Bleeding Stones [LaPieta x Mathim]

[LaPieta]

The party was more a presence to be felt than experienced, for Lena: an ocean one submerged themselves without partaking. To partake would be to drown.

Something resembling music pulsed blood-quickening and bassy through a house that could not have fathomed so much noise and so many bodies brought to bear. It had likely been a dainty thing, once: a lacy Queen Anne manor whose edifice would serve better for a dollhouse than an actual living space. Time had done away with that, graying and damping and warping the wood until the house sagged, bowed with the burden. Some facets of the interior remained stately, however: richly paneled and high-ceilinged, trimmed and festooned with delicate little bits of filigree or floral patterning ever-suited for delicate luncheons and commiserating over tea.

And for some reason, a group of grown, job-having adults, had decided that the most entertaining thing to do on Halloween night was to rent a long-abandoned estate from some absentee property mogul and drink heavily within. And she was among them, sans excessive inebriation. Now, the last remnant of the house’s dignity were under siege, scrollwork wallpaper already peeling and yellowed with age rendered subject to the indignity of drunken party-goers writhing against it and each other.

The woman stood apart from much of the throng, standing perhaps a bit too tall, chin held a touch too high. Dressed in a gown once used for funerals, she was rather more covered than most of the crowd, fake blood anointing her lips and dripping down her neck, where two red dots lay. Red threaded through much of the outfit: a jeweled choker and capelet who only vaguely alluded to their costume-shop origins, the sheaf of auburn hair loosely coiled over one shoulder, and a pair of opera gloves.

She had not expected the crowd to skew quite this rowdy: a brother of a colleague had invited her, and she had assumed the event would be more like the subdued bull sessions she and her fellow professors would vent their workplace woes at, and had. It was not, and thus far no one she had encountered seemed to be here for much in the way of discussion. An undercurrent of desperation seemed to run through the crowd, she felt, a dire need to subsume themselves in a substance, each other, or both. Their reasons were their own, each unique and individual, but it did not make for the sort of gathering she thrived at.

Rain began to patter dully against the gables. Lena clung to the sound, finding comfort in the soft constancy. Midnight would be upon them, soon, and she would likely take her leave shortly after.

 

[Mathim]

Halloween was a night to be cherished by denizens of the night. Lucius absolutely reveled in the celebration of nothing in particular, humanity simply naming it the occasion for those that did not belong in this world to come out to play, and oh, did he ever. Walking amongst them like a swaggering lothario, he charmed and excited the ladies without even the need for a glamouring gaze. Oh, but there was only so much pleasure to be derived from his one body in one evening. Though the flirting was fun, he still thirsted, and after hitting the dance floor at a club, he'd found just the right target. Her scent, hinting at a rare blood type, was just what he was looking for. Though he did look to be more mature, a late 30's at least compared to this mid-20's college student, she was receptive to his moves in the rhythm of the music that made it a bit too loud to converse, but his facial expression and body language enticed her to get closer, and closer until their hands met, he gave her a twirl, and was able to speak directly into her ear; "Shall we go somewhere a little quieter?"

Practically skipping all the way out of the place, her wearing a somewhat olde-timey maiden's attire as her costume, it was rather fitting given his own age. He was above the dressing up bit for Halloween himself, but his style was a little out of the ordinary, at least for that night, and he looked somewhat reminiscent of a punk rocker from decades past. Hand in hand, she seemed not to question his choice, though there was a bar in the direction they were walking and it was the most likely destination. There were far too many people out and about to be worried about him pulling anything. "I can't tell you how much I need a drink." she laughed, now holding onto his arm with both of hers, a wicked smile curled on his handsome face. "I couldn't agree more, love." he whispered into her ear, something he enjoyed doing, and slipping in an entendre she wouldn't have understood.

The bar was crowded but less rowdy than the club. "I love your accent, by the way." she giggled. "Can you order us drinks while I use the ladies'?" she asked, parting company with his arm, though rubbing it sensually as she did so. "What are you drinking?" he asked her, to which she replied, "Surprise me!"

He rather liked her and was sad that this was the furthest it would go for the evening at this rate. He was unable to imbibe human food or drink and so having her drink alone would come off as suspect. She wasn't immediately in the mood to screw just as it was, and now was going into the restroom, a dead end. Well, best make his move now or forever hold his regret.

Stealing away down the corridor leading to the latrines, he was fortunate that only she occupied the ladies' room at that moment, and used his rapid movement to deftly enter without the door making a hint of sound. He found himself behind her as she washed her hands, invisible in the mirror as he stood at her back, her none the wiser that she wasn't alone. He whirled her around as soon as she was finished, and covered her mouth before she could make a peep. Her eyes went wide and then her pupils dilated ever so slightly as she met his gaze. Now for the glamour.

"Just relax. This is what you wanted. A naughty little rendezvous in the potty." he chuckled a little at the rhyme, corny as it may have been. "You wanted to meet a real vampire on Halloween, and now that you've found one, this is a dream come true. But that's all it can ever be, a sweet, sexy little dream. You won't remember any of this when it's over. Just that you had a jolly good evening, and wish it would happen again next year." he programmed what command he wished to give her, as he always did with victims.

He wasn't going to kill her, not in a public space like that, at least, and not in such a blatantly obvious way that would point to someone imitating a vampire. The fact that she would have so much of her blood drained would certainly raise questions as to whether it actually was a vampire as well, so he was always careful to dispose of a body in those cases. For now, it was enough to simply take a meager donation from her. As her body went slack and a look of euphoria took over her face, her eyes glazed over, and he sank his fangs between her neck and shoulder blades. A few healthy sucks and he managed to pull himself away without going overboard. He scrubbed the excess blood from the wound and then licked at the two punctures, which miraculously closed them both without leaving a scar.

"There's a good lass. Best call yourself a ride home now, you've had a little too much to drink, that's why you're wobbly, nothing at all to do with a sudden loss of blood." he patted her cheek patronizingly as she was still under the glamour. He closed his eyes and kissed her forehead. "Wish we could have gotten to know each other better, but that's life." he sighed, moving her into a stall and sitting her on a toilet, still dazed from her experience.

He departed the bar quickly, no one seeming to notice, and ducked into an alley. It was almost time for Halloween to be over, and people to call it a night, so there was little else for him to look forward to. Perhaps another victim? He wasn't completely full but enough that he didn't hunger. There wasn't a great deal to do after midnight and so few people out, especially when it wasn't a night like Halloween, that it was hardly worth staying up for sometimes. If only something truly new and exciting would happen.

 

[LaPieta]

Yes, she had stayed for long enough, Lena felt. The dental wax that held her fake fangs in place was starting to cloy, and the barbarian-dressed gentleman she had been speaking with had begun doing some uncomfortable impersonation without initiating any real signal that he was doing as such. She blinked placidly and nodded as he asked if she had seen the source material; she had, and remained unimpressed by the shoehorning. Awkward, one-sided—despite her best efforts—conversation was maintained for a few minutes more before she excused herself and made for the front door.

It would not open.

A singular ache bowed her, abrupt and fundamental, lancing through her stomach. She tried the knob again, then with her shoulder, with her body weight, but it yielded not the slightest hint of give. Lancet-pain drove through her skull, fixing on her teeth as another wave brought her to her knees.

Desperately, Lena looked around for help, guidance, anything, but a something had taken the scantily-clad group, something she did not seem to be a part of.

The features of their costumes seemed to have molded to them, become extensions of themselves. And they, in turn, seemed to have become extensions of each other—albeit in a far less literal way. Without exception, the scantily-clad party-goers had thrown themselves upon each other, parting with what items of costume they could and indulging in their partners: a writhing mass of silken flesh and sinew. Lena felt no such compulsion.

