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The cold air bit sharply at the skin, a quiet hush falling over the snow-covered forest everything was still-silent, save for the distant crack of a branch under the weight of frost. The pristine white blanket of snow stretched out in every direction, untouched and pure, gleaming faintly in the weak light of the overcast sky.
But there, in the midst of this unbroken stillness, was the stain.
A deep crimson pool, stark against the white expanse, slowly seeped into the snow its edges jagged and uneven. A trail of droplets led away from the center, as though someone had stumbled, leaving a path of suffering behind.
The wind whispered through the trees, but it carried with it no relief, only the metallic tang of iron, sharp and raw. The snow, once pure and untouched, was now marred, its surface streaked and sullied. It would never be the same again.
In the distance, there were signs of life, footprints stained the snow and the patterns of destructed snow, a sign of struggle for show. The quiet expanse of trees, their branches heavy with snow, watching silently as the blood slowly began to freeze, binding the scene to the earth in an unspoken memory.
Movements shuffled close, illuminated by the moons light, Newt’s head lay low on Thomas’s shoulder, nipping at his skin, reveling at the taste. Intoxicating in a way that the blond couldn’t stop himself for wanting more. Newt couldn’t stop himself, his trembling hands tightening as he continued to drink, lost in the sensation.
His lips covered in that beautiful wet crimson substance, as he sinks his fangs into the skin underneath. Blood dripping down his skin and staining the patch of snow below. Thomas’s skin was softer that he thought it would be, desire clouding stronger as the moons glow hits Thomas’s neck at just the right angle.
It clouded his righteousness as his mouth craved another drop of liquid delicacy, unconsciously ripping flesh just to reach his high, coveting more than he can handle-and losing all sense of control. His breathing staggered and low as he searched for more, hitching breaths from the man below his transfixed state.
Then it hit him.
Stop.
Newt hesitated, looking up, eyes mortified by his own actions. His fangs retreating as he looked at the sight before him, Thomas’s heart rate was pacing fast. Shit. He took too much.
“Thomas?” He said softly, his hands intertwining with Thomas’s soft locks. “Thomas-fuck…are you okay?” His words fumbled, he cupped either side of Thomas’s cheeks, forcing the latter to look at him. “Tommy, I’m-“, his eyes swelled as tears soon flooded, his breath hitching as he blabbered on incoherent words of apology. He closed his eyes. Because of his greed-he took too much-what if he lost Thomas because of his greed?
Because he couldn’t control himself?
What of then?
His thoughts stopped lingering when long slender fingers touching the back of his head, a hum of reassurance in the air as Newt looked up-teary eyed. Thomas’s soft gaze, his lingering touches and engulfing embrace-steadying him in place. “Newt.” His gentle voice murmured, his hands circling on his back, giving a smile to confirm he was fine.
“Tommy…” He called again, tears soon stopping, replaced by a gentle apology. “I’m sorry...I couldn’t control myself…I’m sorry..” He repeated over and over, tear-struck, his word slurred, breathing heavy as he saw the state of Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas just witnessed the spectacle, confused as Newt rarely cries, hell he has not witnessed him cry at all until now.
He tried to move, shuffling them closer as he tried to speak-“Newt-“, he called out, but what came out next was a gurgle of pain-and a string of curses. His shoulder ached, the skin barely holding on, and bite marks scattered all over.
“Oh–fuck…that burns…” He groaned, clutching at his pained, bloody shoulder, tears threatening to spill. “Ah–I mean…I–you…can still continue..you can drink from me.” He whispered, his hand that once clutched his pained shoulder now lay close to the curve of Newt’s back, a soothing comfort he could give to the latter. “No..” The other replied, shaking his head, scared that it would happen again–that he’d hurt him-that he’d lose him.
“You’re still hungry.” Thomas’s pointed out, Newt’s eyes a shade of red he’s never seen before, but-still the same, Insatiable. “I am…” He answered, but his answer still stayed the same. No.
“I can’t..you’re injured, I–“ He continued, then paused briefly, his words stuck and harbored. “It’s okay.” Thomas whispered, reassurance laced in the pinnacle of his voice. Which wavered his previous statement quite a bit. “No-I already drank plenty enough-..I’ll just find a dear, or-“ He retorted back-but was left with his soft lips instead, colliding them together roughly-which caused his gums to bleed, the sweet yet metallic taste of his blood which drove Newt crazy and over the edge.
Newt chased after every drop of blood he gave, passionate and rough, which slightly-turned Thomas on. Newt’s whines and whimpers wanting more, desperate, needy even, adorably chasing his pleasure.
“Please..let me..” Newt whined within the kiss, looking at him with need. Thomas couldn’t wrap his head around it, it hurt like a bitch last time-but the kiss felt so fucking good..
“Strip.” He ordered, tugging at Newt’s winter clothes, the beautiful Auburn color, that complimented his pale skin altogether. “What-..?” Newt stuttered, mouth agape, he didn’t mind for himself, but Thomas could freeze his ass off. And attempting too when he almost died was appalling.
“It’s 32°F Tommy, listen to yourself. It’s freezing outside, you want to get naked? Outside? While it’s snowing?”, “We are literally outside, leaning against a stump right now.” The guilty atmosphere was replaced by reprimanding instead.
“Come on, we’re both hungry..Just–well, craving different yet similar too.” He hummed reassurance, which did little to no help in convincing. “Okay…but if you freeze to fucking death, that’s on you.” Newt complained but complied. “Okay, fuck..Not everyone’s a vampire Newtie…” He remarked, tugging at the hem of his pants, one of his hands hang low on the curve of Newt’s waist.
