Under a Desert Sky - A continuation CW: light vore, heavy bloodplay

[revolvings]

Michael: [Is it possible to die from feeling too much, from loving someone this much? It feels like his heart and lungs are going to explode right out of his chest, it's hard to breathe and he swears if Max stops touching him, he'll cease to exist. Michael has always felt too much; ruled by emotions and feelings that made him reactive and volatile. It was something he always considered a weakness. As a child it meant being angry a lot and not having control over his abilities which only made things worse for him. It meant a lot of fights and pain being kept out of things because people were afraid of how he would react. It meant a lot of heartache. It doesn't feel like a weakness now in this moment. It means his capacity for love knows no bounds. It means when he hears Max try to explain how he feels, it's like the echoes from his very own soul.

He needs Max to know there is nothing depraved or horrid about him. He is all that is good and worthy in Michael's life, in this whole fucking universe and he can take whatever he wants, it's all his.

You think that will make me run? You'll have to try a lot harder than that. I'm yours. Every single part of me. And you're mine. I want to devour you. I want to taste every inch of you and crawl inside your fucking chest cavity where a piece of me lives already, keeping your heart going. Don't ever forget that. There is nothing depraved or horrid about you, Max. Nothing you say is going to make me run because I feel everything you feel. Fuck, just the thought you tasting me like that, of you letting me do the same. Max...

He's cut off by lips and teeth on his neck and hands under his shirt, running over his skin and he can't think about anything other than more] I love when you mark me. Harder, baby. Mark me like you mean it, like the whole world needs to know who I belong to. Take what you need. [His hand is at the back of Max's head, fingers tangled in his hair as he pulls Max closer, twisting on the blanket to try to get a better angle.]

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[revolvings]

From here, Continued cause I didn't want to deal with CW stuff.
[Maybe he should care about the food, or the gorgeous sunset they were missing, but there'd be time for that later, at least time to revel in the beauty of the desert. Sunsets came around every night, and while they might not get to see them from a picnic blanket, they didn't get to have a first night being this intimate again.

It was one of those seconds, those singular episodes in life where Max knew he'd hiked up knickers and forged through another raging river and found life on the other side. Life abundance in an accord he never dreamed there would be. It felt like he was drowning in it, there was so much-- did he ever really make it out of the river or had he fallen back and been swept away in the dastardly current.

It was a wonderfully wicked feeling, knowing the deadly assault he was capable, knowing the evil passion that lay inside his body and how grotesque it was in its beauty, its desire to possess that which Max loved so very desperately. Fuck. He couldn't tear himself from the tiny spot where he'd opened up Michael, sucking so deeply at the gap in his lover's flesh.

Was it wrong to want to crawl inside and lick around someone's stomach, to hold their heart in his hands? That's what Max felt like doing with Michael as he lay there clinging to his lover. What lines had they crossed. What insanity had possessed their bodies, the poisonous passion of their love. It was so intense, so insane that Max knew he would die in that second without having more.

I'd let you do anything to me, crawl inside me my love, take every part of me and make it yours, rip me to shreds until you've feasted on every bit of my essence and then build me again. Come on me, urinate on me. I want it all. I really need you, I need every single bit of you. I'd drink from you until you were dry, gain nutrition from your blood if I could. Fuck. I wish that I'd begged to be turned back then.

You want more, I'll take it, but be careful of what you wish for...

There's strength in Max's arms, strength from years of working out under the hot sun, keeping fit for the life of a Sheriff that had to do anything that Roswell might ask of him, and so as Michael holds him there, his fingers raise and rip through the shirt that his lover wears. He takes it from Michael's body and drops his head to take another bite of Michael, this one at a better angle on his shoulder and he doesn't release at just blood, he continues, pulling at the skin, the flesh, biting through until he's taking a piece into his mouth, leaving Michael freely bleeding.

There had to have been pain, a sharp yanking and the ripping and rending as Michael worked to tear through the skin and small bit of muscle. He didn't take a ton, but enough to dimple the skin, enough to leave a scar.

A small piece of his beloved rests on his tongue. It's tangy and tough. Max rolls it around and then swallows, closing his eyes with the sacred knowledge that no one, no one ever has done this or will ever do this to the other again. Only Max has taken Michael's body, and only he will ever again. Fuck. His whole body quivers in how disturbing and yet holy that knowledge is.

Max pants, feeling a raging hardness against his stomach. It's terrible in its burden, and in the reason for it. He's feeling hateful of what he's done, but also turned on in ways he never knew. He loves this man so much he couldn't stop himself from taking more. He goes back to the wound and licks at it, sucks at the blood, there's so much blood. ]

Fuck. I need to put something here, but I want you, I want to roll around in this, and cover my cock in it, Michael. I want to fuck you with it. I can feel the heat of need from this.

[His heart pounds and strains in his rib cage, and he brings Michael's fingers up to it, not even realizing that one look at him is probably repulsive as blood drips from his lips and down his chin, ringing his face like a macabre vampire movie. ]