Work Text:
The city of Volterra is a unique one-- full of ancient architecture, a versatile climate, and a few believers of creatures with fangs and an appetite for human blood. Nevertheless, it became home relatively quickly. Naively, you assumed most of the irrational folklores and legends were left behind lingering in the United States while you remained overseas. This was far from the case, however. Abroad, you met Germans who spoke fearfully of Krampus, and Eastern Europeans who drunkenly confessed their acknowledgement of vampires. As a young visitor in the European city, you were aware of the culture, but you were simultaneously aware of the stories, rumors-- men with crimson irises and women who never showed up to class the next day. To you, it was ridiculous. Another excuse to keep women in check, or inside for that matter. You had to see it to believe it. Yet, as unserious as it seemed to yourself, your roommate was far from a skeptic.
Suspiciously quiet inside her own bedroom, you decided to knock carefully. Your clothed feet tapped onto the wooden floors impatiently, feeling the chill of the floorboards only slightly through the fabric with each rhythmic thump. A soft voice echoed, and you twisted the knob mindfully. Her window was open, allowing sweet spring air to filter the muted room. Her back facing you, she eyed you curiously through her vanity mirror. Curtains danced gently along to the breeze, washing in and out similarly to fresh waves amongst a sanded shore. "Is something wrong?" Maria asked. You shook your head, stepping further into the girl's bedroom. A pair of black heels rested beside her wardrobe, that was cracked open barely enough to peer into. Fuzzy, black cat ears laid innocently on the duvet clad on her mattress, next to a small cocktail dress. Watching your curious gaze, Maria spoke up. “Boring, right? If only I gave myself more time to plan something much... more creative.” A frown etched along her lips, and suddenly you remember your initial concern.
"To be honest, I'm really surprised you're going out at all." You shifted your weight onto one foot, crossing your arms like a concerned parent. A true Italian Catholic, Maria was familiar firsthand with the ghost stories, as well as the guilt. In addition to the generational anxieties, she was taking a course on The Origins of Myths, Monsters, and Vampires, making her excessively paranoid. Weeks had gone by where her flashy clothes collected dust in her wooden wardrobe, and her gaudy jewelry remained unpolished in it's casing, seemingly losing it's initial shine. So, as she clasped a golden bracelet around her wrist, bewilderment nested between your brows.
"It's Halloween," she states simply. "Though," Maria inhales sharply, dropping the makeup brush onto the vanity desk with an audible crash. "I can't help but to think about her--"
"Maria, she--"
"Was found torn apart!" She sobs, tears swelling at her waterline and threatening to ruin her existing foundation. The brunette drops her head into her manicured hands.
Your touch finds her back, caressing where her silk nightgown meets her curled hair. It seemed preposterous-- something subhuman feeding on women you knew personally, something monstrous lingering in alleyways just blocks from an ancient church. Her fears had to be irrational, but as you glanced at her brown eyes and the terror imbedded in them, you wondered if there was a semblance of truth. Just weeks ago, a student was reported missing after a night out. She was familiar to the both of you, yet her remains exhibited anything but. Found with multiple bite marks indented into her tanned skin, she sported a gash so deep within her torso that she could've been split into two. The young woman was nearly unrecognizable. An open-toe heel absent from her manicured foot, she was noticeably brutalized. Her skin was cruelly decorated in maroon hand prints, as if one had skillfully painted them on her mutilated corpse. "You don't have to go out tonight, honey."
Maria tosses her hand up dismissively, then softly dabbed a tissue at her tear-stained cheeks. "I promised Giada, besides, I cannot hide forever," she mumbled. Your roommate returns to her beautification, only to pause and point the edge of her brush at you. "Come with me." Head already shaking, Maria disregards your protest. "It would make me feel better having someone, you know?"
“Must I draw on whiskers too?” You jest.
Maria scoffs, “there will only be one sexy pussy in the club tonight. Find your own costume.”
Singing loudly in the backseat of the taxi, Maria's mood was much brighter. As she moved vigorously to the music, her body continuously knocked into yours, making it difficult to light the cigarette in your hand. Your legs were crossed before you, a small purse resting in your bare lap. Your red cape was tucked behind your sitting frame, and you mentally hoped your costume was easily guessable. Giada was beside Maria, stretching over the console to speak to the driver. You didn’t particularly loathe her, but she was certainly not your favorite of her friends. The blonde was unpredictable, slightly problematic, and was quick to get with any guy Maria showed interest in.
