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Moonlight slips in through the open windows, the snow outside glowing in an almost ghostly, ethereal light. The glass fogs up a little with your breathing as you peer through the glass. It’s nearly midnight, and here you are, in the dark, utterly alone and searching for the master of this abode. His visage is depicted in portraits all throughout the manor, skin of porcelain and hair of night, eyes striking with shimmering jewel tones.
Your footsteps pad softly against the carpet as you continue further down the dark corridor. Every window you pass causes your shadow to stretch against the wall in the silvery light, though you do not take note of it. Instead, your focus lies on the door at the end of the hall. There is an air of darkness, you dare say even danger, and yet you are enthralled. You know what and who is behind that door.
The door opens without fanfare, not even a creak. You slip through the crack and shut the door as silently as you opened it. Moonlight stretches over the bed, a massive thing of blankets and plush pillows, a dark canopy hanging around the bedposts. It’s almost fit for royalty, you muse quietly to yourself, but it’s odd. If he’s not here, then where would he be? You’ve looked everywhere for him.
You are immediately corrected when the presence hiding behind the door presses up against your back. Startled, you twist and jump in an attempt to see the presence and move away, but find yourself thrown back and pinned against the bed. Cold hands grasp your wrists, and you know by the way the fingers squeeze the skin that you can’t fight him off. In most people, the scenario would elicit understandable and expected fear, but in you it sends a thrilling shiver up your spine.
His black hair, speckled with strands of silver, hangs down from his face like a midnight curtain. His lips are painted red and curled into a smile, and you catch a glimpse of pearly white teeth. You find yourself entranced by the shimmering gemstone colour of his eyes, trapping you in a hypnotic gaze.
(Though it’s not like you would need to be hypnotized to be enthralled.)
Your lack of fear is evident and clearly amusing to the Regrator by the way he chuckles sardonically. “A brave little thing you are,” he teases, “coming here all by yourself. Didn’t your family ever teach you that curiosity killed the cat?”
“Hasn’t killed me yet,” you reply, earning another laugh from the vampire above you.
“That is true,” he concedes. One of his chilled hands slides further up your wrist, taking hold of your hand. He brings your hand up to his lips, his kiss reverent and eyes hungry. “Besides, I wouldn’t ever dream of letting my favourite little pet fall in harm’s way.”
You pull your hand back to cup his cheek, and without breaking eye contact, he smiles wider and leans into the warmth of your palm. When you place your thumb against his bottom lip, he doesn’t hesitate in opening his mouth. Unlike his hands, his mouth is warm, welcoming, and you feel another pulse of want when you feel his teeth graze the little appendage. He does not bite, merely teases before he releases your thumb.
“Don’t tempt me, darling,” he warns, amused by the look on your face when his leg slides between yours, “I don’t think you realize how hard it is to keep myself from indulging in the blissful warmth of your flesh.”
“M-Maybe not,” you reply, “but perhaps you could show me anyways, f-for future reference.”
“Your naïvety and desire to please is charming,” the Regrator comments, a subtle fondness in his voice, “but no. It’s for the best.”
You pout. “Oh come on, I’m not that fragile. I can take it.”
“You say that, and then you start begging for mercy when things get a little rough.”
Your face flushes. “That was one time, I really, really want it this time.”
He hums, pretending to mull it over. You watch his gaze trail down the unblemished skin of your neck to the top button of your blouse. “... I suppose indulging just this once wouldn’t be too harmful.”
You feel his fingers pop the buttons open one by one, exposing more of your unmarked flesh to the starving gaze of your beloved vampire. You move to sit up and let the shirt fall off your shoulders, but a hand pressed against your heart pushes you back down to the bed. His palm is still a little cool, eliciting a little shiver.
“Ah ah ah, we’ve talked about this,” he lightly scolds, “you stay put until I tell you otherwise.”
“Right, sorry…”
“Oh, don’t sound so sad, little pet,” he coos, his hand trailing up to your neck, “it’s for the best, after all. You need to conserve your strength for all the things I want to do to you. You know that, right?”
You nod, and for your understanding, you are rewarded with a kiss. It’s hardly gentle, it’s a needy, starving thing that threatens to steal the air from your chest. With your hands free, you cling to the Regrator, gripping onto his cape with one hand and taking hold of his hair with the other to pull him in even closer. He laughs into your mouth, as if the way he’s pressing up against you is any more subtle. A moan slips out between your lips when you part them to let his tongue in, a little sound that makes the man above you press into your body just a little more. You taste wine on his tongue, full and red, his favourite.