Sensation crashed upon her like a tidal wave, and she was pulled under. Breath and flesh and skin were made audible, sound and stench a wall in the air one had to cut through to exist within. War-drum hearts battered her like a fist through the ears, erratic thumping backdrop to the panoply of perception assaulting her. Sweat and sex and mold and sugar and liquor gagged her; the redhead was frantically trying to cover both her nose and ears and failing. She eventually opted for the ears, eyes pinched close as she tried to stagger away, elsewhere, anywhere. Bile churned sour within her, lapping at the bottom of her throat. A thought occurred to her, cutting through the storm—if she vomited, it would kill her. There would be no surviving the acid she could not escape from.

The stereo started up again, jeering, mocking. It had to be stopped.

Lena rushed across the room, shoving through the haphazardly-tangled mass of bodies. Perhaps adrenaline had lent her the strength to do so—there was certainly no chance of her being able to shove them as bodily otherwise. The pain the chintzy bauble of a speaker inflicted was only marginally stronger with the distance closed, and she moved to grip it, to turn it off, but in her grasp it was crushed. That, most surprisingly of all, didn’t hurt. No one seemed to notice the music’s absence. She turned to face the mass of people.

Awareness, crushing and craving pounced upon her with carnivore purpose. Each body held within it something. Something coursing through those rubymeated hearts that would make it all better, make everything right and slake this gnawing creature that now seemed to live and fester in her very being like a predator-parasite. It would not be refused.

A bottle broke before she could move, breaking the reverie with a clarion shatter. Everything else flooded back.

For the rest there could be no parsing, only the struggle to find something to cling to, some calm within the torrent of heartbeat heart-beast ravening that ran like currents beneath her skin. The woman fled, deeper into the house, anything to get away away seeinghearingtasting too much too much toomuch.

The furthest she could get was a solarium at the back of the house, its panes miraculously intact from the ravages of time or vandalism. It had started to rain, the patter against the glass the closest thing to a comforting sound she could find—it was consistent. Mist had swallowed the house otherwise, it seemed; she could only see a silvery haze outside. That, too, was a comfort, a blissful lack of sight. Another door was present, another door was tried, to no avail.

At a window she gunned one of the lounge chairs, and it bounced with an unnatural softness from the glass—its racket across the tile did not share that dampening. A roar ruptured from her throat, the rage cut short with a whimper the moment its volume hit her suffering senses.

Lena collapsed in on herself, dropping to her knees on the floor before sliding herself flat underneath the tall gap space beneath a padded wicker bench. It offered little shelter, but the urge to curl up in a silent dark space would receive what little scraps she could offer. Accordingly, she did curl into the fetal position, bringing the side of her hand to her mouth and biting down once. The taste was something singular, a lone rope keeping her from being dragged into the whirlpool of sensory input and hunger.

Perhaps it was for the best she was trapped here. Far more people could get hurt out there.

 

[Mathim]

The benefit of centuries of existence was experience, and Lucius had learned to hone his senses to tune out the unwanted noise of heartbeats, the smells of any unpleasant substance or distracting aroma, but also to pick out subtleties and nuances amid the chaos. It was for that reason he picked up on a scent quite unlike anything he had ever detected before. Where could that possibly be coming from? And what could it be? He needed a better vantage point, and at this time of night there wouldn't be anyone around for him to worry about spotting him showing off.

The alleyway had a fire escape too high to reach for an ordinary person, but in a single bound he caught the rail and boosted himself up, and repeated it, floor by floor, in such a fashion that had he not been climbing vertically he may have looked like a frog winning a hundred-meter dash. Ascending the rooftop, he stared out among the dim lights of the city below, sniffing this way and that, until he found the direction it was strongest. There wasn't anything too remarkable out that way, nothing except...oh, that was rather amusing! An old witches' haunt, some hags he'd known back in the day (not that he got along with them) must have left behind something to mess with the humans who would come along to desecrate their former coven's home. He hadn't run across many other supernatural beings or events in quite some time, so this could have been one of the most interesting things in decades!

Spreading his arms and legs as far apart as they could get, he leaned forward and let himself fall over the ledge. Astonishingly, he descended through the air almost as a leaf from a tree, so slowly (though lacking the swaying back and forth) one might assume he was a kite on a slowly retracting string. This allowed him to remain airborne for minutes, and yet glide forward with a decent velocity, at least at the pace of a brisk walk. The taller buildings were starting to fall behind him, and he was glad to see that the source of the scent wasn't in one of them, he wasn't fond of searching through things like hotels and apartment buildings. He had almost forgotten which building it was in, after a century, and didn't know if it had been rebuilt or what state it was in.

Approaching, he kept to the lower rooftops to avoid being seen now that he was much closer to the ground. His footsteps utterly silent, like he was weightless, not unlike his glide suggested. There was a good reason that even by accident, he'd never been caught. Some of the built-in advantages of being a vampire were simply a natural stealth and sense of self-preservation. Of course, a sense of adventure and curiosity were also part of the deal, being a predator and transitioning from having formerly been human. That was what drew him so instinctively to this new mystery.

"Well, what do you know about that..." he chuckled, the place looking the same as it had ever been. Of course, nobody would have been able to stay there long with all that residual magic mucking about. It was Halloween so of course, a place like that with its reputation would be a great party venue. Just like humans to find spooky things fun and amusing, until they realized it was actually true. Or did they? There didn't seem to be any mayhem going on in there, at least nothing that caused any spilling of blood. Witches were not known to be merciful.

He peeked in through a window and broke out laughing. He had heard stories, but never seen for himself what sort of curse would change those who posed as something else into the forms they assumed. And in this case - these young, horny coeds who just used the holiday as an excuse to slut themselves up were really the product of the own imaginings now! He was half tempted to join in, but from what he gathered, the scent wasn't coming from this floor. He glanced skyward and, with everyone inside duly distracted, he leaped up to scale the pinnacle, scanning the property and spotting an enormous glass structure that he wouldn't have wanted to be beneath when the sun rose. But this was the closest point to the source of that new smell. "Open sesame." he smirked, finding a latch and bending a bit of metal to get it without damaging the glass, slipping inside deftly. Apparently it wasn't so hard to get IN - at least, not if one wasn't one of the cursed.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." he whispered audibly, a teasing but admittedly creepy call. But whoever it was hadn't done much to conceal themselves. He soundlessly stalked over to her, now acutely detecting the more distinct features in these close quarters and having excellent night vision. "Oh, you...what manner of thing are you, then?" he knelt a few feet in front of her hidey-hole. He could smell the puncture in her skin made with her own teeth, too. "Oh, a bloodsucker, eh? Know a little about that myself, I daresay." he changed positions, sitting cross-legged facing her now, a little more disarming.

 

[LaPieta]

Lena remained oblivious to the man’s silent entrance, startling when he came into view. But he was quiet, anchoring. Lacking the noise of life that marked all the others and most importantly, he did not invoke that terrible appetite. The scent of him was just faint enough to be pleasantly perceptible, a light woodsiness. Something in her chest lurched at the sight of him, but not unpleasantly. Traces of euphoria even in these horrid circumstances bubbled within her chest, rising from her heart through her spine to tingle pleasantly at the back of her skull.

“You know what’s happening to me? Please make it stop; it’s all too much.” She took her hand from her mouth and just then noticed the punctures she had made in the glove. The fingertips of each were torn too, as if her fingers had burst through. Lena peeled them off, wanting as little contact with fabric as possible. The she had pierced in her hand were gone now, too. Healed.

