearly be a trick of the light but he knows it’s there, warning him, reflecting back- what she truly needs, what she has come to find. But more horrifying than the way her eyes seem to pierce his skin is her smile. Once alluring, gently seductive, it’s now lethal as she grins down at him, canines lengthening and sharpening as he watches, fixated by both his terror and the disturbing beauty of the scene as it unfolds before him.
No.
She laughs- a chilling sound, nothing like the enchanting giggle that had lured him in- and he notes with a shiver that his back is now to the wall, her feet firmly on solid ground as she leans in to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.
Oh, yes.
---
She lays the limp, drained body on the altar when she’s finished, tongue darting out to catch a few spare drops. She admires the way the candlelight accentuates his pale skin, the red flames looking almost like a blush. Long fingers reach out to shut his glassy eyes, smirking as she presses one final kiss to the two perfect puncture wounds that decorate his skin.
Then she’s gone, leaving only a single candle burning in her wake; the hush of death lingers over the church, but the town sleeps on, unaware of the demon in their midst.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Inspired by The Vampire Diaries (specifically the character of Katherine), but not exactly a TVD fic.
Pairing: Het! That's all I'll say. There aren't really names.
A/N: Oh my god, I wrote het. I don't know what's wrong with me.
Inspired by the two videos under the cut.
Click to view&
Her laughter rings out through the empty church, his lips quirking into a smile at the sound even as he whispers, hush, we’ll get caught. The thought seems to feed her delight, though, another giggle escaping before his lips are on hers, half a kiss and half to quiet her.
She makes a noise of surprise and smiles against his mouth, arms curling around his neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. His hands trail down her sides, coming to rest on her hips as he draws her in, breath catching as her fingers twist into his hair. This wasn’t part of his plan, but he knows she has the upper hand- he’s helpless like this, lost in her arms, her kiss. But they shouldn’t, at least, not here, and he forces himself to pull back, resisting the urge to moan as she nips at his lower lip.
We can’t, he groans, but he doesn’t let her go: his hands tighten in the light cotton of her dress, the feel of her breath on his lips intoxicating. She grins knowingly, disentangling herself to lace her fingers between his, eyes impossibly dark as she gazes up at him. But why not?
Because- but then she steps away from him, disappearing into the darkest shadows of the cathedral’s arches, just the glitter of her eyes left to entice him, to pull him in.
He goes.
Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt, pulling his body flush against her own without hesitation. For a moment, all he can hear is the sound of his own heart, his ragged breath, her proximity exhilarating and terrifying at once. Then her lips are on his, biting and licking into his mouth, and he forgets- everything.
The taste of her lips, the way her tongue dances over his teeth; it’s all too much and nowhere near enough, even when he’s gasping for air and trying to get closer still. Her back is pressed to the wall, her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulls him down hard, drowning her senses in the scent of his skin and the feel of his hands slipping down her back.
He groans against her lips and lifts her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as one hand slides around to undo the first buttons of his shirt. They never break the kiss, even as his shirt falls open and the material of her dress bunches around her waist, her fingers tracing the contours of his chest, teasing, tantalizing. Then her hands slip lower and he can’t breathe, has to pull away, to stop her or maybe to tell her to keep going, please, I need…
Then he catches sight of her face in the glow of the candles that line the altar, and all that escapes is a gasp.
Her eyes are nearly black, empty pools of ink that draw him in and smother him at once. The faintest hint of red lurks behind her gaze, so subtle it could nearly be a trick of the light but he knows it’s there, warning him, reflecting back- what she truly needs, what she has come to find. But more horrifying than the way her eyes seem to pierce his skin is her smile. Once alluring, gently seductive, it’s now lethal as she grins down at him, canines lengthening and sharpening as he watches, fixated by both his terror and the disturbing beauty of the scene as it unfolds before him.
No.
She laughs- a chilling sound, nothing like the enchanting giggle that had lured him in- and he notes with a shiver that his back is now to the wall, her feet firmly on solid ground as she leans in to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat.
Oh, yes.
---
She lays the limp, drained body on the altar when she’s finished, tongue darting out to catch a few spare drops. She admires the way the candlelight accentuates his pale skin, the red flames looking almost like a blush. Long fingers reach out to shut his glassy eyes, smirking as she presses one final kiss to the two perfect puncture wounds that decorate his skin.
Then she’s gone, leaving only a single candle burning in her wake; the hush of death lingers over the church, but the town sleeps on, unaware of the demon in their midst.