Waking before sunset never gets easier, but the way you bear hug around the boy in your bed makes it better. Your face is pressed against the back of his neck, and you can smell the steady pulse of his blood. Misha is lying on his side next to you, curled into a ball like always. He looks angelic, dark curls perfectly framing his face. The craving wakes, too, stinging through your blood, and it would be so easy to wake your teddy bear with a quick nibble. But it was Morgan you promised a bite to before she goes to take her test.
The bed's empty on her side. You sit up just enough to look around. Through bleary eyes you see the screen saver on the TV proclaims it shortly after five o'clock. Just as you're opening your mouth to call her, Morgan is walking through the door.
"There you are," she says, pulling her coppery curls into a pony. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."
"Never," you say, carefully releasing Misha so you can sit up.
She's already showered and thrown her jeans on, but her top half is only covered by a lacy pink bra you've never seen before. The white swan on its chain rests on her chest just at the swell of her cleavage, perfectly framed. Your craving is stoked by the sight of her, and she knows it, too, if the smug smile is anything to go by.
"Like my bra, sir?" She runs her fingers over the shoulder straps.
"It's new," you say, stretching your arms above your head. "I like your skin in pink."
"I bet you do," she purrs, coming closer to the bed.
Her fingers wander from shoulders up to her neck, tracing the artery. Your mouth falls open as your eyes track the motion.
You tear your gaze up to her face. "You're naughty."
"You love it."
She drops onto your lap, throwing her arms around your neck, and tilting her head to the side. Your hands automatically slide up her skin, one rising to curl around her head, the other skimming across her chest to stroke her through the lace.
"Hmmm," she hums as her nipples pebble beneath your fingers. "I'll be late if you keep doing that."
"Wouldn't that be tragic?" You say, tightening your hand in the back of her hair.
Without further ado you yank her close and slot your mouth over your mark already on her neck. You lick the scar once, twice, just teasing a little before you sink your teeth in. She gasps as her blood fills your mouth. Electricity runs through your body, the craving singing out in your veins as you sate your blood lust. It quickly becomes a very different lust as your cock fills with the blood you've just taken from her. Not that you take much, just enough to take the edge off before you're lapping at the stream to stem the tide.
"Gods," she huffs. Her eyes have fluttered closed.
You raise your hand to your mouth and nip at your finger tip. "Here."
She slants her eyes open enough to see what you want, then leans in to suckle at the drop of blood welling on the pad of your finger. The tiny hole only stays open for a few seconds but the few drops she sucks out are enough to erase the open wound at her neck. The oval scar in the shape of your teeth is permanent, of course.
"Teddy bear'll have to handle this," she says, grinding down on your cock before sliding off your lap. "Not that I wouldn't love to."
"We'll play later," you promise. "Pass this test and you get to wear the new cuffs."
Her eyes somehow light up in delight, but darken in promise at the same time. "I'll do my very best."
"You always do," you say with a grin.
"Well, I'm off," she says, serving you a cheeky salute.
"Morgan, love," you say as she turns to leave.
"Yes, sir?" she asks, turning back to face you.
"You're still tits out." Your eyes travel pointedly down her chest.
Laughing, she looks down at herself. "I guess I'll throw a shirt on. Can't scandalize the mortals."
It's your turn to shake your head as she heads to the closet and rummages around. She settles on one of your sleeping shirts, old and worn thin in places. You fully expect it to look ridiculous on her, but before you can say anything she's pulled it artfully off one shoulder and tucked the bottom of the opposite side inside her jeans. It's an effortless effect that somehow makes her look more scandalizing than if she'd gone in her bra, which you can just barely see the pink of through the fabric.
She blows you a kiss as she sails out the door, snatching up her backpack on the way.
Now that you've fed, you're ready to fuck. They say the immortals sleep like the dead, but Misha hasn't stirred at all since Morgan came in the room. Smiling, you rake your eyes over his body. You insist all of your swans keep in basic shape, and your boy is no exception. He's slim and toned, but not too muscled. You reach out to run one finger down his neck.