Eyes blue as innocence looked back at him, wideset upturned and tearful; in other circumstances, they’d have been sharp, ever-seeking, ever-curious. Now she just wanted to stop perceiving, the microfractions of the tile, the individual fibers of the man’s clothes, just about everything. Except the man himself.

She shifted from the gap in the couch to better see him, having not yet internalized that she too seemed to have some semblance of nightvision now. A slender frame sat across from him, legs also crossed as she went on to divest herself of the cape.

Hair the color of wine framed a face full of pleasant contrasts: sculpted jaw and chin, soft cheeks; narrow mouth, full rose-bud lips.

“What’s happening out there too, I suppose.” It was easier to speak now, to find a whisper that didn’t pierce the eardrums while shutting out the noise outside.

 

[Mathim]

She was scared, understandable. Finding out the supernatural was, in fact, very real was a shock, and for it to have affected her in such a profound way, well, that was even more frightening. Especially when feeling that thirst for the first time. He could tell she was perceiving the bounty not far from them, the veins running with hot red life liquid. Probably not even consciously aware of herself sniffing, or turning her head in that direction every so often. "Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you." he decided to play coy with her. "But take a guess. I bet you'll come up with it." he watched as she seemed to indulge in a nervous behavior, biting through her gloved hands and puncturing her own flesh with her new fangs, only for the flesh to regrow instantly. Curious, that was something he had only seen in a film, the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. He could do it similarly but it didn't happen quite as quickly and required feeding. Interesting! She was...well, not a vampire exactly, but definitely inspired by one. Hot-blooded, heart beating, regenerative. A living vampire, it seemed. A contrast to his undead vampire nature.

She even had the ability to cry, and he wiped a tear from her cheek. "Now, now, no need for tears. Really, some folk would give anything to experience what you've been given the opportunity to." he tried to encourage her to make the most of it. It would only last a night, after all, or so he thought. Sunlight would break the curse come the morning, though it didn't enter his mind how that might affect a cursed vampire. Time would tell.

As she disrobed somewhat he got a better look at her, the dim light not a problem for his supernatural eyes. "Pretty young thing, aren't you? My favorite treat." he gave her a wolfish smile, having just fed on someone of her demographic less than an hour ago. Lucky for her, he wasn't hungry anymore but...maybe just a taste. Before the night was over and he lost his chance. He'd wait for the right opportunity.

"Well, a haunted house seems like the most logical conclusion, doesn't it? Everyone looks possessed, don't they? My kind of joint, really. Especially all the fornicating, god, can you smell all that spunk? Be lucky nobody gets knocked up after that whole mess, who knows what their kids will look like." he laughed. "But in all seriousness, and please bear with me here, this is the truth, strange as it sounds." he scooted closer to her without moving his arms or legs, as if by sheer willpower. Face to face, he continued. "This house is cursed, and you and your harebrained friends downstairs have all been made to take on the form of that which you assumed. Something about you was somewhat less of a sex-obsessed focus than the rest, clearly, but, well, you've still gotten a taste of what it's like to be a vampire." he reached out and gently took her chin, stroking her lower lip with his thumb, letting her feel the contrast in their skin temperature, and ensuring she was forced to look into his eyes. "Believe me?" he asked her, hoping she wasn't going to stay naive to the truth.

 

[LaPieta]

He was right, in a way. Many had turned to any number of vices—drugs, sex, spiritualism—in the pursuit of sensation this all-encompassing.

"I was trying not to focus on the others, but yes, I do do smell it. It's all too much though, how do you handle sensing all this at this intensity nonstop? And the hunger. This new part of me wants to hurt people."

Lena tilted her head into the cool of his palm. Rather than being put off by the wolfishness of him, something of the predator in her responded, practically purring at his pursuit. The stillness of him was a relief. "They're not my friends; I don't really know anyone here." Again that predator-pride, the need of a being that lived alone on their strength and prowess to be separate, above. Or perhaps it was merely her existing ego.

"I believe you. I crushed a speaker like it was paper and the fragments didn't even scratch me, I pushed my way through folks twice my size, I can hear heartbeats. I'm not one to deny the demonstrable, inexplicable as it may seem." No, what had happened to her was no parlor trick, no mass hysteria event. This blood-longing could not be imposed through natural means.

"I'll suppose I'll have to try and figure out which theology best accounts for the supernatural in this vein when I can focus later." She chuckled ruefully. "It is a bit comforting in a way, knowing the mystical's out there; might mean there are souls and an afterlife." And any number of creatures who preyed upon humanity in novel ways, but the core of that was hardly new—humanity preyed upon itself plenty.

"Please stay with me, keep talking to me. The distraction helps keeps the hunger at bay, the noise and smells more bearable." It surged again, that appetite. "What's your name?"

Though his heart did not broadcast that bodhran-beat, the creature within her sensed something to be gained from taking of him. Her gums ached briefly, totally, before her actions were no longer entirely her own. A slender hand wrapped around his, taking the lower thumb from her chin and placing the tip in her mouth. First her tongue lapped warm against his skin, tasting the subtle salt, and then fangs bore down to prick it and she was lost.

It was ambrosia, the finest narcotic; the madness sparked within her needed more. To consume him and have him flowing in her veins. Thoughts were driven by his taste and only his taste, this rapture, this joy that had her veins sparking ice and fire alike.

One might suppose that for a vampire, the instinct to and pleasure derived from drinking blood would have to be overwhelming, had to be enough to overcome any morality, faith, creed or squeamishness.

The woman would not stop unless stopped.

 

[Mathim]

Her 'newborn' shock was so cute, it made him laugh. "Well I have had centuries to get used to it, so that's the best I can offer you. I doubt you'll still be able to sense any of this come morning, so just try to enjoy it for now." he still believed this was a fleeting dream for her, destined to end. He would glamour her to wipe her memory after as well, at least the memory of him. "The hunger, though...well, that could be a problem. You can't leave this house and some of those freaks in the orgy pit are probably not a good choice of donor." he knew she could smell as well as he could that there were werewolves, zombies and other inhuman creatures all in the mix. Even he never dared taking the blood of anything else supernatural. "But not to worry. You can go a few days without feeding if you really have to, at least, I can. Not so sure about your limits or capacities." he still couldn't have been more fascinated by what she was.

She seemed less afraid now, a rather jarring change, like she knew he wasn't going to attack her in spite of how threatening he came across. In spite of the fact that she had a heartbeat and coursing blood just like everyone else there. He almost snorted when she said the other attendees weren't her friends; did he ever know what that was like, the very nature of his existence precluding the possibility of friendships. Shallow interactions like he'd had with his victim earlier were about as close as it got. Well, sometimes there was also sex, but that was definitely the limit of it. "Yes, I can see how that can make one feel isolated." he mused, knowing she didn't have the slightest idea of what being something like him was really like. "There certainly are perks, I won't deny that. But the drawbacks...can get a bit depressing at times. Seeing sunlight on a screen instead of the real thing, it's certainly not the same." he felt a sense of relief, being able to unload on her like this, it was almost like a therapy session, getting his regrets off his chest.

He laughed out loud when she mentioned theology. "Oh, my dear girl, you're barking up the wrong tree. Trust me, I spent lifetimes searching for what I am, what the true nature of this is, and I haven't found any more than lazy Hollywood hack writers have. All I've got is what I've learned from personal experience. And that doesn't apply to you, clearly. You're another mystery to solve altogether." he reminded her that what she had become wasn't like him, so whatever was the case with her was entirely uncharted territory, and have even less precedent to make predictions about. "There are many supernatural things, witchcraft obviously, but that's a bit much for one night. Wish I could show you more." he lamented. The prospect of having a companion, for the first time in centuries, was a welcome one and yet this brief tease was all he could get.

