[IC Amrit] Four Hours of Fluid
Long black hair, like folds of silk, gleaming in the moonlight that streamed through the window of the sleek conveyance and hid the world from view. Her legs straddled his, and she held herself inches above him, palms flat on either side of him and pressing against the leather of the seat cushions.
"So," she purred, "who is first on the list, Your Grace?"
He made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, smiling under the veil of her hair. The feel of her breath against his ear was warmer than he expected - he imagined it was heated by her rage, simmering so close to the surface as to have been converted into murderous desire. But he would not allow himself to be undone by such a simple thing.
Even if he wasn't exactly certain how they'd gotten into this position in the first place ...
Vivian's daughter. He stared up at her gray eyes and complicated smile, and thought it best not to distract himself further with the hows or whys. To do so would be entirely un-Daeva of him. And anyway, she wanted the same thing as he did, didn't she?
"I should think that Stahl would be first. I think I'd like to de-claw him...." The words were punctuated by gentle, teasing kisses - but the words, he knew, were more the tease than the gestures. He was rewarded with her laugh; vicious, and sweet.
"Are you certain? Not the Sanctified?" Her head tilted, and he could identify the puzzlement in her eyes despite the overly pleasant and distracting sensation of her nails gliding along his skin. She was not going to make this easy.
"Yes. I'm certain. That retarded beast's rank and base fingers - " a small hiss escaped his gritted teeth.
She kissed him then, as though she were taking sustenance from the breath itself. “Your anger,” she corrected him, “tastes beautiful.”
Anger. Rage, wrath and vengeance. It was something they could share, where in all other things they were so throughly different. He took a moment to marvel at his aunt's strange ability to convert rage into lust - long enough for her to kiss him again.
“You've gone quiet, Your Grace.” She smiled another complicated smile, one that made him glad he had nothing to do with her ire. “Whatever could you be thinking about?”
Death, he would have said, but another sound, quieter and laced with disgust, caught his attention at the same moment something wet and warm - too warm - rolled down the side of his cheek. The woman who was pressed against him laughed. He could feel the sudden heat coming from her, her faint shudder, and the world returned to view when the curtain of her hair moved to one side. He saw the glimmer of red hair.
“I'm tired of watching you two. Knock it off.” He'd nearly forgotten about the other woman, neatly tucked into the seat across from them.
“You dirty girl. I didn't know you were such a fluffer.” His companion smiled over her shoulder at the red headed woman, who only shook her head.
He closed his eyes, unwilling to see pleasure he did not understand evident in the Crone's expression and unwilling to look at the other woman altogether. The blood burned the side of his face, and he moved his hand to wipe it away.
“No,” she whispered against his cheek. She licked the burning liquid away in one smooth, slow motion. The tip of her tongue was as sharp as her nails, and felt as pleasant.
“I said, knock it off.”
Another drop, and the stinging sensation that came along, cut thankfully short by his companion's perverse licking.
“Why do you do that?” he asked her. Why harm oneself needlessly?
“Pain teaches, Your Grace,” she whispered, setting another kiss at the base of his jaw. “And at the moment, pain is all that I have.” Another laugh, low and dangerous. “Anyway, it makes her jealous, and that is half the fun. The other half is you. Feed me, Your Grace. Give me your ire. Place your mouth on mine and pour your bile down my throat.”
From her lips, it was distressingly arousing. He did as she requested, and it fed them both. From the corner and across from them, he heard the rustle of fabric. He peeked through her hair, and saw the fourth - he hadn't known there'd been another Kindred in the car. What had this woman done to him?
Daeva.
“Who's second?” she asked, a knife that caressed his skin.
“Who would you like to be second?”
"So," she purred, "who is first on the list, Your Grace?"
He made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, smiling under the veil of her hair. The feel of her breath against his ear was warmer than he expected - he imagined it was heated by her rage, simmering so close to the surface as to have been converted into murderous desire. But he would not allow himself to be undone by such a simple thing.
Even if he wasn't exactly certain how they'd gotten into this position in the first place ...
Vivian's daughter. He stared up at her gray eyes and complicated smile, and thought it best not to distract himself further with the hows or whys. To do so would be entirely un-Daeva of him. And anyway, she wanted the same thing as he did, didn't she?
"I should think that Stahl would be first. I think I'd like to de-claw him...." The words were punctuated by gentle, teasing kisses - but the words, he knew, were more the tease than the gestures. He was rewarded with her laugh; vicious, and sweet.
"Are you certain? Not the Sanctified?" Her head tilted, and he could identify the puzzlement in her eyes despite the overly pleasant and distracting sensation of her nails gliding along his skin. She was not going to make this easy.
"Yes. I'm certain. That retarded beast's rank and base fingers - " a small hiss escaped his gritted teeth.
She kissed him then, as though she were taking sustenance from the breath itself. “Your anger,” she corrected him, “tastes beautiful.”
Anger. Rage, wrath and vengeance. It was something they could share, where in all other things they were so throughly different. He took a moment to marvel at his aunt's strange ability to convert rage into lust - long enough for her to kiss him again.
“You've gone quiet, Your Grace.” She smiled another complicated smile, one that made him glad he had nothing to do with her ire. “Whatever could you be thinking about?”
Death, he would have said, but another sound, quieter and laced with disgust, caught his attention at the same moment something wet and warm - too warm - rolled down the side of his cheek. The woman who was pressed against him laughed. He could feel the sudden heat coming from her, her faint shudder, and the world returned to view when the curtain of her hair moved to one side. He saw the glimmer of red hair.
“I'm tired of watching you two. Knock it off.” He'd nearly forgotten about the other woman, neatly tucked into the seat across from them.
“You dirty girl. I didn't know you were such a fluffer.” His companion smiled over her shoulder at the red headed woman, who only shook her head.
He closed his eyes, unwilling to see pleasure he did not understand evident in the Crone's expression and unwilling to look at the other woman altogether. The blood burned the side of his face, and he moved his hand to wipe it away.
“No,” she whispered against his cheek. She licked the burning liquid away in one smooth, slow motion. The tip of her tongue was as sharp as her nails, and felt as pleasant.
“I said, knock it off.”
Another drop, and the stinging sensation that came along, cut thankfully short by his companion's perverse licking.
“Why do you do that?” he asked her. Why harm oneself needlessly?
“Pain teaches, Your Grace,” she whispered, setting another kiss at the base of his jaw. “And at the moment, pain is all that I have.” Another laugh, low and dangerous. “Anyway, it makes her jealous, and that is half the fun. The other half is you. Feed me, Your Grace. Give me your ire. Place your mouth on mine and pour your bile down my throat.”
From her lips, it was distressingly arousing. He did as she requested, and it fed them both. From the corner and across from them, he heard the rustle of fabric. He peeked through her hair, and saw the fourth - he hadn't known there'd been another Kindred in the car. What had this woman done to him?
Daeva.
“Who's second?” she asked, a knife that caressed his skin.
“Who would you like to be second?”