Morel

It's a mess of sensations as Winter's lips brush mine. His small, supple, bow-shaped mouth is gentle and sweet but it is also fiery, fast, and intense. He's missed this sensation as much as I have, and he's desperate for it to return. So long we've been deprived, so long without it, I'm already flying at the feeling.

He tugs on my lip with his teeth and I gasp at the unexpected sensation, and in a second he's in my mouth, tongue and teeth, slick and warm and slippery. I meet him with my own just like we used to, and every crack and crevice of his mouth is like I remember. His cracked back tooth, his smaller mouth, feminine and warm, his thin lips that swell so quickly when I bite, his crooked bottom tooth.

His hands touch my face, my neck, my arms, my chest, my waist, my legs. As if he's processing and putting it all to memory, like we used to. Feeling for what's changed, what's filled out and become stronger, what's become bigger, what's become smaller, what's changed. Everything. His roving hands want to know it all, and I'm quick to give him complete unhinged access.

A second later he's underneath me, and I can't remember when I moved him there, only that he's there and I did it, and his hands cup my face as I kiss him desperately. His tongue is warm against mine and slippery, without friction, just as it should be. His lips are warm and taste how I remember. Sweet but tangy and full of a sort of innocent love as he kisses me back, something I thought I'd never have again.

I break away from his mouth forcefully, tearing off his scarf in my impatience, kissing along his jaw, to his ears, where I nip and tug on them like I know he used to like. And he rewards me with a harsh growl.

His voice is so private that it sends a thrill down my spine. He's gentle but at the same time he's desperate and growling in my ear as I kiss my down his neck. Already becoming unraveled as he tilts his head as I move, able to predict exactly where I want him to go.

I search for those spots that made him weak before. That made him whine and whimper and say things I never thought possible. Those places, those little spots that were sweet and tender, those places I left marks and claimed him as mine and nobody else's.

Winter inhales sharply as my lips brush across his pulse point. It's a dangerous place to have a sweet spot, a dangerous place for my mouth to be. I can feel and hear and taste his blood rushing beneath me, and I have to find a new place to kiss before I hurt him.

Winter grabs my hair, and I inhale sharply at the movement. His voice is shaky but somehow strong. "Morel. You can feed."

I lick my lips at the words. Dangerous. I don't want to hurt him. He's all the sun and the moon and the stars, and without any of those, with any of those hurt, with any of those wounded, the earth will not be the same.

Winter runs his fingers through my hair, delicate and caring and sweet and familiar. "Morel. Bite me."

I stop at his words, a thrill rushing through me, hot and electric in its force. It is a fire that burns in my belly and stutters to life and roars through every nerve. Winter gives a wolf-like whimper and runs his hands through my hair again, tugging on it, just enough to hurt. The intoxicating touch is just enough drive me on, and my fangs slide out before I can even stop it or think about what I'm doing.

I bite into his neck, and he cries out, only fuelling my desire for more, more, more. His blood is so unbearably sweet and tasty and rich, I drink it down with relish. I haven't fed on blood for years and years, and this is the best way to ever drink it again. Out of this faerie I love, out of this faerie that offers himself willingly.

The sensation of blood in my body after so long of not drinking is a rush of sunlight and moonlight. It's hot and slick and fluid, and it runs over my tongue and down my throat as I drink, and the fact that it's his is enough to make me shudder and feel intensely hot at the source of every hair on my body.

It's a euphoric desire that courses through me, the blood and the skin and the sweat and the pulse beating beneath me, against me, everything and the only thing I can hear. Winter's panting, his gentle wolfish whimpers and growls, his heavy breathing, his bared neck in an act of submission and simultaneous trust.

I retract and lick at the wound, trying to get the last drop of blood out that I can. The taste is euphoric, I'm on cloud  nine, and I feel like I could do it again and again for the whole night and never get tired, and carry on until the next night and the next.

Winter seems to have the same thought. He tugs me up by my hair and plants a sloppy kiss on my mouth, and our lips slip together without much friction, slick with shared saliva from the first kiss. His tongue traces my teeth and then across my lip, and it sends shivers fizzing down my spine.

My skin is hot and sweaty and sticky, and I lean back to peel off my shirt. It doesn't take much, since I only ever wear one layer, and Winter seems to have the same idea. He practically rips off his jacket and his undershirt, a button goes flying somewhere to the left, and he brushes his lips against my neck.

His nose is soft as it brushes its way down to my chest, and his lips follow suit. They are gentle and featherlight but full of desire and want and need, and every touch is like a drug I cannot overdose on or damage myself with. The best kind. Winter's kisses have always been painfully gentle compared to mine, but right now he seems desperate and fierce and wanting.

Winter's teeth nip across my skin as they used to, finding those places he clearly hasn't forgotten. Up my neck and down my chest, his fingers tracing my stomach, my sides, my waist, across the band of my trousers, up my spine. His fingernails tap and scrape their way up my back. It's all I can do to keep myself from whimpering at each touch, the magical touches I so craved and now finally have. And it's so much better than I ever thought.

I'm pushed down this time, and Winter hovers over me. His stomach is much more muscled than I'd ever thought, rock hard as I trace my hands across it. His chest is harsh and also hard and muscled, but still somehow sweet and soft and innocent. Free of scars and free of blemishes, a pale sky with no clouds and no stars. My Winter.

I run my fingers across the planes of his shoulders, the slope of his back and his spine, the dip of his neck and the gentle hill of his lower back into his trousers. The soft but sweaty, sticky skin that my fingers run across, the strong muscled arms that are still soft as they brace around me.

Memorising the slopes, planes, dips and angles of his body, my fingers brush against his stomach and every area I have missed. Neck, back, stomach, chest, legs, face. I love all of it. And I feel as if I have an eternity to show him.

He breaks away to look at me, his eyes caring, sweet, gentle. He wants to know if I'm ok.

His eyes are like pools of water dappled with sunset light, and I am drowning in them.

We meet in the middle, lips crashing together like the waves on a beach and our hips sliding against each other, trouser buttons popping and pelvic bones hitting, legs tangling together and sweat mingling, feet touching, hands roving two bodies that have miraculously become one. This beautiful faerie is mine, mine, mine, mine.

My fangs slide out and I bite into his neck again, the gush of blood so satisfying I let out a low keening sound. It isn't something I'm embarrassed of, because it's a sound I would make again and again with him, this faerie I'm safe with, this faerie I love so dearly.

Winter huffs and growls and shudders above me. He's always been sensitive on his neck more than anywhere else, loved his ears being bitten and played with, loved kisses and private touches and private whispers. Something about it gives him a thrill.

I pause, licking the wound and almost ready to wait for it to form a delicious bruise, and he takes this moment to yank my trousers down. He laughs softly and kisses me again, long and sweet and we both don't want to pull away. His lips are swollen and red and they taste like heaven. His laugh is equally heavenly, short and husky in the way his voice is broken up with emotion.

"Are you ok?" He whispers, his eyes bright and glowing and full of life I haven't seen for so long, and now I know I won't forget what it looks like, how it feels. I can't get enough of him, I won't ever have enough of him, I want all of him.

I smile and kiss him again, pulling him down. His hair falls around us like a curtain, and it is only us two in the entire world. His eyes are gentle and they do not leave mine. "Of course I am."