Day 2 – 25th of March 2018

Fully clothed|| bondage/restraints/collars || blood play

Title: The widow's kiss
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: [Hanzo x Widowmaker]

Notes: I take inspiration from the World Of Darkness vampire lore, you do not need to be acquainted with it to enjoy this fic.

When he finally returned to the confines of his apartment, he let out a sigh. He hated being held into dinner meetings for too long. The strain on his muscles was a tiring one and his pounding headache wasn't calming down either. He worked loose his tie, leaving it hanging around his shoulders. He moved around to light the small desk lamp. How he could possibly still stand all the others was beyond him. Their nagging and their fondness of talking about anything but business was extenuating. However, as the head of the Shimada clan, he was required to keep amical bonds with the Tong and Geondal. The influence of their alliance wasn't to be neglected. It was in the end the reason why he had accepted the deal to stay in the position of power at his father's death. Even if that made him many enemies. He shed his suit jacket to discard it on the backrest of the couch. His hands searched the liquor cabinet and decided to settle upon shochu. Even if it would taste better with Oolong tea, he had no patience to set up a kettle for boiling water. Satisfied with his find, he lit another lamp on the bar so he could pour himself a glass. He let the liquid burn through his throat, knowing the effect would at least settle the bubbling annoyance inside of him. The sun would only rise in a few hours. He still had to do a lot of paperwork and set up a meeting in the morning. At least, now that he had a steady supply of blood, he was able to get the all the work done that was required to keep up his involvement with the matters of the clan.

When he brought the glass again to his lips he became aware of her presence. He couldn't see her because she was hidden. But he felt his heart rate speeding up and his whole body was reacting to the prickling touch of her aura. He stood unmoving as her two arms circled him from behind in a hug. "You almost kept me waiting all night, I wondered if you'd be so cruel to leave a girl waiting." The rolling of her 'R' still felt so foreign in his ears, even if they had been playing this game, this dance, for many months now. "But you wouldn't be so vile, to abandon me, right?" she almost laid down her cheek against his. The coldness of her skin reminded him of stone. "The real disgustingly vile thing here is you," he said as he finished his glass. She tssk-ed, her sultry voice making the hairs of his body rise. "That is very hurtful, Chéri." He could shove her away if he wanted to, to keep her away from his personal space that she so thoroughly enjoyed violating. But he decided against it, since he knew it was because he hadn't had her in a few days. That the entirety of his body was screaming for her. That his mild persistent headache would soon vanish once she would have him also. Her body was pressed to his back. She always was more touching when she was out on a feeding night. Her hands traveled over to his head, his hair, she tugged loose the ribbon that kept it upright. "You smell really nice tonight, mon amour." As she did, his hair fell back upon his face. Her hand travelled over his shoulder in between his shirt and his skin. The temperature was hissing cold, but he was used to it and he didn't want to give her the satisfaction to show how much he reacted to her.

The game was already wearing his patience thin. He put down his empty glass as her nails were roaming shamelessly over his chest. "You don't want to play?" her nails started to dig into his flesh. "You wouldn't want to be such a bore right, Chéri?" She was going to pierce his skin. So he took hold of her wrist, twisting it away, knowing that a monster of her strength would could refuse to comply any time she wanted. He decided to turn around. There was nothing human to Amélie Lacroix's face. The way her skin slid over the dead muscles of her face to form facial expressions was a grotesque display to mimic a humanity that was nowhere to be found. She dropped the act when his eyes met hers. The Beast was lurking from behind her gaze. He had only seen one frenzied vampire in his life, and it had been his brother. He had staked his sibling and left him out for the sunrise.

She licked her lips obscenely, not that the flesh would get wet. However as she did so, the reflection of the light showed her teeth. His heart raced. His blood called, singing the song of want and desire. The throbbing of his head reminded him how much he needed his fix. The rictus of a snarl deformed her features: "Do you want to kiss me, Hanzo?" He let his hand cup her cheek. His gaze got transfixed by her elongated fangs. His muscles tensed up as he circled her waist to press her cold dead body against him. His thumb caressed her bottom lip, parting the flesh so he could take a better look at her mouth. He kept his breathing steady, but the ache in his body was torturing him like sharp needles underneath his skin. It was harder to keep the symptoms of addiction at bay when the temptation was so great. Her fingers traced his chest. The nails scratched the surface of him. He leaned up to kiss her. Her lips were dry and stale, he invaded her mouth, which she welcomed. He didn't bother to drag it out, knowing it would be more pleasant for the both of them. Her fangs were sharp and he let himself be cut as she moved her lips against his. The taste of his own blood invaded his mouth. Her alien tongue lapped at him as she made a sound that translated satisfaction at the back of her throat. He bruised her waist against him. She cut his bottom lip with her fangs. He let out a gruff sound, as it took off the edge of his pain, his headache, as if he could breathe slightly better.

Her body warmed up, becoming lukewarm. He knew she was doing it for him –an indulgence they had never agreed on– but right enough for him to keep their agreement going. He kissed her even more. His hand settled at the nape of her neck and crushed those dead lips against his. It contused his mouth even further. Her body moved, the silk of her dress brushing against his calloused hand. He knew he was losing himself in this. His willpower faltered every time she sucked harder on his lip. He took the decision to go along, knowing that his attempt at self-control was merely delaying the inevitable. His hand on her waist traveled lower and caressed her exposed leg, her body temperature still absent from that part of her limb. He let his nails drag over her flesh. It didn't matter what he did because she would barely feel anything from his touches. Her fingers traveled toward the lapels of his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one. In a swift movement he lift her up and she locked her legs behind him, over his hips. He carried her toward his bedroom.

