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Sign my death with your teeth

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There was something divine about the way he kisses you.

How his hands that have known grief and loss and suffering hold you so painfully close to his body to the point where you don’t know where you end and he starts.

The numbness of the alcohol has faded, there’s no rock for you to hide under and yet you stay, you give yourself to him without a second thought.

It’s ironic if you think about it for too long. How a creature of the night took everything from you and left you an empty husk of a man and another one filled you to the brim.

‘Grind me to dust’, you want to say to him, ‘reduce me to nothing, strip me of everything’

But how could he ever find the strength to do that to you?

He trails kisses from your neck to your eyelids, where tears threaten to fall and his fingers run through your short hair to bring your mouth closer to his and you mimic him, burying your own into his.

And when his lips touch yours, you feel safe, safer than any gun or amulet ever made you feel during a hunt, and as he explores your mouth with his tongue you realise that your body has become an altar for a Lycan to worship on.

Your mind clouds at the mere thought of it and you almost drown in it.

You’ve gotten used to temporary pleasures, meaningless relationships and it makes you afraid.

You try to snap out of it, to remind yourself to keep things as impersonal as possible because love only nurtures torment in your life and you are sure as hell that you don’t deserve any kind of comfort.

The thing is, though, you don’t want him to stop.

And he doesn’t stop.

His calloused fingers keep tracing over the meanders of scars that you have acquired over years of meddling with the supernatural. There’s no revulsion nor hesitation on Lucian’s part, just the intimacy of his touch.

Your hands refuse to let go of his hair, in some strange way the thought of silk always crossed your head in moments like these. Those soft brown waves falling like a waterfall on his shoulders, framing his face, giving him an aura of authority and power in which you love to bask in. You adore him.

Even now, where the form of his nails was toying somewhere between human-like and beast-like, you couldn’t stop adoring each and every part of him.

And you swear you’ve never felt more glad to be alive before.