He paused when she pleaded for him to stay. "I wasn't going anywhere, but sure. I've already fed tonight so the hunger isn't bothering me one bit. And I'm not sure whether that's a compliment, if I smell like something strong enough to be distracting from that rabble downstairs." he joked. She wasn't quite in the right head space to lighten up yet despite his efforts. He supposed there was no harm in just laying everything down on the table. "Alexander." he replied. "No, not THAT Alexander, I'm not that old." he quelled that potential question before she could think to ask it. "You wouldn't have heard of me. I was no more than a soldier in a pointless conflict and ran afoul of a creature of the night as I was fleeing, like a coward after my comrades fell. It spared me for some reason, gave me its blood, awakened me anew, and before I knew it, I was able to slaughter the lot of them and avenge my fallen brothers." he gave her the cliff notes version of his history. "That was back in Europe." he added, though his accent likely gave that away.

The one thing he didn't know was that her heartbeat wasn't the same as a human's. She didn't need to raise the rate to exert herself, it didn't fluctuate in the face of strong emotions like fear. So when she gave in to a primal impulse, just as he was about to ask her to extend him the same courtesy of a formal introduction, she instead grasped his hand, faster than he could have reacted to even with his vampire speed, and sank her fangs into the flesh. He'd never had anyone else puncture him before, occasionally doing so himself if he fed on someone who had consumed too much alcohol and needing to purge that from his system, but he'd never willingly given anyone his blood to turn them, he was not in the practice of doing so. But, she was already something inhuman, so he didn't immediately think this would convert her into a more undead variant like himself.

What he expected even less was for her to be enjoying it so much! Black and thick like a tar-colored syrup, it was far from the free-flowing red that came in human veins, he didn't even know what it tasted like but he was certainly curious to ask her, if she ever regained the self-control, it was like a starving infant nursing. Though it did not hurt, he was still somewhat concerned about how much of his own blood he could spare. He'd never used more than a few drops at a time and always feeding in between, but she was sucking on it like an addict wanting a fix. "Come now, love, that's enough for now." he stroked her cheek, but crept his fingers on his free hand into her mouth to pry her jaw open and extricate his other. "That's going to be a great deal of trouble if you don't have a good measure of self-control. Maybe you're not really cut out for this life after all. Suppose it's for the best you won't stay like this for long." he couldn't disguise the disappointment in his voice, both for the fact he'd lose this interesting acquaintance and that she would be a liability if he took her out of the house anyway.

 

[LaPieta]

It did not take much effort for her to be removed—her teeth had not sunken into him past the initial prick. She was more akin to an infant with a pacifier than a dog with a bone. A low whine rose from her throat, but nevertheless she apologetically lapped at his wound before releasing him. Towards the end, the venom vampires held that made the act of feeding pleasurable for the victim—at the vampire’s discretion—released, sending a frisson shooting through Alexander. It was over all too soon.

“Sorry, I’m sorry; I don’t know what came over me,” she shivered with the residual flavor, barely resisting smacking her lips for the dregs of taste. “If. . .would the others taste that good, do you think?” Lena didn’t think she wanted the question answered, but it came before her better sense could control her mouth. It’d be far more dangerous if she knew they did.

But relief surged through her as he claimed she would not have to deal with this come morning. He had not yet voiced his theory that the curse would only last the night, and knowing that she would only have to deal with everything for so long gave her some grounding. All she had to do was wait out the clock.

“You think this won’t last? Thank god.”

The rain ceased then, but the redhead had found new mooring in her conversation with Alexander. Something in her was soothed by his presence, perhaps even more than the knowledge that this too would pass. Sorrow panged in sympathy for him—this was his eternity. Alone.

“Well, I suppose I’m a step ahead then: I teach future would-be hack writers. And the occasional regular one.” Soothed enough to start joking, even, to try and lighten her savior’s spirits. A wry grin crept lopsided across her lips, the trail of fake blood merely smears by now. “Lena Neuhof, undergrad professor of English. I’ve fought no wars, but I’ve been told I’ve played a formidable Medea.” Goneril, too; an inordinate amount of her tenure walking the boards had been spent playing warlike women.

Lena shifted, sitting with knees bent sidelong across the floor; the hem of her dress flared from its slender fit like a mermaid’s tail, inky dark. She did rather look like a morbid siren now, vampirism having granted her a predatory allure, an ethereal grace to her movements and being. Skin that seemed to be made of moonlight rose and fell nigh-imperceptibly with her breath, chest sheathed by a heart neckline—the breath was no longer necessary, but she could not know that yet.

“Wasn’t thinking you were that Alexander, I’m afraid. Martial as you may be, you don’t look or sound particularly Greek. Well, Macedonian, I suppose.” Hell, that Alexander probably wouldn’t have even been named exactly as such, just an earlier etymological derivative

Minutia could only keep her distracted for so long, however, before she was arrested by his appearance again. He was beautiful in the specific way that a marble statue is beautiful: something hard and eternal, impersonating something pliable and fleeting. Patter floods from her lips again.

“An English-sounding soldier in a pointless European war hardly narrows your age down though; could mean you’ve been a vampire for as little as forty years or as long as thousands.” She grinned. “But I don’t think there’d be much leeway for renegade vampires in the Falklands.”

The clouds were beginning to clear by now, though the mist had not. A canopy of starlight mantled them through the glass, the pinpricks of light so near one might feel they could be plucked from the firmament like jewels.

“Tell me about yourself. Your life like this. What's all out there.”

 

[Mathim]

He was glad he did not need to test her full strength here, he wasn't sure her limits or capacities compared to his and it would be a damn nightmare if she was actually a match or even stronger than him, he would not be prepared for that. Though, he did experience an unexpected rush of...something, that he hadn't felt since, he didn't even remember. It wouldn't occur to him for some time that it was the very first time he had been bitten, it was that long ago, and unlike most lore, vampires did not have any connection whatsoever to their sires or progeny.

"Well I do, love. That loss of control isn't easy to deal with, is it?" he chuckled, remembering his first few years. "Slow down there, sweetness. For one, it's a bad idea to go near whatever the hell those freaks have turned into. No telling what their blood would taste like or what it would do to you...or me, for that matter. Never messed with anything like that before and I don't plan to start now. And while I can only speak from my own experience, plain old human blood, well, your body is supposed to crave it, and when you're really starved for it, you will definitely find it to be a taste experience for the ages. You, on the other hand, that remains to be seen. Though, I'm curious why you seemed drawn to drink from me just now, I can't possibly smell like something you wanted to sink you fangs into, can I?" he half-asked, not really expecting an answer, or one that made sense. She was still in such a state, she might not even have known how she really felt yet.

"Well, it's my experience, daylight tends to be unfavorable toward my kind, and that of others, witches, those who cast curses like this, it all loses power in the sunlight. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty confident this will all be over come sunrise. Pity, I'm starting to like you." he smiled, his own fangs glinting.

He laughed at her cute little introduction. "All writers are hacks, you ask me." he would have known, having lived through the eras of writers past where he would have been privy to the cultural contexts of the time. "But then that's what makes reading entertaining. Give people the pulp they want. Make a buck while you're at it. Hasn't changed much since I started sucking blood." he mused. She hadn't advanced too far in her degree, it seemed. If only she would remember any of this in the morning, she might be able to write her own book about it. "Ah, the Greek classics. Those, I have a fondness for. Something pure about the first bona fide attempts at writing a narrative. Still hacky but fun in a way they just don't do anymore." he was a little impressed with her multitalented resume.