"Misha," you say.
He stirs but doesn't wake. You grin, tickling his neck again.
"Misha, my mishka." You laugh softly as he twitches at your touch. "Wake up, Meesh."
"Mmmm?" He flops on his back, blinking up at you. The metal cage around his cock and the white swan at his neck are visible now, both marks of your protection. "Sir?"
"That's right," you say. "Wake up for me."
"What time is it?" He asks, stretching.
"Time for you to put your pretty mouth on me," you say.
He smiles. "Of course, sir."
You lay back down and toss the blanket back, showing him your already lengthening cock. He scoots down the bed, reaching out to stroke it to full size.
"So hard already," Misha says. "You've fed?"
"Morgan," you confirm, reaching out to push his head down. "No more talking."
He opens his mouth as you put him where you want him, and you can't help the satisfied sigh you make as he takes you down. Your dick is long and straight, difficult to take all the way from this angle, and he gags as you push him deep. He doesn't fight it, knows you love the sound.
"Gods," you sigh. "You're always so warm inside, mishka."
He hums around you, the vibration curling your toes. You love it, but just because you can you want to hear him choke again and push him down hard. His fingers clench in the sheets as he recovers.
"Come on, Meesh," you say. "I wanna hear you gag on it."
You take control and he stops trying to blow you, and starts getting face fucked. Your grip tightens in his hair, forcing his head up and down at just the speed you want it. True to your instruction he lets out any noise his throat makes.
"So good, Meesh," you tell him. "Love fuckin' your face."
He can't reply, can't even hum his thanks through the harsh sounds you're fucking out of him, but you don't need him to. Misha is a good boy, and you know he loves it. It won't take long, coming so close after feeding never takes very long, and you want to have your fun first.
Slowly you draw him all the way off until the tip is barely brushing his shiny, swollen lips. Desperately he laps at it, trying to get it back inside, but you don't let him.
His gray eyes lock on your own. "Please sir!"
"You want it, Misha?" You ask, arching a brow.
"Yes, yes sir!" He begs so pretty, even though his voice is roughened. "I want it, please!"
"Hmmm," you say, like you're considering. "If you want it so bad, you'll take it all, right?"
"I will!" He nods, frantic. "I'll take it all down, I promise."
"Brace yourself," is all the warning he gets before you slam him back down.
You force him to take it all, holding his head tight against your groin as his throat clenches and spasms.
"Yeaaaaah, that's it," you say. "Good boy, keep it down."
His face is flushed dark before you let him pull back. He has to come up to cough phlegm from deep in his throat. After a bit you decide enough is enough.
"I'm not done with you," you say, grabbing his head again. "You said you wanted it all, so you get it all."
This time you don't hold him, but bring him up just an inch or two to slam him back down, fucking the opening of his throat for real. He can't breathe all the while, you've never pulled back enough to allow it.
You snap, "Hands behind your back!"
There's no real reason for it, he hasn't been trying to stop you, but you just want to see him comply. And he does, clasping his wrists together in the small of his back, still choking and gurgling.
"Good boy," you tell him. "Hands back while I fuck your face like a cunt."
He blushes, not just from lack of oxygen, the red traveling down his chest.
"Look at me," you demand.
Misha's teary eyes meet yours, which are fully black by now.
"I'm gonna come soon," you tell him. "You're gonna keep me in your mouth when I'm done. I don't want my cock getting cold before I get out of bed."
There's no way for him to acknowledge your orders, can't speak and can't nod, but you know he'll be good for you. He always is. You bring him all the way back down as you come, spilling straight down his throat. You grind against him, making sure he gets every last drop.
"There," you sigh, releasing his hair. "You can breathe now."
On shaky arms, he pushes himself up just enough to bring air down his throat, but, you proudly notice, he never drops your cock from his mouth.
"Let's watch some DIY." You grope on the nightstand for the remote. "And then I know a very good boy who's getting his ass licked in the shower."