#1 fangirl

As if you could go anywhere. The pre-feed joint was supposed to calm your heartrate, to make this process slightly less arterially dangerous- but it seems to have only affected the ability to move your limbs. 

Your hands rest heavy on the tops of Eddie’s thighs but only because Eddie had placed them there himself. There’s a red rim around your eyes, pupils blown and gaze slack but still sparkling as you watch through heavy lids.

The thrumming of your heart is loud to Eddie’s newest sense. It’s hypnotic. It feels like giving his whole mind over to an electric current that threatens to snuff out every other sensation until all he can see, taste, hear, smell, breathe is afterlife-sustaining blood. 

“Sorry.” Your apology is barely louder than the thousand-lane highway of your veins and rush hour ichor. 

“S’not your fault, sweetheart.” Eddie swallows down the saliva that begins to gather in his mouth. There’s an ache in his upper gums as he leans down to take your face in his hands, as he gives you the briefest kiss before whispering- “Maybe another hit will do the trick?”

You nod, syrupy slow but eager. Without moving from his position of cradling you, Eddie lifts a hand to the bedside table. His extra-tuned hearing proved right as the sizzle of the burning joint is brought close. 

Eddie turns his face sideways just long enough to take a deep drag from the filtered end and holds the smoke in his mouth, turning back to slot his lips over yours.

Parted and pliant, the weed floats past your lips and Eddie groans at the taste of your spit. At the wet press of your tongue against his. 

The pain in his canines is intense and Eddie pulls away, panting. Your lashes are still fluttering as you inhale. 

Eddie swipes a thumb across your cheek and nods, trying to scramble back to some semblance of being in charge. “That’s right. Take deep breaths for me.”

You’re obedient, air filling your lungs. Eddie can almost taste your oxygen saturation rising. 

He kisses his way down your body, budging his knees to the backs of your thighs and letting your legs drape over his lap. The seam of your pussy glints in the candlelight, and Eddie shifts your legs open wider so he can drag a finger through your folds. 

He lets a long line of drool stretch from his lips. It lands wetly and with perfect aim; he works the extra slickness towards your entrance and up again to the pearled heartbeat of your clit. 

You sigh and squirm, hips lifting up and forwards, mindlessly chasing the pressure of Eddie’s fingertip over you. 

Then Eddie takes hold of your waist in his other hand and squeezes, stilling your movements. His own cock is throbbing behind the confines of his boxers but he ignores the ache in favor of working a finger inside of you instead. 

“Gonna eat me out?” You ask, hands slipping to curl into fists around the duvet. Your voice has a hazy quality, the laugh you give to your own joke airy and subdued. 

Eddie smirks, sinking the length of his finger all the way into your cunt. He’s amused by your humor, but not by the idea of risking his fangs bursting out at the worst possible time. 

“Maybe next time, honey.” His finger curls up, slides back, and his reward is the tremble in your thighs and the small, keening noise you make. “Just relax and take what you’re given.”

Eddie doesn’t exactly have the powers of hypnosis, but there are times he feels there’s no distinction between your willingness to do something and him telling you to do it.

The love you have for Eddie is evident in the way you’re listening so well, being so good for him. You make it easy for him to take control how he needs, to give in to the safety measures he’s doing his best to disguise as foreplay. 

Eddie slides another finger alongside his first and begins to finger you open in earnest, breathing heavily through his nose at the scent that rises heady in the air. It’s a combination of your wetness, the sweet hormones wafting from your body, and the luscious red blood just a few layers of skin away. 

He brings you right to the edge, slick pooling in his palm as he begins to slow the pistoning of his fingers. Your whine of protest is brief as Eddie pauses only to rip off his boxers, murmuring comforts to you before he returns.

The head of his cock notches to your entrance and Eddie cages you between his elbows, hands curling over the tops of your shoulders and the curve of his nose fitting to the side of your neck.

The smell of you is overwhelming. Floral notes flood in from the pores of your skin that mask the tang of iron sitting just below. Eddie moans and burrows deeper, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the column of your throat.

Your knee hooks over his waist and Eddie sinks inside of you, cock pulsing hotly in the snug walls of your cunt. The rush of your blood is so noisy; it’s taking a huge amount of concentration to stay afloat and not get lost in pure sensation. 

