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Your lips pressed to your palm, covering the disgusted expression as you stared at the body to your feet. It made your stomach churn, recalling how everything was so pristine and so orchestrated in what felt like literal moments before. Most of all, the slumped corpse had been moving, even laughing. The aroma of an expensive cigar started to flume throughout the room, engulfing the senses as it mixed with the copper from the freshly spilled blood streaking along the floor.
He had been looking at you, watching you stomach the nature you had witnessed blossom times before, lowering your hand with a final swallow. You looked to the counter where a few cleaning supplies had been set before he had closed in before everything had come crashing in a flurry of utter bloodlust, needing to pull away from it.
“It wasn’t enough.”
You glared, seeing him stare with a lifeless expression at the man before him. It was hard to believe that something so primal couldn’t be enough, rather the one that he had on him. You didn’t take the same enjoyment, of course. You were more in it for the utter emotion that reflected through him than anything else, energy exerted during the act would often translate into something more of your language afterwards. It was a morbid trade, half driven by lust and half by something unspeakably further from the strand of humanity you often swung from, but it was a trade-off you could exist within.
“Will this ever be enough?” You dared to ask, but he only gave you an offended sneer and turned away from you. Making your way to the counter, you began to work on taking care of things. This guy really has a white apartment and acts like this, you concurred with an exhausted glance around the room.
When the cadaver was out of sight, you sat in silence on the other end of the sofa with him. You didn’t look at him nor try to make things better in the moment. You had done enough just by being present and not calling the cops.
A prick in your abdomen made you shift to cross one leg over the other. “Now what is it?” He asked in an irritated snap, as though the mere idea that you were uncomfortable was enough to set him off once more. You felt dull pain start to settle, something that crawled from your lower stomach to take over the rest of your body, the thud of an oncoming seize of your inner muscle making you nearly blurt it out, “Just some abdominal pain.” You hoped that explanation was enough for him, or even that he’d have the response you were used to at the mere hint of mentioning that you cramping and change the subject to anything he could think of.
Instead, he looked down at your lap. Before you could give him an indignant noise or another dull glower, he stopped averting his entire frame from your direction. Meeting his stare that now turned to you in a thoughtful mull, you noticed how intense the glower had returned, as if he were looking to strike in the wake of this revelation, dig his claws into the situation he was imagining somewhere behind those deep brown eyes.
A hand secured around your thigh, a quiet threat rather than any kind of typical seduction. “You are the only person who has even come close to stomaching my desires, [Y/N].” He muttered, and although it was the sort of tone that just couldn’t be recognized as admiration, you still drew in close as you replied, “For fuck’s sake. Your sheets are white, Patrick. I…” His expression was jagged as his eyes went back down to your body, trailing over your legs in an almost hungry fashion.
Like that’s stopped anything before, you then figured, securing his jawline with your stare.
The next movements were just as surreal, just as quick and fleeting in your memory as the murder itself. Him imposing on you as the two of you stood from the couch, bodies lined up but not colliding in any manner. It was more like a complicated slide, him trying to engulf you with his form while you evaded it long enough to lead the two of you in the direction of his quarters in the back of the penthouse.
Your abdomen was tight, cramping once more when he pushed you onto the bed, back bending over the foot of it while he was throwing his splattered blazer to the side and loosening his tie. You hoisted your hips up onto the mattress and did the same, tugging on your waistband to have it fall to your ankles, and he appreciated the quickness.
This was no foreign nighttime activity for either of you, especially when things got unwieldly. He wasted no time sliding between your hips, abrasively tugging one of your legs over one of his haunches, the sound of his belt buckle the only thing over the huffs, expression steadfast and zeroed in on what you had exposed to him, stony in the sense that he was looking for the means that he hadn’t reached with anything else tonight. This had to be it, or he'd lose his grip even further.
You felt the viscera start to smear against his abdomen, and the way his breath hitched made it all the more slippery for both of you. A hand fell onto your cunt, then quickly started sliding up your entrance and over your stomach. He was treating you like a writhing canvas, something more admirable than what he often did to the people you hosted with him. The same “care” (if you could even call it that) was present, like he thought every movement out before doing it. When you moved too much for his liking, a fierce grip that would leave marks over your sides fastened you to the mattress.
You didn’t see his eyes on your chest, cascading along your stomach. They had lidded, fallen down to your hips and cunt. The gears turned faster in his head than yours, and before you could rut against him one more time his hand guided your leg to hook around as he suddenly dropped to one knee in a whisper of the sheets against his slacks, and his tongue was on your slit before you could react.
A thin noise agonized from your throat, half from shock and half from the euphoria that rushed from a needed pressure to soothe the aches. Your ankle slid up his arm, settling on his shoulder for a moment as he continued to hold you still, involuntary shaking making everything harder to contain, harder to keep trained with your pussy to his mouth.
It only made things messier, and you didn’t even care any more as your eyes rolled, and you felt the sharp nip of his teeth on your entrance as your throat grew dry from all the air coming in and out of your mouth. No one had ever thought to treat you in this way when you were on your period, but if it wasn’t seeping warmth to your hurting walls, making you forget what came with it, you could almost die like this.
"Quiet." The demand when he came up for air only made you weaker to whatever he wanted to do.