The slight chill of the nighttime breeze.
The emptiness of the city streets.
I know where I am, and I know who you are.
That mischievous grin in the pale moonlight.
The glow of your eyes, prominent even in the shadows.
The suggestive nuances in your body language.
You draw me towards a filthy alley, and I follow unquestioningly.
The cold of your hand when you grab mine.
The blissful daze you submerge me in with a wink.
The stony grip you hold me in.
You never look back at me.
The closeness of our bodies on the brick wall.
The uncharacteristic cool of your tongue against my throat.
The alabaster white of your skin.
You're aching for a taste.
The sharp pain of your pearled fangs.
The breaking of my skin.
The pleasure of submitting and being dominated.
We play this game every full moon.
The loss of contact when you've had your fill.
The flow of blood from my neck.
The swiftness with which you leave.
I'm drained.
You're satiated.
We fall apart.
The moon looks onward.
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