#{ angels would damn themselves for me | gabriel châtillon }

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😙 (lucian to gabriel)

touch-starved meme | o p e n

Gabriel melts like butter against a hot knife the moment he feels Lucian’s mouth find the sensitive place between his neck and collarbones before working his way lower, lower. Though with most he’s loath to give up control, and certainly this quickly, this easily, he’s truly never stood a chance against Lucian - his gaze, his sweet nothings, his terrible, terrible mouth. Tilting his head back now, baring his neck - s u b m i t t i n g, though he’d never let himself think it for even a moment - his eyes turn black, roll back in his head as his fangs rush into his lower lip before he can stop them. 

Reclining further into the grass, riding the high of satiated bloodlust, he remembers afternoons of his youth spent in this very garden, quietly on fire with desire and employing the finest education Europe had to offer in service of poetry transcribing his most juvenile aching, earnest longing for Lucian. Far older than him then, cold and pale and lovely as David, he’d grown infatuated quickly, had spent the time with his tutors slipping into quiet daydreams and burning from within. Strange now to think that once he’d been a scholar, a writer; stranger still that once he’d lived in the sun, dreamed only of light and love returned. That was before the fall - the palace’s, and his own, and for a moment he is overtaken by the memory of screams, fire, ruin. 

No matter now what has past, he thinks, drags himself back to the surface as though he had been drowning and lets a strangled gasp escape his lips. This is now, and they’ve all eternity to forget. 

{ @diablarot }

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“say you love me, and only me.” (lucian)

dark/obsessive meme | o p e n

Gabriel can’t help the gasp that escapes him at Lucian’s words, nor the hot knife that twists deep in his stomach when he meets his dark gaze and recognizes what burns in it as bloodlust. He knows this look well, has seen it countless times over the centuries; it’s the one he wears just before a kill, though Gabriel has never before had the pleasure of finding himself it’s object, his prey. Fear and lust mingle within him until they become indistinguishable, twin expressions of a singular feeling synthesizing into one terrible, black desire. This, he knows, is all he’s ever wanted, has spent his death seeking nothing more or less than to be possessed entirely, to be owned. 

Crawling now across their hotel room’s bloody thousand thread count sheets, he pins the elder vampire’s wrists above his head before answering, makes a show of dragging his fangs along the other’s skin first and chasing the blood that rises to the surface with his tongue, is sure to take his time. Finally, he pulls away, kisses him so that he can taste his own blood on Gabriel’s tongue, dark as it is with centuries, with death, before he pulls back, returns a predatory gaze all his own.

“I love you,” he whispers, baring his fangs as his eyes turn black enough to swallow the light, “and only you.”

{ @diablatm }

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