“Fuck– so beautiful..” He whispered, enjoying their clothed touch before heat spreads through, Newt’s pale skin glistened, hunger taking in Thomas as he watched Newt scramble to take of his winter clothing. The movement brought more arousal than he thought, his tiny bounces as he took off his inner layering turned him on by a long mile, it was bone-crushing, and it felt so hot.
“Okay-that’s fucking enough…” He whispered, nibbling and planting soft kisses on Newt’s collar bone, kisses turned to leaving hickeys, his mouth sent pleasure like none other to Newt, no amount of blood, hunting, nor killing can top it. Fed up, Newt lifted his chin up, breathless and barely functioning with lust clouding his vision, lips clashing together again, a series of quick, needy kisses. Thomas felt like he wanted more, breathless and a part of him believing that Newt’s lips were coated by something by how addicted Thomas felt kissing his soft lips.
And yet his voice was more addicting, soft whines and whimpers- and the way he just fucking begs-it hits a kind of nerve that wants him to just strip him naked and fuck him until he’s full.
“Please, Tommy. Please..” His voice quivered at the last sentence. A pinnacle- a standpoint before it all came crashing down-gnawing at him. “Fuck– you look so hot begging for me.” He whispered, his gaze faltering to one of lust, tugging at the hem of his own pants, while warming the latter up, his pretty waist, to his delicate and well-toned chest, He looked so Ethereal.
Newt’s gaze lingered, eyeing his bloodied shoulder, controlling himself from damaging further. To no further look from truth, he used pleasure to counter the pain of his shoulder bitching. “Motherfucker–Its cold..” He whispered but hesitated to complain more, Newt gave him a look that solidified his point before, ‘I told you so.’
Thomas didn’t hesitate to link their lips again, more passionate, needy and thirsted, his hips buckling up to grind his and Newts hips together, feeling the bulge twitching in pleasure, his voice in broken whimpers as he pulled them down, wasting no time nor room for theatrics. He lined a finger inside his needy hole, circling the rim before pushing forward, hitting a spot Newt didn’t know existed, pleasure striking, the actions almost enough to make him cum-to ruin his remaining mental capacity to not shy away and beg Thomas to fuck him senseless and breed him like a bitch.
His fingers started slow, relentlessly attacking his sweet spot every thrust and curving upwards, then he added a second one in, working him open and getting him ready. Newt whimpered at every relentless thrusts, partially at the feeling of something inside him and partially at how his slender fingers hit every spot he didn’t know existed.
Deeming him ready he pulled out his slender fingers out, and soon was replaced by the tip of his cock. Lining against his entrance and painfully and slowly- pushed inside, fingers digging into the curve of Newt’s hips hard enough to bruise. And together with the feeling of Newt clenching around his cock combined by the string of whimpers and the arch of his back was enough to make Thomas’ head spin.
Newt needed a moment before they could continue, his hips buckling down and tightening more on Thomas’ cock, lips quivering as he began to move, his thrusts slow paced for a while, letting Newt adjust to his length. “Oh-fuck…have a go at it Tommy..” He whispered, his voice strained-his whimpers threatening to spill like a melody made and heard just for him. Thomas pulled out-the tip threatening to pull out before slamming back in, Newt’s back arching, steadying a pace before he mercilessly thrusted in him, crying out Thomas’ name like it’s the only word he knew.
“Fuck..Newt..–you feel so fucking good, so perfectly made for me.” He cooed, his eyes straining, love nor lust, all was given as he screamed his name like a mantra, or a prayer he alone can chant. He felt so perfect for his cock-almost as if it was made for that exact fucking purpose. “Tommy-“ He whimpered, Thomas’ calloused hands circling at the curve of his back, soothing worries before he quickened his pace.
Then it started, Newt’s fangs showing, and bit his shoulder-pain was a bitch, his shoulder ached again, yet the pleasure of his thrusts made up for the reverberating pulse being drained out of him. When he said Newt was vocal-he meant it, His voice echoed through every nook of the dense and snow-covered forest. Newt soon found his pinnacle-his breakpoint as his voice strained, which turned higher as he came. A series of creamy white fluid tainted his exposed stomach, staining Thomas’ winter clothing.
His fangs quivered, his tongue swirling at the wound, his moans chocked up by heaps of blood. Thomas soon followed, His groans just as loud as Newt’s soft whimpers, his was quickened, breathless and chasing after his high. Finishing inside with one final thrust, before filling him up to the brim, his seed dripping out of his puffy hole, incoherent moans as Newt bites deeper on his skin, another bloody mess Thomas had to deal with later.
Newt was the first to move, his fangs retracting as he looked at the semi-masterpiece he had crafted with his fangs, the blood dripping down his shoulder, and painting a bloodied canvas on Thomas' winter clothing. Slowly pulling out, Newt tirelessly slumped against Thomas’ bloodied shoulder, filled in both ways than one. Thomas on the other hand was dealing with the bitching pain, trying to steer the pain away. The soft humming of sleep can soon be heard against the latter, his face painted with blood but his expression was content.
Thomas' couldn’t help but not mind the pain his fangs inflicted, it was a gift given by his beloved after all.
“Minho.” Thomas ran up to the latter, a smile plastered on his face but he looked like he would die any second now. His pale face, and his expressions just as grim, Minho wouldn’t be shocked if he died tomorrow or on the spot. “What the, what’s up your ass? Why do you look like a dying lamb?” Minho asked, when he saw the bleeding circles in both sides of his shoulder, enough confirmation.
He needs to prepare a coffin.
Minho walked–no ran away from Thomas, ignoring him for the rest of the day.