02. sorry, we're dead: clover and curses
WARRENWICK
I woke to a kiss, soft lips pressed to my cheek.
The fact that the caress woke me said a lot about it: it takes quite an effort to wake a sleeping -- though perhaps hibernating was the better term -- vampire. Probably not the safest of evolutionary quirks, given the universe's proclivity for sending mobs of angry people carrying stakes and other pointy things our way. But it was probably what allowed us to 'live' as long as we did. Having the ability to switch off our brains and bodies and essentially fall into stasis meant we could sleep entire centuries away.
If anyone else had tried waking me with a kiss, like some morbid, bizarre inversion of the Sleeping Beauty story, I wouldn't have so much as batted an eyelid. But the owner of the particular lips still hovering over my skin wasn't any woman.
"Hello, sugar," I murmured, cracking open my eyes. As always, she had thoughtfully dimmed the lights before waking me. It was just bright enough to make out the details beyond the silhouette bent over me. The cornsilk hair in its sculpted ringlets, tumbling artfully over her shoulders. The blue eyes, flecked with gold and framed by thick, dark eyelashes. The arched eyebrows, which always gave her a questioning air, and skin the color of milk, such a vivid contrast against my darker, bronzed tone.
"Good evening," she said, cherry lips quirking into that sideways smile that was so uniquely hers. Nora Donovan was an angel -- and I don't mean that just as a term of endearment -- but she still smiled like the cat who'd swallowed the canary. "Sleep well?"
"Middlin'," I confessed, throwing back the bedclothes and pushing myself up with one arm. The other was busy sliding around her waist, the pads of my fingers drawing warm lines over the green silk of her blouse. "Bed's colder when you're not in it."
"I know you don't feel temperatures like that," Nora chided, putting her arms over my bare shoulders. She cupped the back of my neck with her right hand, skin against skin as her fingers slipped beneath the hair at my nape. The heat of the touch sank straight into my bones and I felt a tension I hadn't even been aware of draining away.
"I do when it's you," I said. "Your heat -- I miss it when it's not there." Like all the undead, I had a body that had become numb to a lot of sensations. Hot and cold were just ideas to me now; the only time I truly felt one or the other was when I was feeding. Or when I was with Nora, which had made our first time together something pretty damn memorable for the both of us.
"Well, you'll be pleased to hear that I'm back on the night shift as of tomorrow," she assured me. "I don't know who's happier about it: me or Mr. Bjørnson."
"Me," I said with conviction, brushing back her curls. "C'mere."
"Yesterday you said you wanted to go in early tonight," she laughed.
"That was yesterday. This is now. It never pays to live in the past." I pulled her along as I dropped back to the mattress, rolling her over.
"Mmmh," she agreed wordlessly, mouth meeting mine.
If you want to know what hunger is -- really is, I mean, not just the vague ache you get after going too long without some steak and potatoes -- ask a vampire. Ask me. Before Nora, it felt like I spent every night hungry. As a teetotaler, I've had strict rules against feeding on humans for decades. I've made do with cow's blood, and the occasional glass of goat or pig when I'm desperate for a change, but that's like an alkie drinking nothing but tonic water and telling the world it's better than gin. There's no life in animal blood, not like there is in human. The entire act of feeding on a person, the biting and the copper and the heat of it, is intoxicating. Sipping a glass of bovine B-positive is an extremely poor substitute; it may fulfill the basic need, but it doesn't satisfy. Not at all. But even one human would be too many; better to keep my fangs behind my lips.
Then Nora came along. Well, I say came -- it's more that I caught her before she could have a nasty fall. And after a bunch of crazy shit, which I won't bother to go into here, we found ourselves in a situation where I had to break my cardinal rule. Only to find that the beautiful girl I'd just bitten wasn't a human at all.
We still know next to nothing about Nora's divinity or power. How she ended up in this city, where she came from, how her magic, for lack of a better word, even works. All I know is that since that night I haven't felt the hunger that had once been my constant companion; I haven't had to fight off the old, demonic cravings to rip a man's throat out with my teeth -- well, at least not since Frisky Wilson tried to stake me in that alley fight last month. Perhaps angel blood was like unicorn tears and could purify even a monster like me.
"God, I love the way you touch me," Nora whispered in my ear, husky as a purr, and I felt a hot surge rush through my legs. Through something a little north of my legs.
