The First Bite is Never Enough | Vampire! Orochimaru x reader
Tags/warnings: vampire Orochimaru, ooc, heavy smut, blood sucking, venom poison, slight torture, hurt/comfort, dub con(??), tongue in p#ssy, blood k!nk, multiple bites, power imbalance, ownership kink, size difference, mild gore.
The laboratory smelled of formaldehyde and something metallic copper, maybe, iron. You'd stopped asking what exactly he was working on. Orochimaru liked his secrets.
He leaned over your shoulder, his breath unnaturally cool against your skin. "You're trembling," he murmured, voice silk wrapped around a blade. His fingers trailed down your arm, lingering on your pulse point. "Afraid?"
You weren't. Not of *him*, not anymore.
Then his fangs grazed your throat just a teasing drag, no pressure. Your breath hitched.
"Good," he purred, licking the spot. "Fear makes the blood taste bitter."
You turned to face him, gripping his kimono collar. His slit pupiled eyes gleamed in the dim light.
"Do it," you said.
His laugh was a low, dangerous thing.
"Oh, my dear," he whispered, fangs flashing. "I intend to."
(And then he did again, and again, and *again*, until neither of you could tell whose heartbeat was whose.)
The world narrowed to the sharp sting of his teeth, the dizzying rush of blood leaving your body and then, impossibly, the slow, searing heat of his venom flooding back in. Your knees buckled, but his arm snaked around your waist, holding you upright as your vision blurred at the edges. "Shhh," he murmured against your skin, his tongue lapping at the wound with obscene precision.
"Almost there." You gasped as the venom hit your bloodstream properly, a wildfire spreading under your skin, twisting pleasure and pain into something inseparable. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back further. "Now," he breathed, "let's see how long you can stay conscious for me." The last thing you registered was his grin, wide and wicked, before the room spun away into delicious darkness.
Consciousness returned in fractured pieces the slick press of his palm against your bare stomach, the weight of his thigh pinning yours against the lab table, the slow drip of something warm down your collarbone. Your eyelids fluttered open to find him watching you with unnerving focus, a smear of red at the corner of his mouth.
"Ah," he mused, thumb swiping the blood from his lip, "you lasted longer than I expected." His fingers traced the fresh puncture marks on your neck, and you shuddered, not from pain, but from the way his touch crackled like live wire against oversensitized skin. "Tell me," he murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted over your parted lips, "do you want me to stop?" You knew it was a lie knew he’d already caught the way your pulse leapt at the question but when you dug your nails into his shoulders and hissed "No," his laugh was dark enough to curl your toes. "Good," he said, fangs glinting. "Because I’m *far* from finished."
His hand slid down your spine, pressing until your chest arched against his. The fabric of your shirt tore with an easy rip his nails, always just a little too sharp. Cold air hit your skin, followed by the scorching trail of his tongue along your sternum. "You see," he murmured against your ribs, "most people beg me to stop by now." His teeth scraped lower, pausing just above your navel.
Your hips jerked involuntarily, and his chuckle vibrated against your skin. "But you?" A nip sharp enough to make you gasp. "You're *pushing* me." His grip on your thigh tightened, fingers digging in just shy of bruising. "Dangerous game," he whispered, dragging his fangs down, down then stopping abruptly, exhaling hot over the place that made your back bow off the table. "Shall I show you how much *more* you can take?"
Your fingers tangled in his silver streaked hair, pulling hard enough to make him hiss but instead of stopping, he laughed, low and delighted, against your skin. "Ah, *there* you are," he murmured, catching your wrist and pinning it above your head with terrifying ease. His other hand slid beneath your waistband, nails tracing teasing circles that had your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "You want to fight?" His tongue dragged a slow, wet line up your inner thigh.
"Then fight." The moment you tensed to buck against him, his fangs sank deep not into flesh this time, but dangerously close to the pulsing heat between your legs. Your scream dissolved into a choked whimper as pleasure spiked white hot through your veins, his venom acting faster here, sharper, turning every nerve into a live wire. "Still pushing?" he purred, lapping at the wound as your body shuddered beneath him. His grin was all teeth. "Good. Let's see you *break.*"
Your fingers scrabbled against the metal table, nails scraping grooves into its surface as his tongue curled *just so* against the bite mark each flick deliberate, each stroke calculated to unravel you further. The venom was a living thing now, twisting through your veins in molten ribbons, blurring the line between agony and ecstasy until you couldn’t tell which was which. "Look at you," he murmured, voice thick with dark amusement as your hips jerked against nothing, desperate for friction.
