yukito rests his head in jasper’s lap with his eyes closed. long fingers play with his hair, twirl it between slender digits and gently tug on the delicate strands. lovingly.
-- your hair is so pretty when it’s long. those words spoken once, many, many years ago, (back when jasper was not head of a mafia, but commander of a whole army, back when jasper was even more so a dark angel of death that slaughtered without mercy, reveling in the intoxicating taste of blood) murmured to yukito late in the hours of the night as he played with yukito’s locks – long, but still much shorter than now.
-- is it, really? yukito mumbled against jasper’s chest. i was thinking about cutting it, actually…
the hand stilled and slid to cup yukito’s cheek (a caress), tilting his chin up gently to look into those dark (lustful, passionate, and maybe just -- ) eyes he loved so much --
-- when have i ever been the kind to lie? of course i mean it, after all, you scream so nicely when i pull it, and if it’s long…
but of course, he would have done anything for jasper’s sake. so, letting his hair grow to fall against his back and spending the time to treat it, care for it, just for jasper was hardly any trouble at all. (he would have killed, died, broken all his moral codes for this man, not that there were many left in him. yukito had destroyed them all long ago) it was not
loyalty. there were other, more desperate vampires that filled that position, desperate for the attention, the rank, the prestige. but jasper did always like the pretty ones best
but it was pure, raw, adoration.
it was centuries ago, the time that they had first met, and jasper knew that this small, pure vampire child would one day be his, regardless of what anyone else said otherwise – and if there would be resistance from the child himself when he grew older, well…
he would just have to take matters into his own hands and make sure that the child would one day be unable to look at anyone else except for him, could not even think to exist otherwise
it had taken decades after yukito came of age for it to happen. seduction was not easy, but jasper loved the chase. that was, after all, built into the unfortunate dna of a vampire – predator, except he liked to play with his food just a little bit before getting the opportunity to devour it whole.
centuries had given the impulsive desires of the past time to simmer, level out. what was once an addicting obsession had changed on its own to something…else. perhaps it was love, it certainly felt like love when they kissed (briefly, or for what felt like eternity. both of them could drown in those moments – heated, passionate, sultry, and sweet all at once and tasted of blood) or when they lay awake in the hours of the night in amazement at how warm they felt when their bodies were pressed together. tracing the curves and muscles of the other that they had already memorized long ago, or when jasper looked at him from across the room (powerful, exuding confidence that made yukito weak)
it was in moments like this, lying in his lap, that yukito felt most in love with jasper. each gentle tug of his hair let involuntary moans slip from his mouth (breathy pants, murmurs of his name, and a silent plea when he glanced into those dark, amused eyes). without a single word, jasper’s fingers stop their ministrations and instead shift, flit gently across yukito’s pale skin, his cheek
before pressing his wrist against yukito’s begging lips.
it’s sweet, but not decadently so, just enough that yukito is desperate for another taste, of sorrow and bliss, savory and delicious on his tongue, like anger, desperation, impure desires, and morning rain. it tasted like nothing less than sin itself – it tastes so jasper that yukito loves it, loves how he is the only one to know what his blood tastes like
and he whines when it is taken away from him
--when you make noises like that, it just makes me want to tease you more, kitten.
yukito looks up at jasper with a pleading look at he knew was irresistible, and jasper smirks knowingly. he leans down and kisses yukito deeply, hungrily in a kiss that tastes of his own blood, before rolling over to press yukito into their shared bed. hours pass fade by but they feel like another eternity, a precious lifetime spent together all over again.
they breathe each other’s names against flushed skin and twist themselves into expensive sheets with thread counts that just barely reach a fraction of the years they have spent together. marks litter their bodies as possessive claims to the soul they have already long given up to each other, willingly, inevitably.
and when they succumb to the silence of the night, curled against each other, they never dream to think that this heat, this passion will ever die. it hasn’t died for centuries. but they touch each other as if every time was the last (that it somehow could be the last), for it is the one thing that every one of their kind knows –
although they may have an eternity and can promise each other forever, one day there may not be an always
and it makes them desire each other all the more.