Eat, Drink, and Be Merry by AdmirableMonster  

Drink

for the visual prompt "dante and virgil in hell" and the prompt "mantle - moonbeams - quavering - fate"

The white moonbeams make white bars across the floor of the old, high-vaulted bed-chamber.  Tar-Mairon’s hair mantles like liquid flame across his Mouth’s shoulder, while his own mouth presses against his servant’s throat, begging for entry, face hidden.

“My l-l-lord, please,” whispers Nimruzimir, begging in a quavering voice.  A body must have sustenance, even one almost entirely maintained by magic.  

“With—your—permission.”  Mairon’s voice is shaking as well.  One hand is splayed between Nimruzimir’s legs, close but not quite touching.  Nimruzimir’s cunt throbs.

“You have it.”

The sharp teeth, invisible from the merciless moonlight, bite down.  Blood flows.  Nimruzimir cries out, liquid warmth blossoming between his legs, pain and pleasure mixing.  His hips arch; his master’s hand slides along his mound.

(They say the Fates of Men are dictated by the Lady in White; he wonders if she watches her prophet now.  If she pleasures herself to the watching.)