He couldn't deny that this transformation of hers did her some real favors, if she had been more timid and reserved in her ordinary life, she was ravishing now, could have been able to mesmerize a vulnerable man without the traditional glamour he practiced. She certainly had some interesting ideas about real vampires, and was a bit remarkable how accurate she was in some ways. "Hey, you can't blame a bloke for trying." he laughed as she didn't buy his little tidbit. But would she have enough knowledge to guess more accurately his origin?

"Oh, not even going to take a wild guess? You're no fun." he rolled his eyes sarcastically and crossed his arms before resuming his interested smile as he took in her form almost as deeply as she had his. She invited him to reveal more, but it had been so long, where to begin? What to throw in, what to omit, in their limited time together?

"Well the first part will bore you. A simple farmer, son of a farmer, who was himself son of a - you know what, let me spare you the long version. I had a family, they were lost in the war, I avenged them after I became undead along with my fallen comrades. What does one do with their existence after that? Free of every burden but the thirst and sheltering from the sun? I couldn't read, not in any language. No money, no property. Not even the simplest form of communication we take for granted now, no map to lead me anywhere. No friends or acquaintances, no special skills, barely able to impress anyone with the one language I did speak at the time. It was fortunate for me that I made it all the way across Europe and ended up in Britain when I did. Shows, doesn't it?" he had become particularly fond of that accent and had spent over a century developing it.

"I think that's a good summary. We can fill in the blanks as we go along." he almost forgot in the moment that she wasn't going to be there long enough to hear him fill in those blanks. "I think Interview with the Vampire was a lot simpler. If only she really knew about the truth, I could have given Anne Rice a hell of a lot more interesting story." he cackled.

 

[LaPieta]

"Ah, yeah. You do smell nice, as a matter of fact. Really nice." Irresistible, even, peaceful in a way she hadn't felt in years. Though she tried to remain bold, a heat began to creep up her cheeks. "Tasted better. But no, I can't say I'm fond of the loss of control."

Indeed, so much of her life had been the careful struggle for and maintenance of that little island of control one could eke out in an indifferent world. All of it could be destroyed with a moment's slipping, and slipping was becoming all too common in this state.

"Hey now, there's an artistry to good fun pulp, and you should know that no one gets into writing for the money. Especially not in this day and age. And there are always the few idealistic souls who seek to elevate the craft and make some artistry." Blanket cynicism was just as likely to lead one astray as blanket idealism, and while generally safer it was far more likely to needlessly alienate. But he had been alienated from humanity for reasons far more fundamental than worldview.

"Not even a specifically English conflict! Why that hardly makes any sort of reasonable guess feasible, but I suppose I can give it a shot."

It really would be impossible to guess, given so few parameters and such a large number of wars to pick from. A shame; Lena had wanted to preen, had to to some extent to keep herself on even just a vaguely-even keel with this centuries-old being. She did want to be seen as an equal, she realized, at least conceptually. Of course he'd have accumulated far more knowledge over the centuries than she could ever dream, but teaching did not have to mean condescending—hell, effective teaching was usually the opposite.

"A farmer being illiterate was the norm until about the late 1800s, as was the military's forcible 'appropriation' of civilian goods for supplies, so that doesn't help much. You traveled 'all the way across Europe', but were able to get by with one language, so not as far as Turkey or Hungary I think. Plus some stripe of Germanic'd get you pretty far, particularly during the days of the Holy Roman Empire, and would make picking up English a bit easier." She mused, then with an impish smile proceeded.

"Having little else to go on, I suppose I'll just throw out some eclectic possibilities then: the Bohemian War of Succession, War of the League of Cambrai, the Slavic Revolt, or the Norman conquests of England. Or maybe one of England and France's innumerable tussles, but that'd hardly have you crossing much of the rest of Europe." Her gaze flit over his form again, pilot-light eyes smoldering with a different hunger than that which drove her to partake of his blood. She felt languid, warm and boneless; she inched closer still to him. "And I don't think you'd be so stereotypical a vampire as to come from the Carpathians."

As she teased, another wave of foreign sensation washed over her—gentler than the others, at least. And it was not from within her, she could feel; it seemed to radiate from the man before her, and it nearly broke her heart.

Loneliness, centuries of wandering the nights alone unfurled before her, vast and gaping, aching. Sometimes raw, sometimes ravaging, burning, yearning, a wound always-carried and rarely unfelt. This was a rare moment of connection for him.

It would all go away come morning, this transformation for her and this companionship for him.

Slowly, gently, a slender hand reached out to him, giving ample time to be dissuaded should he wish it. Lena sketched the back of her fingers down the side of his face, as delicate as if he were some precious treasure. Her pinky lingered to trace along the line of his jaw before she turned her hand to cradle his cheek, palm smooth and warm.

"In 'Interview', the reason he spoke with the reporter was loneliness, a desire to be understood, if only for a night, a moment. A crystal moment among earthen hours. Is that why you're staying with me tonight?" And I want this night. Those forget-me-not blue eyes shone with all the sympathy that burst forth like a wellspring in her chest.

Jasmine and bergamot wafted faintly from her skin, her hold deepening as she threaded her fingers through his hair.

 

[Mathim]

It was quite curious her reaction to him the smell, and taste. But then he'd never associated with other bloodsuckers since the one that had turned him. And he consumed its blood while still human, which was very unpleasant, but it promised him what he had desired. That she thought his blood was actually tasty? Very curious, indeed. And while he could detect blood similar to that of humans still coursing through her, he didn't yet feel the need to test whether he could feed on her. Though, he was quite curious. If he didn't do it soon, he wouldn't have the chance. But it felt like it would be wrong to do that so soon after their meeting. "That's going to give me a lot to think about." he mused, feeling flattered at her liking of parts of him he'd never put much consideration into.

He laughed as the subject changed. "I wish I had your optimism, but I've seen too many sellouts to believe there aren't any who are purely driven by profit. Or at least with that as the majority of what motivates them. People have to make a living and in this day and age, people are more desperate just to survive, so we get what we get."

He listened intently as she analyzed history through her academic lens, impressed with her range of knowledge and the ability to reason through it to attempt to reach a conclusion, though she did ultimately give up. He snorted at the suggestion of being Carpathian. "Aquileia." he responded. "Just about the end of the Roman Empire. Attilla the Hun's bunch. Nasty business." he didn't go into much more detail, she knew what had happened to his family.

Something happened her, a strange sort of look about her as though some revelation had come to her all of a sudden and she wasn't sure what to do with it. Had he but known it was an empathic response to his inner emotional state, he might have gotten defensive. She didn't need to know how empty his life could feel at times. What would be the point, anyway? She'd forget all of it in a few hours.

But she persisted, going further than he expected. Not the sudden rush to sink her fangs into him again, but a mere gentle touch about the face, something he hadn't felt in...well, when one lived for as long as he, thinking in those terms was all but useless. He couldn't deny her warmth did feel soothing against his cold-blooded flesh. Her words cut him, another unexpected surprise that caught him off-guard. He hesitated, considering how right she was, struggling to find a way to avoid, deny, but she was too clever, she saw through him. "Maybe I can relate. Curiosity more than anything drew me here, but...hadn't expected to find any measure of companionship. So yes, our pleasant meeting of the minds is one of the highlights of this year. They all blend together after a few centuries. Hardly anything new, nothing really changes. Outliving any friends you may happen to make along the way. You learn to numb yourself to it just to get by without letting the sun take you.

