Mothman lifted his strangely shaped head and looked at the Coke can again while his antennae fluttered around his mouth, seeming to gather the taste of me on his face. Why would he do that? What was-

“Oh my god, can you understand me?” I asked with a slight slur.

He assessed the can, picking up a stray drop on the rim with a froglike flick of his very very long tongue, and then leaned back over to investigate between my legs. This time, I felt the brush of one velvety-furred finger peel my panties away and his tongue make contact with my pussy. I gasped at the still unexpected intrusion and the very inhuman texture between my legs. It almost felt more like a silicone toy, only way more flexible.

“My pussy doesn’t actually taste like Coke, sorry.”

He maybe wasn’t listening or maybe I was mumbling too much for him to understand. His tongue investigated me all over, first on the outside, playing with my clit curiously when I moaned, then dipping inside to see how deep it could get. Very, very deep, as it turned out.

“But you could keep doing that if, ummm, if you want to.”

He apparently did want to.

The familiar dizzy, sticky pleasure of being touched while obliteratingly high curled out from my clit and blanketed my body, the effect so much stronger when it wasn’t my own hand. I was heavy, so heavy, my legs falling open to make all the room for him he needed. I held onto the blanket for balance as I tried to lift my head to make sure this was really happening. And sure enough, it was. There was really a something between my legs. A something with tickly antennae and long elegant wings that very politely kept my feet warm.

I was being taken advantage of by Mothman. And he was fucking good at it.

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Long pale fingers slid over the front of my red dress, up my belly to rest on my chest, just slightly to the left. The other hand gripping my thigh dug in hard enough to leave a bruise as he groaned into my pussy. Oh. My heartbeat. I would’ve said something, would’ve made sure this was the only part of me he wanted to eat since I definitely wasn’t a blood-donation-on-a-first-date kind of girl, but there was something slick and unfamiliar coating his tongue that stole all of my common sense. Dracula had explained it over (my) dinner, how vampires stayed a secret, how they healed the puncture wounds of their fangs with a special protein-rich venom on their tongues. How it made the feeding process not completely horrifying and uncomfortable. A gentle, temporary high, he’d said.

It did not feel gentle on my clit.

As he toyed with it, rolling it around with the tip of his coated tongue, lapping at the hyper-sensitive underside, I fought off a fourth orgasm in a shockingly short amount of time. I was going to die. He was trying to kill me. The only reason I was even upright was because of his pale hands and his inhumanly strong shoulders holding me up. His tongue was slippery like good lube, soft like new silicone, fizzy like soda, and I was going to die. Was this how undeath happened? Pleasure that transcended mortality? I didn’t want to live forever but god, did I want to feel this way for eternity.

Dracula hummed, his spread fingers flexing over my heart, and I could tell I was in for it. I gripped the back of that hand for some kind of support and tried to breathe, tried to stay calm, tried not to lose–

The fangs that had been clamped on either side of my clit pulled back, allowing all the blood he’d been summoning with his mouth to rush in. It was so acute, so perfectly on the edge of pain and pleasure as if he’d found a way to mimic the line he straddled between life and death, that I came harder than I ever had in my life. The orgasm was like a punch to the gut, driving all the air out of me with one barely-muffled shriek. My hips writhed and shook, the orgasm drawn out by the gentle, dizzy strokes of his tongue. My legs gave out and this time he let me slide down the door and collapse into his lap. 

Dracula chuckled as I shook in his arms, still coming without any stimulation. My muscles cramped and tears slid down my face, dripping onto my fingers still covering my mouth. Cool fingers plucked them away as an equally cool forehead pressed to mine. The less-than-human temp had turned me off at first when he’d taken my hand on the walk back to my apartment, but now it was relief against my fevered skin. Orgasming four times in a leather trench coat and matching thigh-high boots was like getting fucked in a boiler room. I struggled out of my coat with clumsy hands and wrapped my noodly body around him to cool me off. 

His kiss was strange with the fangs but not unpleasant. When he slipped his tongue between my lips, I sucked on it in gratitude for the pleasure it’d just given me until he groaned against my mouth. The slightly unearthly sound of it shivered through my body, probably some sort of survival instinct that I was too stupid to listen to. I wanted to hear more. I wanted his pleasure. I wanted to drive such a powerful creature to the brink. 

“Inside,” I gasped against his mouth, unsure if I meant my apartment or my body. “I want you inside.”

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