Paralyzed by apprehension, he feels his chest tighten and his breathing become more difficult.
Wille kind of hates and kind of loves that he still gets like this, that whenever he catches Simon's gaze and sees that unmistakable glint in there, the one that tells him that he's hungry and that he wants Wille, he can't help the shiver that rushes down his spine. It's a sweet, sweet thrill that runs through him whenever he realizes that Simon needs this and that he, that Wille, can be the one to give it to him, but it's equally fucking terrifying, having Simon stare him down like that, knowing he has to trust that Simon knows both their limits.
With bated breath Wille sits back against the headboard, motions for Simon to follow him onto the bed, to come and take what Wille is more than willing to give, and Simon comes, crawls after him, eyes never quite leaving Wille's face. He's always checking in, always making sure Wille knows what he's doing, always trying to hold back until Wille gives his okay, holding back so much that sometimes Wille wishes he'd just let the hunger take over instead, that Simon could for once let go and that Wille could help him do so.
Wille's heart is hammering against his rib cage as Simon leans over him, his breath catches in his throat when his eyes land on Simon's sharp canines and he loves this but he also hates this, because now suddenly Simon is worried again, he's trying to stare deep into Wille's soul, like he's trying to read his mind to identify that last bit of doubt, of concern, trying to find a reason why Wille shouldn't let him to this. But Wille wants this, he wants it so much that sometimes it feels like he's the one getting physical symptoms of hunger, he wants this for himself and he wants it for Simon and hates that his body can't quite reflect that.
Simon places a tender hand on top of Wille's chest, must be able to feel the rabid rhythm beating against his palm, then moves the hand upwards, brushing cool fingertips past the fabric of Wille's collar to get to the side of his neck. Wille swallows hard.
"We don't have to, Wille," Simon tells him gently, always so gentle, despite the harshly burning desire inside of him, smiling down at Wille, slipping his fingers further back to stroke the hair in Wille's nape. But that's not what Wille wants to hear, he wants to hear Simon say that he wants this, that he wants Wille, he wants Simon to know that he wants it, too, at least as much, if not more. Wille fervently shakes his head.
"Sorry, still get nervous," he tells him, speaking against the lump of frustration and excitement and terror and affection that's lodged inside of his throat. Simon continues to stare at him, then nods, letting his fingers trail down the side of Wille's neck, along his jawline, down to his collarbones.
"You're really sure you're okay?" Simon asks, checking in again and Wille wants to scream yes, yes, now and forever yes, but all he can do is nod quickly and crane his head further back, reveal more of the side of his neck, fight against the nerves that are bubbling up inside of him. Hopes that the sight he's offering is enough for Simon to let the hunger take over.
"Please, Simon," he says, perhaps too quietly, but Simon must hear because he's there now, finally so much closer, and he's nuzzling the side of Wille's neck with his nose, covering the skin with kisses, licking over his pulse point so slowly that Wille buries his hand in Simon's hair to press him closer, to get him to finally do it, to make himself finally feel that delicious sting, the pain that comes with the heady pleasure, to hear and feel Simon's desire, to sense his relief.
"Ready?" Simon asks, and if Wille didn't know better he'd think Simon sounded a little breathless himself.
"Please," Wille whines in response, then, finally, relishes in the way the sharp burning ache of Simon tearing into him spreads through his system, drags his whine out into a broken gasp, sets every nerve ending on fire.