The nightclub exhibited a stone staircase, leading guests down a strenuous journey with a singular railing to trust your balance with. Candles were upholstered against the elongated walls, mirroring something medieval. The wax dried trickling against the chipped paint. Cursing the constructor of the ancient steps, Maria looped her arm around your own. The bass shook the ground beneath you, vibrating against your heels. Amongst the sea of people, remained a variety of costumes and glasses with miscellaneous alcoholic potions, yet under the LEDs, it all appeared the same. Giada swiftly dragged Maria to the dance floor, as Maria gave a pitiful look, and you found yourself residing at the bar counter.
That's when you noticed him. A man with indescribable features remained idly across the bar. His hair could've been blonde, or white, but the lighting only allowed so much to be revealed. You eyed him curiously as he nursed a glass of his own, dark irises staring back at you. Goosebumps rise carefully along your spine, allowing you to feel the tightness of your dress around your torso. Strobe lights flash in, and the mysterious man flashes out-- nowhere to be found once it lights the room again. Trying to shake the image of his gaze, you bring your glass along your lips and force some of the liquor down. It should bother you, shouldn't it? Had he not been strikingly appealing, warmth would not be burning below your waist and teasing along your underwear. You had to be practical, and perhaps there was no man at all. So as a quick hand found it's way along the dip of your waist, you reacted swiftly. "Jesus, Maria!" You hissed, softening as soon as she sat beside you. Eyeing the chilled glass resting before you, the girl smiles. As she reaches out, you watch while the condensation melts into the palm of her warm hand, dripping down her chin as she brings the crystal to her lips. “I would’ve bought you your own,” you scoffed.
Maria hums, taking one last gulp before gesturing to the bartender. She wipes the remaining drops from her mouth, and watches the bartender take away the lipstick-stained glass. “Giada disappeared.” Your eyebrows furrow.
“Disappeared where?”
The brunette audibly shrugs. Seemingly not her first drink of the night, she smiles graciously at the pristine glasses set down before the two of you. Leisurely wrapping her long fingers along the clear cup, her brows shoot up. “With a very large man.” Maria paused, gears visibly turning as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “You know, I promised I’d teach you Italian.”
Any semblance of relaxation had vanished once again. You hated babysitting. You wondered how many drinks Maria had scored whilst you sat longingly on the bar stool. It’s peculiar, her mood now—sitting at the bar, watching as the liquid in her hand swished around the ice cube. “You’re not worried?”
“About Italy?”
“No, Maria, not about Italy. About Giada.”
The woman is unfazed. Perhaps she hadn’t heard you, or perhaps she was apathetic to Giada’s whereabouts. Regardless, you hated repeating yourself— especially when competing with the vigorous bass ricocheting off the warm bodies beside you. Allowing the cold liquid to escape down to the pit of your stomach, you glanced towards the other end of the counter. The same man from earlier was standing confidently once again, except he was no longer alone. His counterpart was nearly a head larger than he, staring over the crowd like a lighthouse would the ocean. His lights surveyed towards your position, and the same chills struck against your spine. This man was easier to make out, with pitch black eyes and tusks of curled hair that pressed against his forehead. It was noticeably tousled, and had you not been staring so long, you wouldn’t notice his shorter companion glance back at you. Maria’s phone begins vibrating on the wooden countertop, dragging your attention away from the attractive duo. “Are you going to get that?”
Maria slowly flips her phone over, revealing Giada’s contact reflecting back at you. Your shoulders lose the built up tension. She's alive at least, you say to yourself. Your roommate mumbles something of needing to meet her in the restroom, and again you search for the man across the bar.
Several drinks later, and you’re stumbling through the stoned streets of Volterra. Thin stiletto heels facing difficulty traveling on the crooked roads, you’re left balancing on the walls beside you. It’s a cruel similarity to the staircase in the night club, only this time there’s no railing to trust your life with. The streets are not always this barren, and for once you’re unappreciative of the lack of the typical chaotic symphony of voices vibrating against the ancient homes you’re sandwiched between. There is no aroma that’s thick of freshly baked bread, or the occasional clang of currency clashing against each other and into the palms of the merchants. There is no chatter of shoppers as they mesh into the bustling market streets. The stalls are devastatingly empty, and as your buzz begins to fade into paranoia, you yearn for someone to guide you home.
