Webs

David waits until the boys leave before he tackles the issue head-on.

You've been distant all night, and even though David can be an asshole, he knows he didn't do anything wrong this time. You're not upset, either. (He would smell the annoyance wafting off your feeble human body if you were. It's amazing how expressive you are - and you don't even realize it.) You are agitated, though; a very special, very heady kind of agitated that makes his cock stir. 

You're lost in thought when David plops down beside you. The ancient sofa dips under his weight, causing you topple toward him. David doesn't mind. He slings his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close.

"Someone's distracted," David says.

You could deny it, but what's the point? Lying never worked with him.

"Sorry."

You rest your head on his chest, finally giving him the attention he's craved all night. You suppose you have been distracted. It's not your fault, though. It's your stupid boyfriends'.

Unconsciously, you kiss the hollow of his throat and snuggle closer. You have the cave all to yourself ... You might as well make the best of it, especially if it means calming the ache tormenting your core. 

David draws you into his lap, trailing his hands down your back until they reach your ass. He squeezes, dragging your hips closer, forcing you to feel the ache that's formed in his pants, too. 

"Someone's needy," you murmur.

David raises an eyebrow. "Do you expect me not to get hard when your scent is stinking up the place?"

His words sink in. Your face burns with embarrassment. "Fucking vampires..."

David doesn't need a reason to be smug, but your reply does just that. He eagerly snatches the upper hand, rolling his hips against yours. You bite your lip to keep from moaning. 

"Talk to me," David says. "I wanna know what's got you hot under the collar."

You groan and hide your face in his shoulder.

You hate it when he plays this game because he always wins. Sure, you win, too - fuck, if the prize isn't sweet - but it's humiliating. Especially now; especially this.

This isn't like asking him to choke you or slap you around. It's depraved. And while David has never shamed your kinks in the past (even the really disgusting ones), for some reason, this one feels like a deal breaker. After all, even though David is a vampire, he's still a guy from the nineteen-hundreds, and you know that one day you'll scandalize his poor Progressive Era heart. 

David says your name, and you shake your head, refusing to show your face. 

"I can always make you talk," he states.

The threat shoots down your spine like a lightning bolt. Your thighs clench around him, and you can't help the sudden gush of arousal that dampens your underwear. 

You can feel the shift in his posture as he puts two and two together. "Oh?"

Fucking vampires ...

David squeezes your hips, pulling you away from his chest so he can look into your eyes. You try to turn away, but he catches your cheek, coaxing you to face him head-on.

"You're not getting anything if you pout like that." David holds your chin, and, despite that permanent smug expression laced onto his face, he's sincere. "Tell me what you want."

You wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole, but it doesn't. So, you gather your words and slowly, hesitantly admit your desires.

"I want you to control me."

David tilts his head. "To do what?"

"Whatever you want."

Thankfully, he doesn't seem repulsed. He doesn't seem anything. His face is frustratingly impassive; his blue eyes never waver.

"How far are you willing to go, sweetheart?"

How far?

You bite your lip.

Your mind conjures image after image of all the perverted things David could make you do, but telling him spoils the fun. You want to be his little hypnoslave, a mindless fuckpuppet that does whatever he wants.

Besides, it's not like he can't tell. Hypnosis isn't the only talent vampires have - they're mind readers, too. And when David chooses (and he chooses a lot), he can peer into your twisted little brain to get the answers he needs.

You feel him there, tickling the edge of your consciousness as he pokes his nose into your business. You don't mind. Thoughts are easier than words; they're unfiltered, laid bare for his viewing pleasure. David flips through your imagination like pages in a magazine, earmarking the fantasies he finds particularly appealing, prodding the ones he wants more details about. 

He knows your limits, the things you would never do in a thousand years. He respects them. You know, even under hypnosis, he wouldn't exploit that.

David doesn't need an answer, but he wants one. So, you say:

"I trust you."

He releases your chin in favor of stroking your hair. "Yeah?" You nod. David smirks. "Give me a kiss, then, sweetheart, and I'll make you feel good."

You close the distance between your bodies. The kiss isn't heated. It's passionate - an exchange of vows between two lovers. You hand him your trust, and he promises not to break it. You crush his jacket between needy fingers as David sinks his hooks into your brain.

Initially, it's a mere whisper of a sensation, but before you know it, it buzzes in your bones and pulses in your veins. That clear, hypnotic suggestion takes root in your nervous system until you're limp in David's arms. The shame is the first thing that goes. Your head is so foggy you can barely remember why you were embarrassed.

And then, you're hot.

That unwavering need in your sex becomes painful as a small, conscious part of you realizes that you're finally under David's control.

David breaks the kiss. 

You realize he must have left that one part of you awake - just long enough for you to know he was following through, long enough for you to see his smirk before he fully submerged you into the trance.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," you breathe, drunk on him.

"Good."

David cradles either side of your head, and your mind completely fogs over. His voice echoes in your ears despite his lips never moving.

I'll take care of everything, sweetheart. All you need to do is let go.