I fed him my blood to save him

I was aware of what wasn't being said: Caleb wasn't asking to drink my blood, even though it could save him. In fact, he'd never drank from me before, ever. Maybe he just preferred to feed elsewhere instead of using me as a common vessel, as though it were beneath me to become his meal—sort of how like, if you were dating someone, you wouldn't expect to eat dinner at their house every night, because it's rude to impose yourself onto others' lives so much... or maybe he didn't want to objectify me? Like feeding from me was demeaning? Did he think I'd be offended by his hunger towards my body, as if I didn't understand what sex meant; as if I was naïve and innocent (even though I wasn't)? Or perhaps he simply liked doing it somewhere else and having control over where he fed, rather than relying solely on my blood as a means of survival... 

I was never sure if he wanted to save it for until we were deeper in our relationship; like maybe to him, the idea of drinking my blood was too intimate. I'd heard that when it happens, it feels like someone else taking control of your body—like giving yourself willingly to another person, it changes your relationship forever. Was it that he didn't think we were ready?

But right now, this wasn't about how a vampire should date a human: he was wounded, and needed blood, bad, and I was the only one he could trust—yet still he wouldn't ask. As I looked up into his eyes, I saw guilt and regret written plainly upon his face; he looked ashamed as if he regretted making me worry. I also saw restraint as he forced himself to keep quiet; he kept his mouth shut while his thoughts roiled within, trying desperately to formulate a plan. His jaw tightened as if he fought against saying certain words; his nostrils flared as if he struggled to breathe normally. This whole time he remained silent as if he didn't trust himself to speak.

So I offered myself to him. "Caleb... drink from me," I said softly, like begging him silently (because I couldn't bear to see him die). It felt forbidden somehow; like I shouldn't offer myself to him, but I didn't care anymore; I was tired of waiting, scared of losing him, and terrified that he might die; I hated thinking he'd gone through hell alone. So I whispered to him, "Please... please let me help you."

His eyes widened slightly as if surprised I'd given permission; then he smiled weakly as if relieved I hadn't rejected him outright; like I gave him hope; like he finally found courage. He closed his eyes momentarily as if gathering strength for whatever he planned next; like he was struggling against the urge to attack me (which was a little scary, but I yielded to him trustingly, opening up my posture so I was more... accessible).

First, he spoke: "Ashley... thank you for trusting me, for believing in me." Then he kissed me deeply as if sealing our agreement. I surrendered to his kiss, feeling every detail: his lips were two soft, cold pillows pressed gently against mine, and their temperature made my skin tingle; the sensation reminded me of snowflakes falling upon my mouth. As he pressed into me, I felt his teeth, prominent with two front fangs protruding slightly; their tips touched lightly against my bottom lip as if testing its resistance. I felt them press harder, but not enough to break through; it wasn't painful, only curious (and somewhat arousing). When I opened my mouth slightly, allowing them access, he sucked my lower lip between his teeth as if he tasted my soul like food, and he savored me as if I were sustenance; I felt the sensation of his icy tongue sliding across it; it tickled unexpectedly, causing me to laugh nervously (I loved it). I stroked his cold cheek affectionately as he held me close, kissing me tenderly.