INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 3.01: Detroit TVLTwT/IWTVTwT Version.
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Midnight Mass (2021)
"And do not think that I have come to bring peace. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword." It was Jesus who said that! Jesus Christ himself! So, if you wanna question Him now, Wade, if you wanna pick and choose which one of His works are palatable to you, return all His graces to sender then. And let your little girl sit back down in that wheelchair. But do not cherrypick the glories of God!
If tt aerion and ls love to use teeth when kissing, do you think ls would use th to when going down on him ?
it's not an accident. or a slip. you know exactly what your teeth are for and you know exactly what they do to him.
you've spent months mapping every sound he makes against your mouth, learning what makes him groan and what makes him jerk, and you've decided, with full wolf-blooded hunger, that you want the jerk.
you're on your knees for him. which is already enough to short-circuit something inside his brain. because you don't kneel for anyone and he knows it, he knows it. and you take him deep and warm. wet as you suck, and just when he's settling into the rhythm of it, just when aerion's hand goes loose in your hair and his head tips back...
you drag your teeth along the underside of him. not hard enough to hurt. hard enough to threaten.
and he jerks.
"are you—fuck—are you fucking serious right now—"
the hand in your hair goes tight. his hips stutter, caught between pulling you off and shoving you down, and you can feel the war in him, the way his whole body can't decide if this is the best or worst thing that's ever happened to him. you do it again. slower this time. deliberate. just a graze of teeth over the head of him, and the sound aerion makes is animal. guttural and frayed, something that started as your name and collapsed halfway through.
"you're a fucking—god—you're a fucking animal, you know that—"
and you look up at him. mouth full of him, eyes steady, and you smirk.
just the corner of your mouth, barely there, but he sees it. aerion sees everything when it comes to you. and that's what drives him crazy. not the teeth, or the heat of your mouth, not even the way your mouth fits around his cock.
but the fact that you're enjoying this. that you're kneeling there looking up at him like you're the one in control. like his cock in your mouth is a concession you're making, and he's the one who should be grateful.
"you fucking—" his hand fists in your hair and shoves you down and you let him, you let him hold you there, and you're still looking at him, eyes watering but not blinking. not flinching.
he's glaring down at you and you're glaring back and it's the most furious blowjob in the history of the known world.
his thighs are shaking. he's calling you things that would get him killed in any civilised setting (bitch, psycho, fucking nightmare) and every single one of them lands like a love letter because his voice cracks on every third word and his hips are moving in these tight desperate rolls he can't control. his face flushes, shining with sweat and want, and you suck and lick, and pull on him, grazing your teeth all over the sensitive, pulsing lenght of him.
aerion cums with a snarl caught behind his teeth, his whole body locking up, hand brutal in your hair, and you swallow every single drop. all of it. slow. savouring. you pull off him with an obscene, wet pop, your mouth swollen. your chin wet and you lick your lips, once, watching him watch you do it.
"fuck," he rasps. "fuck. fuck."
he's not even speaking to you anymore. he's just... buffering. brain offline. staring at the ceiling with one hand still fisted loosely in your hair like he forgot it was there. he's babbling, fragments of sentences that don't connect—
"you can't just—what the fuck—you're insane, stark—"
you don't let him recover.
you're already moving, already pushing him back and climbing into his lap. your mouth is on his neck, his collarbone, the sharp line of his jaw, and you're using teeth the whole time. dragging them along the tendon of his throat, biting down on the muscle of his shoulder, working your way across his chest and leaving red crescents in your wake like you're writing something down on him.
aerion hisses when you bite the jut of his hip. he groans when you scrape your teeth over his ribs, something almost pained, almost pleading, but you don't care. you're not done.
"I just—" he starts, and you bite down on his chest, right over the sternum, and he chokes on whatever he was going to say.
"get hard," you tell him. flat. blunt.
he stares at you. "are you insane?"
you grind down against him. still wet, still burning up, still hungry. "I want to fuck, aerion."
a sound rumbles in his chest, travelling to his throat. half-laugh, half-groan, entirely defeated. it's the best things you've ever heard.
because he's already hardening again, because his body doesn't know how to say no to you even when his brain is screaming, and you both know it. you roll your hips and feel him twitch beneath you and his hands come up to grip your thighs hard enough to bruise and he says, raw and throatyt, "you're going to kill me."
"probably," you agree, and sink down onto him.
you ride him like you own him. because you do. because he let you. the moment he let your teeth near his cock and didn't pull away, he signed something over, and you both know it.
his hands are on your hips and he's trying to set the pace, trying to drag some control back, but you plant your palms on his chest and pin him and take. you're not gentle. you don't do gentle right now. this is teeth and claws and those wet sound of skin and his voice cracking on every exhale. when aerion finally flips you (because he always flips you eventually, because he's Aerion and he can't be under anyone for long, not even you, especially not you) he fucks you so mean you see white.
and his mouth goes straight for your throat.
not kissing. not sucking. gnawing. he bites down on the place where your neck meets your shoulder and grinds his teeth there like he's trying to leave permanent mark. something that won't fade in a week, and you gasp, hand flying to the back of his head.
he just bites harder. marking you up like a fucking animal, like if he can't brand you he'll settle for scarring you, and every thrust is vicious, every exhale is hot against your bruised skin, and you're both so far past anything resembling civilised that it's almost funny.
after, when you're both wrecked and panting and he's still inside you because neither of you wants to move, you touch the crater at your throat and wince.
"that's going to bruise for weeks."
he doesn't even open his eyes. "you nearly gnawed my dick off."
"I didn't nearly—"
"you are not allowed to complain." he cracks one eye, pale and half-mad and unbearably smug. "not one fucking word. I've got your goddamn dental records on my cock."
and you bite his shoulder again, just because you can, and he yelps like an affronted cat, and you're both laughing, sore and covered in teeth marks like two wolves who don't know how to love without drawing blood.
because you don't. neither of you. and that's the whole point.
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