Want


His nose skims my neck and I know he feels guilty for wanting so badly to do what he wants. What I want.

I've thought of it so many times.

His strong, cold arms around me, pulling me towards him. Feeling his fingers gently pushing the clothes off of my collarbone. Cool air from the outside meeting warm anticipation blooming from the inside. I can hear him breathe in my scent, holding his breath so long I'll wonder if he's changed his mind. Lips, cold and hard, gliding over my skin. The feeling of my absolute vulnerability and fragility. My heart racing erratically. His hands everywhere at once - my face, my neck, in my hair, on my arms, my back, my waist... and where there aren't hands I am pressed to him, clinging to him for dear life. But not to live. I am ready to die. Waiting patiently for him to be ready but not patient at all. Being ready for that moment when he is sure to look in my eyes - testing me. Seeing if I am sure that I want this. Looking at him with love, trust, desire...

I have to make sure it happens. Make sure he won't run. Won't stop. One hand in his hair, gently tugging him towards me. One hand pulling his towards my neck. Lips on his ear. I love you. Please. Forever.

I can feel it now. Cold lips sending shivers up my spine. Kisses deeper than he's allowed himself before, on my lips, cheek, neck, collarbone... I love you...

Those perfect teeth he always keeps away from me grazing my neck. Hesitation. My hands in his hair, on his cheek, on his lips. Please.

Determination. Teeth. Hesitation. I love you. Don't stop...

Of all the pleasure I could imagine, this is unparalleled. My skin tearing and my blood flowing out - my life flows out and all I can think is that it is flowing in to him. My life has been his for so long. It seems only fitting my blood should be his as well. It hurts, yes, but I revel in it. The French were right -- the little death. It is an ecstasy of pain and pleasure and soon too soon he is done. I know he is afraid of taking too much but oh too soon. We lock eyes for a moment then he closes his eyes, licks my blood from his lips before kissing me, his teeth crashing against mine. ...teeth and lips and breath and tongues and sighs and love and love and love...

The fire starts and I knew it was coming. I knew it was coming. I knew but knowing is not enough. I know it will pass. But knowing is not enough. There is no other way... again and again I repeat it until they are the only words in the universe. no other way Through the horror of it, in the smallest, almost inaccessible part of my mind I hear his voice whispering comfort. I know I am his and he is mine and this is the Limbo - not Hell.. Hell is forever - to pass through for him, for us, forever... There is no other way...

But not today. He is not ready. Not yet. Each time he kisses me I hope... imagine... prepare... desire... wait... want...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: The French referred to orgasm as "la petite mort." It seems reasonable to me. A bit of that first, before the fire... Also, this story is connected to art made by the lovely artist Javidan. You can see her drawing Bite right here (http://img84.imageshack.us/my.php?image=bite2xr5.jpg), or look her up on LiveJournal.