She couldn't break eye contact, why? And her fingers continued to wander, unabated as he lost himself in her gaze. Their faces so close together, feelings high, tension needing to be broken. It only ended when he leaned in, closing the gap, and planted a kiss on her lips. Would she reciprocate? But o ye gods, if he had felt new life from the warmth of her touch, this sensation was a step beyond. Like biting into a human unrestrained, with the intent to kill and letting the heat wash over his face. But his mouth was closed, the fangs kept at bay, and still it was like the relief of feeding after being starved for days, a comfort he didn't even realize he needed.

 

[LaPieta]

From her chest slipped a shuddering groan, one she pinned to the roof of her mouth, tongue behind teeth. Bliss. This was bliss. The fulfillment of a promise, a prayer long-spoken finally answered, the salving of a wound whose pain was so long-felt it had become an unnoticed companion.

Lena deepened it, fingers splaying further against the back of his head to weave through the locks of hair and draw him closer still. Her mouth parted and the groan escaped, just before she teased at the seam of his lips with her tongue. He could not be close enough, never could be. Contact wrought joy, a heat that tingled across her cheeks and down her spine to take a more smoldering, potent form. Another hand—slender as the curve of a crescent moon—clutched at his shirt, winding around to pull and draw him nearer.

She should have thought of Rome. The foolishness of that thought now had her grinning, the guileless grin of a starry-eyed schoolgirl.

Moonlight rendered the world flat and robbed it of its depth and color; it rendered them chiaroscuro cutouts, light and dark and nothing in-between. Silver light gilded the pair as she shifted, tugging gently at his lapels to draw him up with her; Lena was certain not to break the kiss. Certain. She pressed her form against his, a lissom sheath of warm flesh and blood that in this moment sought only his, only him.

This night, she would see this to its conclusion. If only for this night alone. Perhaps in the days to follow, he could clutch it to his chest before sleep, turn it over in his mind for the warmth it offered. It would be as such for her, she knew even now. Or perhaps it would just be another unnotable night in a sea of such nights for him—it shouldn't have, but that thought sat like a wedge splaying the ribcage within her.

The woman stepped back with Alexander, the hand on his chest now moving to nestle within the small of his back, fingertips biting pleasantly against the cloth, trying to feel more of him. Some furniture lay intact around the solarium: the wicker couch she had hid beneath still held cushions atop it, ones that seemed relatively unaffected by time. Like dancers attuned, she glided with him across the floor in a spin, then kneeled, unbuttoning his shirt and placing a line of kisses down the front of his chest as she lowered.

By now her hands lingered at the crest of his hips, his back against the couch. An artery-red smile crept across her lips like ivy reclaiming an edifice; she placed a singular kiss just above his navel—whipcord muscle, all of him—then nudged him to sit. Then, she rose. Lena pulled the tapered hem of her dress to mid-thigh, then stepped within his reach.

They could be the last people on earth, cosseted away in the mist-swathed glass. Woven into a gauzy cocoon. All the other noise and scents had fallen away, leaving them to take succor in each other with only the stars themselves as witness.

She had been lonely too. Not a fraction of what he had experienced in his centuries, of course, but Lena had alway been one that had stood alone.

The woman waited, a sudden wave of bashfulness pausing her pursuit. He needed to want this too, before they could go further.

 

[Mathim]

He didn't understand what was happening but the intensity of her flood of emotions was feeding back into him, a sympathetic loop that compelled him to press forward, to forget that this night was doomed to end with them never meeting again, to put out of his mind that she was what he had been longing for and hadn't even admitted that to himself. Her heat, her passion, it was making him feel truly alive again, a sensation he had entirely forgotten. Her humanity was rubbing off on him, at least on an emotional level. Though she became a creature of the night, she clung to that, and became the missing piece he had been seeking on a subconscious level.

What he thought was going to be a teasing peck, maybe something meant to just arouse her, turned totally around and jolted him into uncharted territory. Uncertainty was not a thing he experienced much, but he had no idea why this was happening or whether he wanted it to proceed. Well, he wanted it to happen, of course, but...like this? Losing a sense of himself and feeling like more of a...we? The pair of them, admittedly quite good together, if their brief interaction was any indication. But how were they clicking this intensely, this quickly?

Those thoughts melted away as she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him more deeply into the kiss and preserving it, like a moment he lost all track of time within. He could feel the hunger in her hands, biting his hair with her fingers like she never wanted to let go, which while he normally would have found flattering, instead had him entranced, fixated on anything else but himself, for a change. Spending so long self-focused as he did, it was alien, but also welcome. Her surging joy was contagious, and he didn't want that to stop.

His own hunger welled up within, a deep, almost frightening lust she stirred in him that no amount of starving for blood could match. It may have been just his unfulfilled longing for exactly this, and his fear of losing it just evaporated, why dwell on the ephemeral nature of connections? Enjoy this one in the moment. Human life was made up of moments, why not an immortal life? He followed her lead, sliding a hand up her neck, to caress her cheek, feeling his hand all but come back to life in her warmth, the pulse of her circulation making it feel as though he still had a heartbeat of his own. The other, naughtier hand found its way to her bosom, just cupping it, feeling the not insubstantial size and subtle bounce of it.

He almost protested the parting of their lips, but she had something else in mind entirely, an enticing offer, and she seemed to be flowing so much more smoothly, naturally, like she'd been a vampire for some time already. And quite an erotic little minx, despite her otherwise prudish (relatively speaking) leanings, compared to her peers downstairs. He hadn't been expecting taking his clothes off tonight but she wanted his bare chest revealed and he did not fight her, wondering if she was going to follow up those sweet kisses with another bite, his blood somehow being desirable and delicious to her.

Though it was a soft touch, her strength had risen as a consequence of the change and, with him so entranced with this new side of her, his legs were almost jelly as he collapsed into the seat behind him. Was this really happening? Not just the sex, but...this, a real bond, almost an 'opposites attract' made real, in the flesh, about to consummate the union of life and death? There was no way he was stopping now. He reached forward and pulled her toward him to straddle his lap, putting his face only at the top of her chest, close enough to take a nip out of her neck, and he thought about it. She had tasted him, why not taste her? She still had hot, red blood in her. He wasn't going to go so wild for it the way she had with his, being satisfied by his earlier meal, but it felt right to have a piece of her inside of him in return. He sank a single fang into her shoulder and licked the drop that had emerged, watching it close instantly. The taste was - this was like human blood if it was mixed with a celestial ambrosia. A gift from the gods, and one he had to grit his teeth to resist taking another sample.

"Take me. Take what you want. Show me what you are, warm-blooded girl." he invited her, likely a virgin and totally unfamiliar with this kind of experience. He was a naturally sexual being, and had centuries of experience to utilize, to wow and woo her, but he wanted to see the kind of woman she was, the kind of woman she dared to be, to allow her true, authentic self to be known to others. If she shied away, if she balked, he would have simply stood up, pushed her down onto the chair, and taken charge of the situation. She didn't deserve to be denied the ride of a lifetime, just because she might be too afraid to reach out and take it.

 

[LaPieta]

A smile, as soft and delicate as a fledgeling hatched across her lips as she tilted her cheek into the cradle of his palm. It took on an altogether more languid bent as her breast was taken in hand, eyes hooded in lazy pleasure.

Her thighs draped snug over his, trapped within the sheath of a dress so that there was no choice but for her heat to gather about them both, and for them to be as close as possible.

Pleasant as that was, she would need her legs free, and being disrobed was a pleasure she would seek and savor later. With a swift flourish, Lena brought one hand to the taut fabric—the pressure more irritating than painful—and sliced her nail along the cloth like tracing a vein. There was a moment of pause, as if the material had not yet realized its fate, before the split in the fabric became unmistakable. More space was to be had, now, a paraffin-pale thigh peeking from the unseaming. She widened her legs further, the cotton-clad heat of her pressing deeper against him as she splayed more on the couch.

