He was always saying that.
Harsh snarls, claws ripping through clothes to meet flesh.
Eyelids fluttering in masochistic ecstasy, faster than the wings of a bat.
Blood dripping delicately from his throat, delicious bitemarks as their lips mesh.
Five digits pinned down by three.
Sharp edges, slicing motions, piercing skin so pale and soft.
This was his revenge, the human paying his fee.
Black scythe gently bobbing aloft.
Pain. So sweet, so right in a very wrong way.
Grinding, moaning, the fight gone,
Replaced with passion, neither had something to say.
For hours and hours, over and over, until the first light of dawn.
And then, spent, they laid back.
Listening to the other's affection and coos.
Fingers tangled into locks of inky black.
He whispered a sweetly desirable "I hate you too."