What does it take for a man to crumble and fall? Was it the heaving lungs, the sighs or a parched throat that evidenced weakness and failure? Or was it a stinging ache that made a body weigh a hundred times more than an anchor would?
For Crowley Eusford, it was none. His downfall was the feel of this tongue on his neck, the feel of those slender hands pulling on his hair making his neck crane exposing the bulge of his adam's apple and the prettiness of the column of his throat. It was never the sighs, nor his heaving lungs but the sound of his mouth against his neck, the sloppy wet sounds he makes as he sucks all the life in him.
He bites more aggressively, his fangs penetrate him deeper like he was just taking a mouthful of pie. He touches his chest, fondles it a bit, clearly amused of how meaty it was, amused of the fact of subjugating such a macho man completely in contrast with his build. He withdraws and Crowley tries desperately hard to cling to the sliver of consciousness he has left. He feels the tresses of his silver hair on his skin , it felt cold, smooth, it smelled of lavender. He wanted to touch it.
"You.." He managed to say.
"I told you you can call me Ferid." The vampire chuckled. He took off his gloves, exposing pale hands with nails painted with the color of purple. He folded his sleeves and plunged his fangs on his wrist. Crowley could see his throat move like he was drinking his own blood. Crowley wanted to flee, but he was unable to. He was too weak, so he closed his eyes and waited for the vampire to finish him. To his surprise, the vampire touched his bottom lip using his thumb and pulled it down. Crowley was confused that he took a deep breath and trembled slightly.
A brush of the hand, and the feel of his smooth puckered mouth against his was his downfall. The blood that he drank, Ferid's blood didn't taste as sweet as the vampire's tongue.