A clatter rings behind you, raising the small hairs along the back of your neck. If you could only walk a little faster. You can see the university from where you stood, proud and tall from behind the strip of buildings ahead of you. It’s mighty, and for a second you feel like a devout Catholic approaching the Vatican. Yet, your heart thumps inside your chest, and you find your muscles straining with each quicker step. The organ vibrates louder inside your ear drums, and footsteps are nearing behind you. This is it, you think. I am going to be found with one less stiletto, and bite marks along my corpse. Turning quickly, you’re expecting to meet your fate, but it’s something unexpected. A furrow meets along your brows, and the man raises his hands defensively. “A young woman should never walk home alone, especially not one with your beauty.”
Heart skipping a beat, you internally curse at your nervousness partially calming at the sight of him. A stranger. A man who stared longingly at you from across the club, following in your shadows as you lead him to your residence. And somehow, you’re pleased to see him. Perhaps because he didn’t sport fangs, a massive collar, and a long cape that trailed behind him. Seeing him under the yellow hue of the street lights, only now can you see him perfectly. Nevertheless, you reply, “do you always follow women home?”
The stranger chuckles, and takes yet another step towards you. He is undeniably attractive with a jawline so prominent and a porcelain complexion. His eyes seem peculiarly dark, and then you notice it. An audible hitch in your breath is heard. The man eyes your attire, dragging his crimson irises from your forehead down to your heeled feet. “And what exactly are you supposed to be?”
Perhaps it’s the alcohol lingering somewhere in your system, but his accent sends heat directly where it shouldn’t. You peer up at him, angling your head to get the full visual. “Little red riding hood,” you all but choked. The man smirks down at your frame. “I saw you in the bar.”
“Did you, little one?”
“I think I’d recall,” you hum, somewhat trapped beneath him. You’re engulfed by his cologne, as if he could possibly be anymore enchanting. His maroon eyes still strike bewilderment in you. If he was in costume, did he stop at the contacts? Your curiosity gets the best of you. “And what are you supposed to be?”
“My name is Demetri, and you are?” Demetri brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against it. Only then do you notice how cool his touch is. The man is clad in a black dress shirt, along with black dress pants. On a warm European night like this one, you doubt he's running cold. Unfortunately, your desire gets the best of you.
“What cold hands you have.” You tease. “Maybe I can help with that.”
Demetri wastes no time in swiftly bringing you into a nearby alleyway. Your back is pressed against the hard wall, as he kisses along the skin of your neck, stopping at the ridge of your collarbone. Demetri audibly inhales, the action bringing chills along your exposed skin. Your heartbeat thumps gently against his cool lips and the man lingers for a moment longer. "You're intoxicating." He whispers. A strong hand grabs along your clothed waist, and Demetri's lips finally find your own. You moan into his mouth, arching your back to press your body into his. Your fingertips toy with the material of his dress shirt, fumbling teasingly with his belt before they explore underneath. The man hisses as your manicured nails scratch mindfully along his hardened abdomen. The man is strangely cold to the touch, but as his hand travels below your waist, grasping at the exposed skin where he's pushed up your skirt, any concern is washed away mindlessly.
Whilst pulling at the dirty-blonde hair on his skull, you watch Demetri skillfully unveil your bare breasts. A moan trips over your stained lips, and chilled fingertips toy at your hardened buds. "I wanted you from the moment I saw you across the crowded room." He admits. "Now you're writhing beneath me. You want me to touch you, darling?" His hand cups your warm cheek. The temperature difference makes you lean into his touch. You nod, and the man clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Tell me, or I will not go further."
"Please." But, it isn't enough. The man holds your waist and part of you feels he's holding your entire weight off the ground. Your knees have grown weak, and yet he hasn't touched you where it's truly aching. "Please, Demetri. Touch me."
A man of his word, Demetri expertly swipes a finger inside your underwear. His fingertip borders your entrance, and you watch as he smirks at the readiness of your sex. "So ready for me, I should just fuck you now." His vulgarity prompts your impatience, wanting to just force his fingers inside of you now. "How attached are you to this particular pair?" You wished your mind was clear enough to remember exactly which pair he was speaking of.
"I mean, why do you ask?" You ask flirtatiously.
"Because I am going to rip them off of you." Desire is imbedded in Demetri's eyes, and yet he's still searching for permission in yours.
"Could always buy me another pair."
