A romantic and explicit "slash" novel about vampire Barnabas Collins and his lover and servant, Willie Loomis
Slash is a form of fanfiction erotica which is usually male/male, and usually written by and for women. It's a playful form of romantic and explicit sexual expression that gets around the stale tropes of m/f and f/f erotica. It is also spectacularly erotic for some women, myself included. Step outside your usual boundaries for a moment, and try on Barnabas and Willie's uniquely profound, emotionally and sexually satisfying romance and intimacy. They've already taken this writer for one hell of a ride.
EXCERPT : Chapter 44 ~ I knew
Their eyes were so close. The murder of a murderess, Barnabas titled the moment for Willie's last memory of her, living, so soon to slip from behind her eyes.
Death is more intimate than life, Willie whispered to Barnabas inside, opening to him fully, thrilled as his Barnabas answered with the full rush of his own exquisite pleasure, joining with his Willie, now spiraling deeper into her together.
His intimacy was with Barnabas, and she meant only life to him now, a receptacle of soft flesh, stiffening as Willie pulled her back, his breath deeply pressured, his eyelids drooping with intense arousal. He rolled her head away, opening his mouth very near to her, tasting the air closest to her skin as she arched backwards in his tight grasp, as he pressed his long tongue flat and firm on her skin, like another hand holding her as he arranged her body, then selected the place of his teeth upon it.
Like a plunge into warm seas, he felt that he was riding a container, a ship roiling on a storm of passion, breaking open to the ocean which flowed out instead of in, feeling her breaking apart as he sent her down, empty into the unknown depths of the cold and dark beyond.
Death. He sucked the life from her. It swirled in him, spinning ever outward as a tiny current that would taste like her, forever.
Barnabas had broken his silence, groaning as he fell forward, grasping the large chair before him to steady his trembling hands. His hair moist and heavy was falling into his eyes as he kept his gaze upward, watching. He felt it beginning in a place deep within him, a vampire orgasm that surged slowly, opening wider, then ever more widely in him as he watched his lover open her, his teeth as the organ of penetration, her skin the organ of acceptance, an exchange of bodily fluids pumped into his mouth by her heart, gushing as he was sucking at her, making the guttural sounds of primal need and gratification.
She was in him, and she was gone.
Willie could see Barnabas now, looking back at him, at his Willie still standing with her hair in his hand, then his grasp slightly loosening as he dropped her onto the carpet.
Willie was listening. He was listening to her world, but without her in it.
"My love," Willie spoke at last, and heard it in his deeper voice, felt it in his looser throat, plainly revealed as he formed the words—the profound relaxation of knowing his place in the world.
"I knew, my love. I knew what to do with her."