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Usually when he fed every bite was met with a pained shriek, a broken gasp, a twitch in desperation of getting away, curses, thrashing of arms and fists and kicking, not…
A breathy moan accompanied the feeling of his teeth sinking past skin into tender flesh stretched taut over a softly-curving waist, dirt and sweat and blood and arousal flooding his mouth in an intoxicating cocktail that made himself twitch in pleasure as he lapped at the wound he made, leaning back to admire the bruising skin between the two crescent moons of his bite marks.
Beneath him, skin peeked out from beneath torn silk with whispers of pleas, of the same sweet ‘bite me, Elias, break me, make me bleed’ that he heard from his lover’s desperate breathy whisper.
A grin crossed the creature’s face as he counted his bites—three, the first one done to spite, on the shoulder, the second one on the thin wrist he would usually kiss with sweetness and fondness, and the third, a bite closer to where he could feel his lover tremble as his loins were.
Of course, he wanted to tell the whispers of clean, unbroken skin; he was his debtor, what he wished would be his command.
“Where else?” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the answer out of the young man’s lips, swallowing up the mumble of embarrassment threatening to leave those soft, plump lips. “I am your tool, my lord.”
“Stop that,” Crisostomo weakly whined, hands gripping Elias’ shoulders like a lifeline. “Just… keep going.”
“An incomplete command is as useful as the lack thereof.” He murmured into Crisostomo’s ear, smirking against the curve of it, before nibbling lightly on the lobe. A gasp wrung its way out from Crisostomo’s chest as he arched against Elias’, and with a little moan, he forced himself to speak.
“There.” He pressed his hand gently on Elias’ nape, guiding him closer to his face and Elias did as he was told, slowly moving up to brush his lips up the shell, before biting lighter than he usually did on the lower parts—he knew ears were softer than most parts, so there was only so much force he can do before—
“Oh, Elias,” Crisostomo gasped, hands shooting up to behind his neck before pulling him into a sloppy kiss.
“Where else?” he asked between gulps of breath.
“My neck.”
Without another word Elias leant down and with a little harder force, sunk his teeth into the hollow of Crisostomo’s throat, right next to the pulse point, where he could feel the blood pumping through the artery as his teeth carefully avoided it, the thrum of excitement and arousal hot and heavy in the blood he lapped up from the kittenish cut. In his arms Crisostomo was shivering as he moved slowly, licking the wound clean.
“Where else?” he pressed his lips against the fresh wound, pressure hard, and Crisostomo gasped.
“Ah—my—my chest.” The young man’s words sounded like they were being punched out of him, and with a grin Elias tore the silk away from Crisostomo, leaving his shirt in tatters as he leant down to press butterfly kisses down the neck’s tendon, tense and pulled taut as beneath his lips skin quivered in anticipation. Slowly he ran his tongue over softly prominent collarbones, before he bit into the tender flesh beneath the bone, earning him a gasp. He was still in the middle of licking the wound clean and applying pressure to it to draw out the pain when Crisostomo spoke up again.
“Again.”
Obediently, silently, like the loyal dog he came to know himself to be for Crisostomo, Elias complied, leaning to the other side, lower a little on the young man’s pectoral, before biting down again, brushing his thumb over a nipple on the side he wasn’t biting, and he got a long, shameless moan torn out from Crisostomo’s throat as a reward.
“Stomach.”
He leant down and ran his tongue down the line in the middle between lean muscle, earning him a whimper, needy and impatient, and he grinned when he dipped it into the young man’s bellybutton. A strangled moan escaped Crisostomo and his fingers dug into the soil beneath them as he turned his tongue in slow, teasing circles over his quivering skin, before he bit down suddenly, without warning, into the flesh next to the skin he was teasing.
Crisostomo gasped, bucked up into Elias, and the pilot’s hands shot up to hold him down by the hips, hands squeezing the bite wound on his waist, earning him another pleasured mewl. The wound was still bleeding and he had yet to clean it up when Crisostomo spoke up again, panting heavily.
“My legs. Both of them. All—all over.”
He looked up at Crisostomo, and their eyes met. Elias’ lips curled into a feral, hungry smirk and the aristocrat shivered pleasantly.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked, clearly fighting to keep his tone even, and without further prompting Elias leant back to tear off the young man’s trousers.
“You.” He replied simply, lifting Crisostomo’s leg before sinking his teeth into his left calf, blood dripping up the muscle as he left the wound bleeding and moved up to bite into the soft flesh behind his knee, and then the front of his thigh, before moving onto the other leg to rain bites and bruises on the soft skin.
Crisostomo gracefully remained noisy through it, whimpers at every tiny lick Elias gave, gasps when the man’s hands pressed down on bruising skin and open wounds, moans when hands roamed and lips played with dry wounds and tickled bruises, broken pleas or jangled diminutives of Elias’ name when he would stop.
By the time the aristocrat’s legs were both completely uncovered and bruised and bleeding, Crisostomo was left a quivering, teary-eyed mess, his excitement unwavering and clear as day between his legs as Elias held them wide open.
“Beautiful.” He murmured, rubbing his thumb into a wound that opened up again and bled, watching red blood coat it like paint, and beneath him he felt Crisostomo’s legs clamp on his sides as he moaned. He smirked and leant forward and kissed him, slowly, deeply, tongue laving loving attention inside his mouth, over his lips, over his teeth, giving Crisostomo a taste of his own blood mixed with saliva and sweat and arousal.
They parted, panting, lips swollen and shining, and Crisostomo swallowed nervously before taking a deep breath.
“Tell me what you want.” Elias gently prompted, oddly tender despite all the wounds and bruises he gave his lover.
Crisostomo’s breath stuttered, and he flushed darkly in the moonlight before he parted his lips and spoke again.
“More.”