The man chuckles, tugging at the soaked, lacy fabric and with seemingly no effort, it is audibly torn off of your body and discarded. You gasp, and Demetri catches it with his own mouth. His gentle digits sink into your entrance, collecting the moisture as he pumps in and out intentionally. Heat floods and flushes across your cheeks, and you bury your face into his chest. The euphoria is unlike any other. You wonder where he had been when you truly needed him. Your sex swallows his fingers generously, pulsating around him like a blood pressure monitor. Demetri brings his thumb to simultaneously toy with your swollen clit, prompting a moan to echo in the empty street. "You take my fingers so well, my love. I can't wait to have you around me." Your companion doesn't stop until your face pinches, that familiar warmth explodes in your abdomen. Your knees buckle, and you feel a strong arm bring you in closer to prevent you from collapsing. As your toes uncurl within your heels, you stand carefully. Weak, standing similarly to a newborn doe, you waste no time in grabbing at Demetri's belt. He stands tall before you, and watches as you loosen it. Seemingly amused, the permanent smirk on his face is wiped into pleasure. Your warm hand frees his length, stroking leisurely. Demetri growls as you unwrap your grip from his throbbing erection. Your knees hit the ground in record pace, and you carefully bring his member to your plump lips. "Gods." The man groans, thrusting subconsciously inside the warmth of your mouth. The street is rough on your bare skin, rocking back and forth with every forward push in your throat. The act is loud inside the alleyway. The clash of suction and his own grunts are pleasantly displayed from your position on the ground. As he stands above you, the throb tenses against your clit. He sounds heavenly. Had you known he tasted this delectable, you would've approached him much sooner. Demetri clears his throat. "As much as I would love to spread my seed down your throat, I would much prefer for it to be inside of you." The man brings you to face him again, his jaw visibly strained with pleasure.
Bringing him down to meet your lips, the kiss you share is far too domestic for strangers. You can't say the experience was expected, but part of you wishes it would never end. The attraction you feel towards him is intoxicating, and as he lifts your leg and positions himself at your entrance, you pray he lasts for hours.
Demetri's length slides into you with little struggle, prompting an immediate pulsation from your vaginal walls. He groans into the crevice of your neck and shoulder, placing his teeth gently along the exposed skin. Part of you wishes he would bite down, but he never does. Instead, he swallows your moans with his lips, thrusting into you with such precision you feel him entirely. The size of him seems almost made for you, as he fills and stretches your entrance expertly. "You take me so well, darling. Who knew a little human would be made for me?"
Little human? You're so drunk off of his length, each stroke leaves you thoughtless. "God, I can't even-"
Demetri hushes you, using his strength to rock your hips into his. His attention finds your nipples once again. This time, he brings his mouth down to suckle carefully. The new sensation brings goosebumps scattered along your chest, and your nipples harden against his tongue instantly. "Such a good girl for me." Your body reacts so well to his touch, melting with every gesture he makes. You feel somewhat like a puppet, with Demetri pulling all of your strings. Yet, the interaction is so rewarding. With him inside of you, his length seems to hit an overwhelmingly sweet spot each time. Your weight is once again supported completely and entirely by the man you met less than an hour ago. The hardness of his biceps only ignites the flame more aggressively.
He shudders faintly, and you feel his length twitch inside of you. "I will have you walking home with my cum dripping down your thighs, little one." You moan at the thought, embracing Demetri's strong frame as he finishes inside of your sex. The secretion slightly frozen inside of you, you hiss at it's attempt to seep out. The contrasting temperature from the warmth of your pussy is intriguing. It leaves you somewhat displeased, yearning for another round. Having him inside of you was so fulfilling, feeling him pull out prompted an audible groan of disapproval. To this, Demetri chuckled. As if he could read your mind, he assured you. "Soon enough, darling. We should get you home."
The entire walk home was a blur. Your sobered mind thought of Maria. Demetri pressed his lips against yours at the university gate, promising to see you again soon, and disappearing as soon as your back turned to face him. You wondered what Maria would say if she caught you in such a position. A man-- undoubtably inhuman, fucking you senseless against a residential building. A man, whose skin was frozen to the touch, kissing you passionately before your residential gates. It's almost comical, until you think of the murdered girl. His cool touch, and eyes uncannily crimson, could this be the creature you heard violent murmurs of? Surely, it could not be the same man that handled you so gently. Had he wanted to feast upon your flesh and blood, he would've done so much earlier on, right? The thought of him sinking his teeth into your neck was no longer as appealing, and it somewhat brought nerves to your stomach. Had you encountered the very folklore you protested the existence of?
As you nestled further into your sheets, your mind wandered to Demetri. Had you slept with the enemy?