you're too young & eager to love

Roman drabble! Circa the first week of feedings/donor sessions.

--



Roman enjoys watching her; her muscles pull, lean and taught, beneath her skin as she helps unpack the crates at the loading deck, and he gets that smug grin across his face that he struggles (poorly) to hide. It’s the same grin that decades ago would have meant: see her? That blonde over there? I fucked her last night. Stripped her naked and watched her take it all.

That old male bravado poking through. The words change, but the message is the same.

Fangs and cocks. Not much of a difference, really. Penetration all the same.

Roman gets all caught up in remembering – he runs his tongue across the sharp points of his teeth, feels a clench of ache in his gut, and grins again. He rubs the back of his hand across his mouth, scratches at the hair along his jaw. Lene keeps working, distant, refusing to acknowledge his presence, and that makes him all the more amused. His carelessness annoys her; she’s all business and serious, focused rage. It’s impressive. They’re both playing dangerous games, and he’s grateful that one of them understands the weight of their burden.

Maybe The Insurgence knew exactly what they were doing when they sent her.
Maybe Roman got lucky.

He’s positive that Lene doesn’t feel the same, that, if given the chance to glimpse it, her perspective would be one of distrust, bitterness, and frustration.

He can smell the last one on her. It’s mixed in with the scent of her blood and the desert and the terrible loneliness that the compound brings out in everyone. It’s exciting, and it’s been so long since anything excited him that he’s not quite sure what to do with the emotions tangled inside of his throat.

Lene pushes away her hair from her eyes, huffing hot night air, and the sweat catches in the moonlight across her collarbone. Their eyes meet for the quickest of moments and, despite how fleeting it is, Roman knows she’s glaring.

He sends her a wink – for good measure.