A/N: This is a bit strange! AU-ish but I can't really tell you what's going on. It'll spoil it.
Disclaimer: I didn't sire Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., it didn't spring from my blood, hence I don't own it.
He sank his teeth into the flushed flesh on the underside of her left bicep. A moment later he came up for air and then continued on his merry way down her now pale arm. If you didn't know any better it might look like he was kissing her passionately leaving bloodstains behind like lipstick marks. Ivory fangs going in, breaking the delicate skin and coming back up ruby coated. His pink tongue hastily licked the excess colour off of his teeth, savouring the rich iron taste, grinning satisfied as he moved on to her other arm. He sniffed her hand as he sensually kissed her fingers, one, two, three times, and he had reached her wrists. His incisors gleamed in the moonlight as he once again dug in, indulging his unquenchable thirst for her life essence.
She hadn't moved. Her body limb from the blood loss. Pain manifested as pleasure, each bite sending a tingling sensation through her whole nervous system. Her eyes were hazy, eyelids half closed, pupils dilated. A deep sigh escaped her mouth as he moved from her arm to her neck. He caressed her cheek gingerly as he tilted her head slightly to the side. Citrus and mint filled his nostrils, and made her blood taste faintly of tequila.
This was the spot, the spot where she tasted the sweetest. He sucked in deep and slurped a little as he went, inhaling the liquid, draining her inch by inch, until he had consumed every last drop. Her breathing had stopped a few minutes ago and the last few mouthfuls of blood had already been grainy and clotted. It didn't matter, he had deliberately taken it slow, keeping her alive for as long as possible, barely there, hanging on only by a tread, to get as much of her delicious juice in fluent form as possible. The few bad gulps in the end he could live with, as they were outweighed by the preceding exquisite feeding.
He sat up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then looked at her. Even in her desiccated state she was beautiful. Flowing light brown hair, a pair of simple earrings, a white shirt covered by a blue sweater, and jeans. He would have preferred putting her in a cream coloured white laced dress, but there had been a time issue. He looked at her face, all ashen and depleted of a healthy colour, her cheeks had sunken and her eyes had popped, fully opened now they stared dead ahead, as if looking into another dimension. Out of respect for the meal he had received and affection he couldn't quite place for the one that had provided it for him, he went to close her eyelids with his hand, one finger resting on top of each eyebrow ready to shot the world out once and for all. And that's when he saw it, a reflection of himself...
Fitz's eyes flew open, and he sat straight up. He was panting.
A dream.
It had only been dream.
That was it.
Jemma was fine.
She was alive.
And he wasn't a vampire.
He brought his hand up to his mouth and let a finger glide over his teeth, carefully feeling the edges. Nope. Definitely not a vampire. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in. Clunk. His head hit the pillow again. Everything was fine. Nothing was sucking Jemma dry, or killing her, not an alien virus, or him or a vampire version of him.
Okay, that was it, he thought, no more fiction reading before bedtime, their life was exiting enough as it were.
A/N: And that was it. Yeah so he was just having a dream, I know, lame. But I can't control what moves my muse. Was inspired by reading about someone writing about vampires.
And I know vampires don't have reflections..., well too bad.. my story.