The woman bared her neck eagerly to him. This was right, this was meant; a part of something larger. From her throat slipped a silken sigh, decadent and light enough to nest in; even that mere pinprick sent a frisson tip-toeing up her spine. It was almost regretful that he did not take more.

In that drop, he tasted sunlight and flowers and all the things he could not have.

She was afraid, yes, but not unacting. How could one not feel a fearful awe under the enormity of whatever force was subsuming them?

Her offering to it, to him, was an oblation of skin; her hips canted into his, shooting a joyous pressure from her core and up her spine and back again. Energy buzzed beneath the skin, a tactile delirium driving her in for another kiss, a desperate thrusting of her hands beneath the shoulders of his shirt to rake at the flesh beneath. Desperation carried in the tremble of her hands, the unwavering glow of her gaze as she pushed the shirt off of him, then planted one hand at his nape. The other slotted along the crenellations of his spine, filling the gaps.

A moment of separation, breath warm, "You take as I take," she rasped, and her lips crashed back to his, her tongue forceful and seeking the taste of him—something she had hungered for in those secret dreams one did not remember upon waking. Lena might take, but she would not steal. Not from him.

Their desires merged and melded, gorging themselves on each other and growing ever more potent with each wave; his hunger for her was hers for him and hers for her, and one must devour to be devoured and—

She scored her tongue upon one of his fangs, blood flowing treacle-sweet and hot as yearning. His hands—his hands—she needed more of them, of him. Another separation, another shuddering tilt of her hips against the length of him, and she placed a small hand over his to draw it to the zip at the back of her dress. The other, she brought to the thigh-slit, placing it just short of the center of her need, still clothed.

 

[Mathim]

Though Alexander was the one who would be inserting himself within her soon, Lena was preemptively getting inside of him - his head, rather, as if taking a cue from how he would be directing this were it some steamy scene in a soap opera or risqué film. Hiking up a skirt was such a tacky move, and unfashionable. Altering her garb, with a flair only another vampire could have pulled off, turned him on in a way he didn't believe possible. Though he was no stranger to other supernatural entities, this would have been his first romantic or sexual encounter with another. Her very inhumanness - as similar to a living human as she may have been - touched him on a level he wasn't aware he could experience. His cold-blooded existence had never imagined doing the deed with another vamp, if he could even find one of the opposite sex who would be interested, and found the prospect unappetizing given their similar pale and cold bodies. Even a sickly or dying human would have provided more appeal than that idea. But here she was, granting him a wish he didn't even know that he didn't know he had.

Straddling him almost weightlessly, that didn't stop their practically magnetic connection from having her putting pressure on his manhood to make it spring to life, the lingering blood of his victim earlier coursing through him right there to his core. Even without that, he dared believe she would have lit the spark within him sufficiently on her own, even without him taking any more of her red life. Though, she was offering it more. Did she not sense he was craving more? That he may lose control as she had, and not be able to stop? A whimper, a mewling, a gasp, every little noise emanating from her beckoned him to take, and take hard, to clamp down and not merely sip, but drink, drain, devour. But no, he couldn't. He valued her too much for that. He had to show the kind of restraint he always had to the victims who didn't deserve to be mere vessels.

Her skin was a stainless canvas he felt hesitant to defile. She spared him the temptation to go overboard by taking charge, forcing his mouth right where she wanted it, and no longer in the way of offering herself to him in full. Option once again for passion over puncturing, pain, penetration. Why did he love so strongly every single move she made? Ticking off his list of every unfulfilled wish like an angel welcoming him to paradise, an honor he knew he did not deserve and yet without faltering, without a hint of judgment, rewarding him just for being there with her in this moment. Just as she began to make him putty in her hands, he reciprocated, sliding a palm beneath her now bare thighs and not even considering playing with the thin cloth covering her derriere, slipping beneath them without having to touch them, pressing into her soft rump flesh to give him passage and a heaping palm full of some very tender skin, warmer than anywhere on her body he'd felt yet. She had taken his top from him and now made to do likewise to her own dress, the hand formerly groping a breast over the fabric now needing to find a new home. Though it meant they would have to part lips again to allow it, it would be worth it. This night wouldn't be complete if they did not bare all to one another, as naked physically as they were emotionally.

With that obstruction out of the way, her beautiful pink rings of maternity with fully erect tips standing at attention, pointed out directly at him like they were inviting him to drink something other than milk. Still so young, so perky, so firm, the picture of health. If only that would last forever...c'est la vie, or his version of 'life' as he knew it. He coveted this, wishing beyond wish this would not end, that this night would not be the only one with her. He had to savor it, to make the most of this short-lived dream come true. Like a true soul mate, she continued to read his thoughts effortlessly, to do his will for him, when he had not the strength to hold back, using his own fang to draw blood from the liveliest part of her, that warm, wet tongue, yet another contrast to his, a more dry, rough one almost reminiscent of a cat's. The taste of her flooded his entire mouth like the first drop had exploded and covered the entire interior, forcing the olfactory rush through every passage in his head until his own eyes rolled back in his head. With their mouths so firmly entwined he could not escape that overwhelming sensation, locked within his mouth as her tongue continued to trickle over every taste bud, saturating him and driving him positively mad.

She broke the silence, to say something almost poetic. "I give, freely and gladly." he replied, her blood staining his lips as he nearly drooled with relish at the treat she had gifted him, and inviting her to do as she would too him, his entire torso open to her, much more than a mere finger if she wished. Perhaps she would even like to feel like a fully hungry beast and sink both fangs into him somewhere, the thing he had not yet dared do to her. Somehow feeling sated, as if instinctively sensing it was her turn, he swirled the lingering salty, red droplets in his mouth before letting it fall further into him, yet more warmth, life-affirming energy boosting his emotional state even more. His sense of pain was dulled compared to a normal human's, and she had nothing to fear even if she attacked him savagely to get another taste of his syrupy sweet fluids straight from an artery.

 

[LaPieta]

Lena drew back as he spoke, shuddering with residual waves of pleasure that seemed to both come from him and within herself. Her expression was tender as she looked upon him; he seemed nigh-undone by just that taste. Ruined, in the best of ways. It sent a marrow-deep satisfaction trickling through her like water into soil, and she cupped his face once more in her palm.

Her body might have been a dancer’s or a gymnast’s, in another life; a huntress or a maenad. Slender breasts lay high upon a long and lean torso, marked by a gentle taper to her waist, a gradual slant swelling to her hips.

She drunk in the look of him, both altar and sacrifice, spice and savor.

The sun may burn, the sun may shine, but you’ll not wither, darling mine. Not as she would start to, once dawn struck. Palms splayed, she mapped a trail over the expanse of his chest, drawing her hands appreciatively over the map of him. Once in a while the woman would sink her fingers into the sinews that ran underneath, purring at the feel of him. She had not known herself capable of such a sound. After tracing down his sides, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of his trousers, pausing with a savage grin to twist her hips against his length and bring her lips to his once more.

The taste of them commingled on his skin was joy, but not as potent a one as that which lay practically glowing beneath his skin; that which he offered freely. Hunger surged again as he bared his neck, her pupils bottomless in their fixation upon that subtly throbbing artery he trusted her with. Trust, his trust; she could not violate that.

One more separation, painful but brief, before she brought her mouth against the cord of his neck and pressed the satin skin of her bare form against his. A kitten-round tongue laved at the site; Lena lavished and prepared the area like a priestess for the most holy of rites—kisses and the gentle scraping of teeth alighted him. Perhaps it would help bring more blood to the area, if only at the surface level.