His hand still slick with your blood slid up to grip your throat, not hard enough to choke, but enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm. "So greedy," he chided, dragging his fangs lightly over the inside of your knee, just to watch you squirm. "You take and take, but can you handle what I *give*?" His free hand hooked under your thigh, yanking you forward until your lower back lifted off the table, leaving you exposed, trembling completely at his mercy. "Let’s find out," he whispered, and then his mouth was on you again, *everywhere*, teeth and tongue and venom working in cruel, perfect tandem until the world dissolved into a haze of white hot sensation and the sound of your own shattered moans.
The first flick of his tongue against your clit didn’t feel like a tongue at all too *wrong*, too *other*, the forked ends tracing twin paths of fire up your slit before twisting together in a cruel, perfect spiral. You gasped, spine arching off the table, but his free hand pressed down on your hips, pinning you in place. "Ah ah," he murmured against your thigh, breath ghosting over the bite marks there. "No squirming."
Then his tongue *pushed* inside you not just the tip, but the whole unnatural length of it, thicker than any human tongue had a right to be, the split ends curling in opposite directions to stroke your walls in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. Your nails scraped uselessly against the metal table as he *worked* you with slow, deliberate strokes, the forked tips teasing your g spot while the base of his tongue pressed firm and unrelenting against your clit.
"You taste divine like this," he mused, the words vibrating through you as his tongue withdrew just enough to drag the pointed tips over your swollen flesh. "All heat and desperation." His chuckle was a dark, liquid thing as he added, "I should have done this *ages* ago."
Then he redoubled his efforts, his tongue plunging deep before twisting, *stretching* you, the forked ends spreading wide to trace every sensitive inch before flicking rapidly against that sweet, hidden spot that made your vision blur. You came with a broken cry, back bowing off the table as he drank down every shuddering pulse of your climax, his tongue milking you through it with obscene precision.
When he finally pulled back, his lips glistened with you. "Now," he purred, licking them clean with a slow, satisfied swipe, "let’s see if we can make you *scream*."
His fingers replaced his tongue before you could catch your breath two, then three, stretching you with a cruel slowness that bordered on reverence. "Look at you," he murmured, watching the way your body clenched around him, resisting and welcoming in equal measure. His thumb circled your clit with deliberate, maddening laziness, just enough to keep you teetering on the edge without relief. "So *responsive*." His free hand traced the arc of your ribs, nails scraping lightly over your skin as he leaned in, close enough that his breath mingled with yours.
"Tell me," he whispered, fangs grazing your bottom lip, "do you want to come again " His fingers crooked sharply inside you, wrenching a choked gasp from your throat. " or do you want me to stop?" The lie in his words was palpable, his grip tightening possessively around your thigh as if daring you to answer wrong. You dug your nails into his shoulders, breathless and trembling, and his grin widened, dark with promise. "Wrong choice," he purred and then his mouth was on yours, swallowing your moan as his fingers finally, *finally* let you fall.
The world came back in slow, syrupy fragments his fingers carding through your sweat damp hair, the warmth of a damp cloth gliding over your collarbone, the faint scent of antiseptic and something herbal beneath it. You blinked up at the ceiling, limbs heavy and pliant, the aftershocks of pleasure still humming under your skin like a fading current.
"Awake?" His voice was softer now, almost *almost* gentle.
You turned your head to find him kneeling beside the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, meticulously cleaning the bite marks on your inner thigh with a cloth soaked in something that smelled faintly of mint and honey. His touch was careful, methodical, as if mapping the contours of your body for future reference.
"Don't move," he murmured when you shifted, pressing a palm to your hipbone to still you. "The venom takes longer to metabolize here." His thumb brushed the edge of a bruise *his* bruise and you shivered. "Hmm. Sensitive still."
You expected mockery. Instead, he reached for a small vial, uncorking it with his teeth before dabbing a cool salve over the worst of the marks. The pain melted away instantly, replaced by a soothing numbness.
"Better?"
You nodded, throat too raw to speak.
Orochimaru studied you for a moment, then exhaled a quiet, unreadable sound before lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Your head lolled against his shoulder, too spent to protest as he carried you to the low couch in the corner of the lab, already piled with blankets. He settled you onto the cushions, tucking a folded robe beneath your head before draping a heavier quilt over your body.
"Sleep," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your cheekbone with something perilously close to tenderness. "I'll be here when you wake."
And strangest of all you believed him.