When he pulls back, panting, you admire the red smear around his mouth and the thin strand connecting to yours. His tongue slips out to catch it, and you give him a quick peck when he brings his mouth close. He chuckles, and when his body settles on top of you, his face dropping into the crook of your neck, you feel his length press against you through his trousers, and you notice the little hitch in his breathing when it does.
He presses his nose into your pulsepoint, taking in the scent of your shampoo, the perfume he gave you, and your natural scent, and his pleased sigh is hot on your skin. You feel his fingers flex around your throat before he removes it to pepper the territory with kisses. His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, considering the circumstances, leaving a little wet trail that feels cool when he pulls back. His eyes meet yours, and your little eager smile is enough silent permission for him.
You keen and cry out when his teeth clamp down on your skin. Immediately he lifts his head and the hand that was holding your neck presses a finger to your lips. “Mind your voice, darling. Screaming won’t help you.”
You nod, and he continues nipping and biting at the skin. On the more sensitive spots, he takes his time gnawing and sucking at the flesh, determined to leave his marks on you. Normally he’s careful with where he marks you, preferring to leave marks on your chest and thighs, but tonight he seems more than thrilled to make his claim over you, his beloved pet and favourite toy, evident to anyone who would dare cast their lecherous gazes upon you.
While it’s not particularly gentle, and the little pangs of pain cause desire to pulse through your body, this wasn’t what you had in mind. While your lover is still kissing and biting at your neck, you speak up. “H-Hey, what happened to indulging?”
“What do you mean?”
“You… you’re allowed to bite a little harder,” you tell him.
The Regrator shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt you–”
“I can take it,” you insist, “just once, please? I-I’ll never bother you again, but I want to feel it just once.”
“Darling–”
Light floods the room and Pantalone immediately pulls back. He looks over his shoulder, a look of surprise on his face before it scrunches into a scowl. You pull your shirt closed and sit up to see who or what it is.
With his hand on the lightswitch, Tartaglia laughs at the scene before him, the hockey mask pushed up to the top of his head. He points at you with the large plastic machete in his other hand. “So this is where you two went! I was starting to worry about our hosts with the most.”
“What the hell do you want?” Pantalone snaps, pink spreading across his cheeks and even to his ears.
“Well, I was going to ask you where you got the wine,” Tartaglia explains, “but then I realized your minion was missing too, and so I decided to have a little look around.”
“Thrall,” you grumble, as if the semantics of your costume will make the situation any less embarrassing.
“That doesn’t mean you can just waltz into our room uninvited,” Pantalone hisses. “It’s common sense and etiquette!”
“I know it’s your house, your rules, but you two couldn’t wait until the party was over before you started fooling around?”
“Tartaglia.”
“What? I’m not judging. Honestly, it’s sweet that you two are still having fun after all this time–”
“If you do not get the hell out of my room in the next two seconds I am going to halve your budget and cut your holiday bonus,” your husband growls, “now leave and forget you ever saw anything.”
“Alright, alright!” Tartaglia laughs. “Do you two want the lights on or off?”
“GET OUT.”
Tartaglia turns off the light and shuts the door behind him, and the two of you can hear his laughter down the hall as he makes his way back to the party. Your husband is still glaring at the door, so you sit up, cup his cheek and turn his head before he can burn holes through the mahogany. His expression softens from anger to simply embarrassment when he sees you, awkwardly smiling.
“I would reckon he’s going to tell everyone about where he found us,” he remarks.
You peck his cheek. “Probably.”
“Perhaps we should put a pin in this for later, then.”
“Oh no, absolutely not.”
“What do you– hey!”
Pantalone can’t help but laugh when you shove him down on the bed and clamber on top of him. He sits up, meeting your lips in a giggly kiss that still tastes of wine. You pull back, grinning ear to ear.
“All anyone is going to talk about is how Tartaglia caught us in the act,” you say, “and it won’t matter if we tell people we were barely getting started because they won’t care or believe us.”
Pantalone nods, watching as you finally toss your shirt aside. You rock against his hips, grinding down into his cock and getting a pretty little moan in response. His hands find purchase on your hips.
“We may as well have fun with it,” you purr.
Pantalone chuckles. “You’re more insatiable than I am,” he teases, “and I’m supposed to be the bloodthirsty, ravenous vampire here. Maybe we should have swapped costumes.”
“We can do that after you fuck me,” you tell him before catching his mouth in a hungry kiss.