All it would have taken was one small magical push. The pencil on the desk would do, she'd done it before.
But she couldn't. Couldn't.
No, she realized, as she gasped and pushed up, and he was hard and so good inside her, and the pain was a flare of perfect heat in her throat. She could. Easily.
But she didn't want to.
Everything was dizzy and unreal, like a magical high, the room going disproportionate around her. The buzz of the radio announcer's voice faded in and out and flickered in her ears, and she trembled, suddenly cold. But that was good, too, in some way. She liked the shivers that chased across her skin, the ache in her fingers.
His teeth in her throat.
Pulling out, now. His tongue tender and soft on the ragged wound. It hurt, like rubbing sandpaper across her skin, but that was ok.
She couldn't move now. Everything felt heavy, like she'd moved to Jupiter and gravity was binding her to the floor. She blinked slowly and found he was looking down at her now, framed on all sides by a slowly encroaching darkness like an inverted halo.
"Hey," she said, and felt herself smile.
She wasn't sure if he'd come, or if it even mattered to him. Or to her. But then he was dragging something shiny across his throat, and she knew it didn't matter to her. Nothing mattered but the welling line of blood across his pale skin. Eternal life, eternal freedom from all of this nonsense. She wanted so badly to reach up and pull him down to her, but she was too weak, could only twitch her fingers.
That was ok, too, though, because a moment later, he let himself down over her, and pressed his throat to her lips, and all she had to do was let that thick, salty red slide down her tongue.
Then she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, he was cradling her on the couch, and she knew. Everything was all right.
The End