He didn't bother to put on a light, the moon was bright enough to illuminate the space around them. She kicked off her heels. Hanzo let her down upon his bed and laid on top of her, between her legs. His head was buzzing away in anticipation. His heartbeat had been irregular since the start of the dance. He nuzzled her neck, caressed her waist and hips. He was sighing against her now completely lukewarm skin. She didn't make a sound and he had gotten used to her lying inert most of the time. His tongue traveled over her, mapping out the veins that imprisoned her most prized possession: her blood, her vitae. The remembrance of the taste of the liquid could make his addicted mind whimper in need. He aimed to hitch up her silken dress. He undid his belt and let his fingertips trace the linings of her thong. He kissed her underneath her ear. Her hands caressed the top of his scalp. Hanzo kept his breathing under control. Years of practice had taught him not to react as a mindless blood doll once the moment of feeding had come. He locked his eyes to hers. Her smile looked slightly more alive now that she let some blood travel inside of her. He exposed his neck, keeping his balance by putting one arm besides her head. She moved, shifted, didn't let him go through a full cycle of breathing before she sunk her teeth inside his neck.

Could bodies sing? Could ascension be reached by a mere sensation? Could the doors of exaltation be even more open to his soul? He guessed not. His whole body asphyxiated into the draining of her mouth as she dragged a first mouthful of blood –a spiral down into an intoxicating oblivion– he could feel himself start to tremble under her lips. His fingers got lost in her hair. He almost could not register the texture of it. It was as if a white silence was killing any other sound or sensation. He felt himself grow harder, hotter, more drunk. She swallowed deeply and he bucked into her. He pushed away her lace, barely aware of what he was doing, but knowing it was what he wanted. The suction on his neck made him lose footing as he let himself penetrate her body. The duality of the pleasure and pain raged through him as she bit down harder. He rammed himself inside her. The wetness almost drove him mad in ecstasy. Her teeth were hooked to him as a prey was supposed to be. He felt himself being taken apart under her mouth. Her hands petted his head as if to calm the animal that was awakening inside of him. He drove into her in a hard steady pace. His hands pinned her down to the bed. His movements were erratic, frenetic, furious, violent. Behind him he felt her hands fumbling, fisting his shirt as she dragged another swig from his blood. Her heat became as hot as a blazing fire. It brought him a full step closer to the annihilation of his mind. If she made a noise, he never heard it, the rumbling of her chest indicated that she mostly growled. She released her teeth from his neck and he clawed at her. The loss of her enrapture upon him almost knocked out his resolve. He hadn't even realized that she had used her strength to switch their positions so she could be on top.

She pushed her wrist against his mouth. He froze in shock. His mind severed at the sensation of the blood seeping out of it, coating his teeth and his palate. He remembered to breathe out, through his nose as his body quivered when he started sucking. He ascended to a higher consciousness, feeling every sound and sensation heighten. The pale deep red colour of her aura shimmered through. He felt illuminated in her light as she became his everything. She rolled her hips, riding him through the intoxication of her blood. He felt his worries, his wants, his desires, his goals die into the embrace of her wrist. He raised his knees to change the angle of her body on top of him. Her disheveled hair bounced up and down as she sunk deeper onto him with every snap of her hips. The exhilarating venom seeped into his body like a raging fire of euphoria. He couldn't remember who he was, what he was. His mind had lost track of time. He fought the sensation of passing out, stuck in a delirium he had no grasp on. Her wild eyes, the Beast, so ever close and present. He looked her in the eyes not even aware he was just displaying an empty stare.

A bodily orgasm was nothing compared to this. She eventually let her movements die down as his cock turned soft after emptying himself deep inside of her. It had been quite some time since the flow of her wrist had stopped. Even if he desperately lapped at the skin like a dog to get more. His mind was adrift. She mockingly chuckled at his behavior and he ended up letting the wrist go. Hanzo sat up. His head wasn't spinning anymore and renewed energy was coursing through his veins. He didn't shove her away. She indulged him just as much as he indulged her. "It isn't so difficult to call once in a while, Chéri, you know that I and the others are dying to see how you're doing." Turning everything to business right after the feeding was also one of her characteristics. He closed off any want of her, any adoration that the feeding would awaken in him. He extended his neck gesturing her to close up the puncture wounds. They had done this numerous times before. She leaned into his neck, her fingers traced the sides of his face while she licked the holes closed. Her touch felt unwelcome. A dark pattern through the half undone knots of her dress caught his gaze. With a quick movement he fisted the garment, the buttons of her dress opened at the grasp. She looked amused. "It's official then?" he asked, his eyes taking in the details of the black scepter symbol of her antitribe that now adorned her chest. "Yes, I am officially part of the Sabbat now." Officially she was now a traitor and in complete opposition to the vampire laws that still held the kindred society in some kind of balance. 'Typical' he thought. He released his grasp on her clothing.

She moved away and buttoned up her dress. She would leave as soon as she could, always. He sat at the edge of the bed. "Mon amour…" He hated it when she called him that. There was nothing love-like in their arrangement and hell was going to freeze over before he'd let it become otherwise, his addicted mind aside of course. "It was yet again a pleasant evening. By your side." He stood up, gesturing at the door. "Leave, Lacroix, there is nothing left for you here. We both got what we wanted." Her grotesque facial features displayed an expression of hurt. Of course she would play one last game before leaving. He couldn't register fast enough her movement to realize she had already had laid a cold kiss upon his lips. She left the room.

"À la prochaine fois, Chéri." Echoed in the back of his mind.

The end