9. Chapter 9 Interlude (1/1)

another short one. don't read if you're squeamish (although in this fandom...?) enjoy!

disclaimer: still not mine, funnily enough.

the taste of blood was intoxicating; he'd never tasted anything so rich and delicious in all his years. the

eather trapped between him and the wall whimpered, but bertrand had never let pathetic mewling noises stop him before, and they wouldn't stop him now. his tongue flicked out to catch a stray drop, and robin writhed underneath him. he smiled, the points of his fangs trailing over the

oken skin, and continued to savour the sweet, flowing liquid. soon, he knew, it would stop flowing, and there would be no more for him. he relished the steady trickle of warm red while it lasted.

robin whimpered as bertrand's lips closed, ever so gently, over the wound on his arm. the way he'd been sitting when bertrand pounced had left him pinned to the floor, half-propped against the wall, the vampire's limbs preventing him from moving his own. he didn't want to; he knew bertrand was feeding off of him and it was so wrong, but the sensation of bertrand's tongue against him wasn't unpleasant, really. he squirmed a little – it tickled – but it wasn't until he felt the slight sting of bertrand's fangs pressing against the wound that it really struck him how dangerous this was… and how exciting. he moaned slightly as bertrand's mouth made its way carefully along the trail of blood, his grip on robin's wrists tightening a fraction. well, there was nothing he could do now. if bertrand chose to drain him dry, there was no way he could stop it.

bertrand's lips ran up his shoulder and robin was completely prepared to feel fangs at his neck. but the vampire suddenly pulled himself backwards, scrunched his eyes tightly shut, and muttered a single word, one that sounded as if it was foreign to him."help." his eyes opened, still jet black, and he leant in again towards his neck, but robin turned his head to intercept him. he crushed his lips against bertrand's, the only way he could think of that might stop him from sinking his fangs into him. bertrand moaned, his grip tightening on robin's wrists even further for a second before he released them, hands moving to tangle into the fa

ic of robin's shirt.

robin realised he could taste blood; his own blood. he didn't mind.