Dracula who cries into Belmont Reader's shoulder while they make love (he refuses to call it anything less intimate) because he hasn't felt this comfortable about himself since Lisa
He tilts his head back when you trail your mouth down the column of his throat, tears slipping over his temples to soak into his hair. His hips buck to meet your thrusts, driving your cock deeper inside him. Your mussed hair tickles his skin, and your warm breath fans over his collarbones when you groan. Dracula moans in return, running his palm down your spine to pull you closer. He missed this.
He missed you.












