“I believe it’s traditional for a man to carry his new bride over the threshold.”
“I’m not your bride,” Jon spits, and reaches up to his throat to rip away the silk tie that has been choking him all night. Buttons clatter to the ground around his feet as he shreds the top of his shirt, until it hangs in tatters around his collarbone and he can finally, finally breathe again. He steps forward into the bedroom before Elias gets any funny ideas about picking him up.
“No need to be so eager.” Elias doesn’t sound nearly as upset about the shirt as Jon hoped he’d be, and he can feel his gaze on his back. Jon can always feel Elias’ gaze. It burns like the iron ring on his finger.
The wedding was long. So many rituals and eyes on them, and Jon had been hot in his jacket and uncomfortable in his shoes. And the whole time, at every turn, Elias had had his hands on him. A firm guiding touch on the elbow or at the curve of his back, grasping him by the wrist or pulling his face in closer. A little reminder that he couldn’t escape. A little reminder of who owned him. By the end of the evening, Jon was dizzy with thinking about Elias. He consumed his every thought, wondering where he was or what he was going to do or what he would want next. He had stolen his skin and now he stole his mind. But when they’d finally kissed at the altar, Elias had pulled back too quickly. A chaste peck, too short to register, too short to even try and bite back.
Elias turns around from carefully arranging his suit jacket on a hanger and fixes Jon with a smile. “Has anyone told you it’s impolite to stare?”
Anger flushes red through Jon’s cheeks. “Has anyone told you?”
“You’re a human now, Jon.” Elias puts away his jacket and flicks away a speck of lint Jon can’t even see. “Use your words.”
Jon growls and shifts his weight, clenching and unclenching his fists. He can’t tear his eyes away from Elias. He wants to win back ground. He wants to assert himself. He wants to gouge proof of his strength out of Elias’ smug expression.
“I want to taste you.”
Elias cocks his head and catches the tip of his tongue curiously between his teeth. “Go on.”
“I want to bite out your tongue and make you beg for mercy through the bubbling blood in your throat.” Elias takes a step towards him and Jon does not look away. “I want to sink my claws into the fat of your stomach and feel the heat inside you as it ebbs away. And I want to look you in the eyes when I do it.”
Elias steps forward again, and again, until Jon is crowded back against the wall of his bedroom panting with want. The flowers braided into his hair make a soft sound as they crumple. A thin trail of saliva slips from the corner of Jon’s mouth and he lets his tongue loll out over his teeth. Elias smells like the church and like sweat and like everything that has been dancing tantalizingly in and out of reach all evening and Jon wants.
“That’s not all, is it?” Elias presses a thigh up between Jon’s legs too hard and Jon whines, surprised by how much he wants to grind back against it.
“N-no. No.” Jon reaches out and grabs Elias’ shoulders, bunching his shirt in his fists. “I…I want to watch you drown. I’ve done it before. Drowned people. I want to see you thrashing beneath me. I want to see the moment you realize I won’t save you.”
Elias is smiling and Jon wants to see him shattered. Wants to break his damnable composure. He tightens his grip on Elias’ shirt and pulls him in closer so that he can lick a long, slow line up the side of his neck.
“I want to sink my teeth into the beating pulse of your throat and swallow.” Jon can feel his own breath bouncing back off the curve of Elias’ neck. He opens his mouth wide, razor sharp teeth inches from closing down. Jon almost lets himself imagine how sweet it would be before the compulsion freezes his muscles and he is pulled back by invisible strings.
“Oh, Jon,” says Elias. He puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder and presses him back against the wall. “Such delusions of grandeur.”
Jon swallows his spit and tries desperately to push forward again, but Elias is too strong. He forces Jon flat against the wall, thigh working his legs open wider as his other hand gently cups Jon’s throat.
“I wonder.” Elias brings his other hand to meet his first and presses down on Jon’s windpipe tight enough to leave Jon lightheaded. “Are you still enough of an animal that you recognize a collar?”
Elias leans in closer, increasing the pressure on Jon’s throat, and kisses him hungrily. Jon’s chest flutters, desperate for air. His hands scrabble weakly at Elias’ shirt. His vision narrows until his world is nothing but Elias, nothing but Elias’ taste in his mouth and hands around his throat and heat pressing into his skin.
He is drowning, and Elias will not save him.