#cribbles...

“This is a much better look for you my darling” Scott’s words ooze that saccharine venom he loathes - thinks he’s so much better: Martyn knows he’s so much better, wait… - “that silly slayer nonsenses is wasted on a pretty slut like you.” The sweetly condescending purr of Scott’s voice that usually has Martyn gripping his stakes tight, now is making his head fuzzier and fuzzier… More than the fangs tightening another silken chain around his heart, or the venom fizzling through his body with each beat of his eeriely steadying heart, it’s Scott’s words that feel like a icepick scrambling his brain. With each words, each touch of the vampires repugnant claws across his chest squeezing his breast, Martyn can feel Scott lighting another torch and burning the library of his mind until only ash and he remains. ... Vampires are infuriatingly patient. Another gift of their immortality. So he knows Scott will not permit his humiliation be some hasty ill-timed ball: no, no, no, Martyn will be the centre piece of an entire season of courting. He’s been laying the ground for this for… Martyn shudders. How many bitter night chills were Scott floating by his window sill whispering death on the wind, how many aches had been from nights where he loomed over his bed and taken the little drink from him and healed any evidence, how many nights had the sticky mess he awoke to satiating his skin not been his own mind or body, but Scott? Martyn whines at the depths of the vampires machinations