femme vampire with her pet butch werewolf bodyguard
it's not like the vampire *needs* a bodyguard. after all, she has sharp fangs and claws of her own, magic to charm and subdue her enemies. but she still has the werewolf follow her, a huge hulking shadow always two steps behind and ready to tackle anyone who even slightly suggests a threat to its charge. throwing an arm over her shoulder in a way that suggests possessiveness and dominance that the werewolf's size and physical presence compared to the vampire backs up.
one day, though, you catch them in a back hallway, alleyway, somewhere they aren't expecting to be seen, and the werewolf has been brought to its knees. the vampire has her knee around the werewolf's throat and one high-heel-clad foot pressed against its crotch, fangs buried deep in its shoulder. you don't understand, why would the vampire keep the werewolf around it it isn't fucking her? why would the powerful alpha wolf roll over for a vampire, one of its historic enemies?
you don't need to understand. the vampire drinks her fill and kisses the werewolf so tenderly, its blood still dripping from her mouth. the werewolf licks her clean, lapping its own blood from her pale, ice cold skin before it drips onto her dress.
two monsters so tenderly in love, with no desire to be understood by the world around them.