Ravensblood Forest light of my life, fire of my loins [m]

All at once Lecter's tension seemed to melt into... Something unfamiliar. She watched with smouldering eyes this expression, the way his lips parted with a soft plea for forgiveness rather than the acrid bite of his usual tone. Yes! she wanted to cry, yes, all is forgiven! But something stayed her voice, something thick and primal and strange. Her tongue seemed two sizes too big as he stepped to her side, choking off her words; all she could utter was a soft, pleading whine, a sound of want and need she had never felt. The smell of old rotted blood clawed down her throat, and she welcomed it with feverish inhales, drawing his essence into her.

She felt his touch, and everywhere it left spots of cold yearning. She stood still at his ministrations, consumed by a fire of another kind as his lips pressed firm against her cheekbone, her snout, the fluttering lid of her eyes which closed of their own accord, and found the sensitive lobe of her ear. Chills sparked down her spine at its gentle touch, and her own name whispered into her ear bought a lusting whisper of "Lecter," in response. Such feeling had never roared through her, such need... Her face moved so her nose roughly traced his matted cheek, and when she found the side of his neck, below his own ear, she nipped it lightly but rough. Her tongue sought his flesh with an urgent purr, and unconsciously her body arched in response to a wild desire.