Her fangs bore down with a pain that was total, but brief, before the euphoriant venom that made vampiric feedings nigh-narcotic—at their discretion—released and flooded through Alexander.

Thoughts held suspended in that brief moment before the wellspring flowed, but in an instance they dropped, falling and shattering on the mass of pleasure rising in her skull. Despite her own gentility, there was no softness to this; the ecstasy came with the force of a slung stone. Her body sang with the life of it as his was drained.

His heat, his vitality, his strength: his life poured out to her, to merge with hers and feed it. Everything slowed, everything throbbed in time with her strengthening pulse, the tempo of her heart. The rhythm of his was being added to hers, she realized; there was little more intimate.

Lena’s breath came short and shallow in his grasp; she writhed with the pulse of the world against his seated form. Her hand clutched at the nape of his neck, her body pliant silk, trying to moor herself to him and only him.

The burn of his touch melted into something inextricable, something that stole her breath and shot through her limbs like liquid fire. Not so much pleasure as it was torment, a brutal, merciless flood instead of relief.

Somehow, that made it better.

She lifted herself on her knees and brought his pants down, remaining latched onto his neck before coiling her arms around his neck and shoulders. They needed to be closer still, though his life was now hers as they fed and fed upon each other in an ouroboros tangle of need that swelled and grew with each gulp, each brush of skin and breath and every layer of the self that was peeled away and debrided to be laid bare before the other.

 

[Mathim]

Alexander had not done what he would consider making love since - no, not even then; his long-departed wife was not a marriage of love, such things did not exist back then for anyone not wealthy yet divorced from politics enough to avoid the necessity of a motivated arrangement. This, this was the first time he had ever felt this, his heart swelling with affection even as his manhood swelled with passion, like he had truly found his other half, several lifetimes after his last heartbeat.

It didn't hurt that her body was so young, lithe and healthy, that was just icing on the proverbial cake, reminding him briefly of the lamenting that human food was not possible for him to consume. If she was capable of ingesting his strange blood and finding it as sweet as confection, she might have been able to still indulge in humanity's bounty, the best of both worlds. Rather than jealousy, he felt an admiration for her, truly a perfect organism if he had ever encountered one.

She made an unnatural noise, one he had never known human nor quasi-human to make, almost cat-like, as if she saw herself as something like a feline-esque vampire; it should have figured, so many iterations of vampires in media that them being connected to bats such as in Dracula were in the minority. He shuddered with arousal as the vibration of her purring reverberated through him, as if the sonic waves were designed to put a lover in a state of pliant ecstasy.

It was all he could do not to burst out of his pants with his powerful erection, this amateur was giving him nearly a reverse lap-dance, facing him and balancing herself on his legs like she was making up an avant-garde style of teasing her lover before the main event, an agonizing unfulfilled temptation and yet the anticipation excited him more than the feeling of finally freeing the beast.

He felt it nearly overwhelming as she attacked a second front, it didn't exactly matter where she targeted per se but she did find quite a good one had he been human, the convergence of so many veins with such great pressure, and rather than going straight in, she once again toyed with him, his upper body paralyzed with the need to give her full control, debating with himself whether to close his eyes and deny himself sight to, if only slightly, enhance the tactile experience. He remained fixated on her as she veritably landscaped his flesh with tongue and tooth, something not even the kinkiest human he had seduced ever even considered. Priming the pump as it were, to coax his crude to gush forth at the slightest puncture, she was going to be rewarded for her effort with an eager mouthful in no time.

This time the bite did hurt, or at least, his body was telling him there was a foreign object lodged there, rather than a virtual numbness, perhaps his body enlivening at the introduction of her living blood into him. He had certainly never been in a position to let another feed upon him and so he had never the occasion to test out his pain sensations before and after feeding. He hugged her to him more tightly, egging her on to go deeper, to leave an entire mouthful of teethmarks etched in his skin before she was done. But no, she was gentler than that, too overcome with her own eye-rolling satisfaction she couldn't keep the lockjaw grip tightened, but he didn't mind, her sense of euphoria was contagious and he felt as though, despite it being finite, he could have let her feed on his blood for as long as she wished.

The hotter she burned, the more his body reciprocated, the stronger her pulse, the more his body developed its own sympathetic resonance, like her life energy was being shared with him, bringing him halfway back to life, whatever that meant for a creature such as he, this was uncharted territory and it was both frightening and also filled him with a sense of hope he had grown unfamiliar with over the ages. No longer holding back, keeping his hands outstretched like a worshiper giving himself over, he clutched at her, crossing his arms behind her to tighten the grip of his embrace as he lay his fingers around her shoulders, framing the part of her he would have gleefully attacked had she been merely human. With her still drinking deep of his facsimile of life's blood, he partook of another taste, craning his neck so as not to interrupt her and sank a singular fang into her just between the clavicle and shoulder, taking a less succulent sip and merely lapping up each drop as it trickled out between his tooth and her torn flesh.

Once more taking her initiative to places he would not have dared, she moved like a trained acrobat and removed the last vestige of modesty between them, liberating his length as it bounced about until coming to a stop standing straight up at attention, a curious difference from human cocks in that there were no visible veins, the part beneath the foreskin - he was uncircumcised - completely smooth, as there was something other than traditional blood fueling its stiffening and arousal. Equally pale to the rest of his frame, the glans had a slightly darker tinge, almost like grey ash compared to the more white-toned skin. Hairless, his smooth pubis able to be viewed in full for its impressive length and girth from the base of the shaft to the tip, a healthy seven inches and a smooth, almost unnaturally perfectly spherical sack underneath that couldn't be confirmed to contain any balls for how smooth it was all around the surface. As a virgin would she even notice the strangeness?

 

[LaPieta]

Lena nestled against him, a fundamental rightness settling in her very bones as his arms wrapped around her. They fit against each other so very well, like ribs against a heart. She melted over him, hot silk skin and pliant limbs seeming to encompass every angle and hollow of him as she drank. Pleasure lanced through her with each pull she took of his life, feeling the saccharine ichor as if it was still a part of him.

A rough moan rose through her throat as his fang pricked her, the area prickling with an all-too shallow electricity. His life was fading into hers, but she could sustain him. Must.

Through his hair she raked her hand, gripping the back of his skull and pressing him further against her throat. Even that barest separation hurt, the denial of his blood like denying exaltation. But god, the sight of him undone and laving just shy of her throat crushed something within her and made the sweetest nectar of it.

She was truly seen by him, consumed, not just as some feather in the cap, a prospective notch in a bedpost, an uppity harridan to be resented, a wailing wall meant to receive and soothe woes without recompense, but as her, stripped utterly bare of life’s trappings.

Any peculiarities his appearance held meant little, regardless of her inexperience; people took many different forms, and he was beautiful.

“More Alexander, take more.” One must devour to be devoured, and now it was her turn; he was flagging, she could sense. And she wanted to be more than an aperitif for him. Shivering bliss wracked her body with each drop of blood he took; she wanted to be the sacrifice now.

The other hand drew between them before planting flat on his chest. After a moment feeling that sluggish beat, she traced lines over each of his ribs and circles around his heart then nipples before going lower still.

Lithe fingers wrapped around his length—silk surrounding steel—dragging up and back in languid time with his drinking. Again, his pleasure refracted through her in waves, amplifying her own. Her patience was not infinite, however. She stopped at his base, fingers circled, and gripped firmly but without hurt.

“Take. More.” Lena rasped, then pointedly slid her aching core against his length, torso writhing. Her heat lay still untouched by him, still clothed by black panties he had yet to remove. A wolfish eyeshine flickered across her pupils, flares of light in a sea of blue.