Eddie grinds his hips forward and feels the catch of his pelvic bone at your clit, feels the way your blood rises in chorus with each thrust. Feeding will be easier when you’re most relaxed, so it’s a delicate balance of making you feel good but not so good that your pulse skyrockets.

He takes his time. Working you up, slowly and surely, to that crest of pleasure again. 

Once Eddie smells the familiar wave of pheromones and hears the hitch in your breath, he lets his tongue skate over the salt of your skin. 

In response, there’s a lance of sharpness as his gums split and reform over the fangs that slide smoothly over his canines.

“Eddie,” you whimper, arms rising to cross over his neck in an even closer hold. “Please- I’m ready. S- So close. Please…”

Eddie takes note of your heartrate, steady and strong. His hips shift, driving the tip of his cock upwards, rutting against the sensitive spot that makes your thighs jump like they’re trying to snap closed. 

“Fuck, Eddie- like that- please-!”

The constriction of your pussy is a distant, blinding pleasure that Eddie channels into the bite. The points of his vampiric teeth slide past the layers of your skin like needles into Jell-O, with barely any resistance. 

The muscles of your stomach, pressed against Eddie’s, seize up. There are pinpricks of your nails digging into his shoulders, and Eddie is grateful for the small grounding the pain serves. 

The taste of your blood is better than anything. Better than sheep or cow or the stale refrigerated bags from the hospital. There’s no equivalent comparison. Eddie’s tried to explain it and always comes up short, the English language too limiting for the range he needs to describe the absolute nirvana of it. 

He sucks down mouthfuls of your warm, coppery blood, feeling it gather at the edges of his lips but not escaping the solid seal he’s made around the bite. It’s so sweet and nutrient-dense, liquid filling out the contours of Eddie’s insides as he groans and tries to stave off his orgasm, chasing yours instead. 

And true to your arguments in favor of this type of feeding, Eddie has to admit how natural this feels. How perfect it is to drink straight from the tap, how right it feels to cradle you while he feeds. He could get addicted to this way of eating if he isn’t careful. 

There’s another spasm of your cunt and then you’re coming, pleasure wracking through you. Even in your ecstasy you remember to keep your head still, locked in by the firmness of Eddie’s hold and the dull sharpness of his fangs rooting you to the mattress. 

Behind his closed lids, Eddie’s eyes are rolling. There’s a stuttered lurch to his hips as he spills inside of you with a vibrating moan, lips still sealed around the leaking punctures in your neck. 

At his upper back, your fingers are twitching. Eddie is careful, and only drinks what he needs to sustain himself a few more days. He’d rather run the risk of being a bit hungry later on than overexerting you now.

With a practice movement, he pulls his fangs from your skin and immediately settles his tongue over the tiny holes to catch any excess blood. It pulses from you weakly, and Eddie is satisfied to hear the rhythm of your heart returning to normal with each shuddering gasp and sigh.

“That’s good. So good for me, honey.” He’s murmuring encouragement as his tongue cleans the last of the rich liquid from your skin. Small wounds though they may be, there will be bruising a few layers deep and you’ll likely be sore. 

Eddie’s already thinking of aftercare as he lifts his head, licking at the blood in the corners of his mouth before it has a chance to dry. He’d popped some sports drinks in the fridge earlier and there’s a steak marinating on the bottom shelf, as well as a bottle of iron pills on the kitchen counter. 

“Y’didn’t even spill any.” 

You sound doped-up and foggy. It makes Eddie feel horribly fond. 

“Nah, you were right. Felt au naturel, baby- should’ve been doing this a long time ago.” He kisses once more over the bite mark and wonders if ice or heat will be better to hold to this, later. 

“Hmm.” The hum purrs through you as your lazy half-hug becomes a bit stronger, pulling at Eddie until he relents and puts more of his weight on you. “Guess you should listen to me more often.”

“Don’t push your luck or I’ll bite ya again.” The threat is a thinly-veiled excuse to kiss over the mound of your breast just under his cheek, and he smiles when you giggle. 

Eddie stays in you for a long while, sated and full. The only noise is your fingers stroking softly through his hair.