He drifted through the rooms like a ghost. Like he was invisible to everyone around him. Everyone but her. An inconsequential body trailing behind the skinny vampire in front of him, but when she looked back over her shoulder at him a tight thrill buzzed in his gut.
She was no looker, no Buffy Summers Beauty Queen, but the fangs… they really were sort of mesmerizing. Made her whole face seem etched with hunger for him. Like she wanted to devour him whole, which in this case wasn't just an analogy for lust. Despite the smell of the place—the trash in the corners and the stench of sweat leaching off the other patrons—he felt himself stiffen a little at the thought of her swallowing him down…
Her yellow eyes were like a spotlight, practically glowing in the dark as she settled him down on the filthy mattress and he thought hazily that no one could feel inconsequential under that gaze. No one could feel taken for granted. Not seen.
He sighed as she settled herself between his legs and raised his arm to her mouth.
Why can't Buffy look at me like that?
A sharp sting and her fangs were in and he was floating off, away from the dirty room, and the anger, and the feeling of being cast aside that so roiled his stomach.
"Harder," he groaned, letting the feeling of her mouth over his freely bleeding vein drag him down into the warm dark void that was waiting for him, unfolding its dark arms to him and swaddling him in its velvety embrace.
A last resentful thought bubbled up before light-headedness took hold.
No wonder she can't resist this…