Then again, there's more than one kind of hunger. And I wasn't entirely pure.
It took me some time to get all of the little pearl buttons on her blouse undone -- it was an exceedingly nice blouse, and pricey, and the last thing I wanted to do was rip it, so I was taking my time -- but neither of us minded all that much. She'd already wriggled out of her skirt, only a sheer chemise and a pair of pink panties between her waist and mine, and was pressing against me in a downright witchy way, her hands ghosting down my sides and over the ridges of my hips. Her fingers stroked the length of me and I couldn't stop my fangs from extending.
"Don't have to ask if you like that," she said breathlessly, angling her mouth to fit snugly over mine, the tip of her tongue brushing the gums around my fangs. (Vampires are turned on by some unusual things; who else can claim their gums are an erogenous zone?)
Even driven half mad with distraction, I managed to finish the delicate job of unbuttoning and removing her blouse. What can I say -- I've always been good at multitasking. Then it was my turn to distract, as I pulled up the chemise and cupped my palms over her breasts. Her skin jumped; her back instinctively arched into my touch; her body was more than happy to fill my hands with its curves.
I may have lived like a monk for most of my rather long life, but that didn't mean I don't know how to bed a woman. I know the importance of foreplay. How rewarding it would be for the both of us if I only put a little time and concerted effort into loosening everything first. I let my hands roam, caressing and rubbing and pinching. Practice had taught me which spots were the most sensitive and responsive; we'd been together long enough to memorize each other's bodies, to know instinctively what notes to play in order to reach a roof-shaking crescendo in unison.
Nora's right leg abruptly looped over mine; she caught me by the wrists and twisted sharply, inversing our positions and pinning me firmly to the mattress. I'd already woven knots out of her curls; the tangled golden mass fell over one shoulder, covering her breast. Much longer and she'd look like Lady Godiva -- though in this case she was astride a very different, and much more inappropriate, sort of mount.
"Don't. Move," she said, voice rough and eyes glassy. "Not an inch."
"Okay," I said dumbly. My entire body felt like it was on fire from the heat of her, brain overloaded to the verge of short-circuiting. If she'd told me the moon was green I would've agreed.
She released my wrists and spread her hands over my chest. Her thumbs brushed the edges of my scar, the last mark of my once-mortal life, a memento I couldn't even recall getting. Arms braced, fingernails just shy of digging into my skin, she drew her body up over my legs, gliding and rubbing like an affectionate cat. It was slow enough as to be tortuous and I had to fight the urge to grab at her hips and thrust upwards. But I behaved and did as I was told, lying still -- barring the uncontrollable shivers her movements sent shuddering across my skin -- and clutching at the mattress until I was sure my fingertips had pierced the thick material and were centimeters away from striking steel springs.
She settled heavily on my hips, straddling with her knees on either side, pinioning the length of me between her thighs. I noticed through the growing haze that she was still wearing her silk and lace panties; given how I could feel her through them, and she could no doubt feel me, they seemed pretty damn irrelevant now. I felt a stab of frustration that they were coming between us.
"When was the last time?" she asked with a sigh, thighs squeezing in a way that made me moan.
"Uh... Last week?" I hazarded. All I could be sure of was I was this close to losing all semblance of control and flying apart. Vampires can't fly, of course, but Nora could be very uplifting.
"Far too long," she said with conviction. I rumbled an agreement in the back of my throat, shoulders tightening and throat clenching as she shifted. I wanted so badly to slide my hands across her belly, to dip my fingers below her navel and into those thin panties, the last meager barrier between us. To bury them into her warmth, between the folds, until I found the spot that would make her melt.
"I think we should make another promise," she said, looking down at me through half-lidded eyes.
It had started before our relationship had gotten so physical, back when she was still only (as if she had ever been only something to me) a client. I promised I would help her. She promised to trust me. I promised not to take too much. She promised to save me. And then it became more than just words; it became a way to keep each other honest, to keep it all clear. We promised to be open about everything, to share everything, to never go to sleep on a worry or problem or fear or joy left unspoken. We promised to be partners, to give and take control in equal exchanges. Neither would ever have a full say over a matter. For better or worse, we'd promised. An endless supply of promises...
"What's this one?" I asked.
"At least twice a week, if not more. Regardless of how busy we are. We swear to make the time."
"It's a deal, Nora Donovan, you minx," I said fervently.
"I'm an angel, not a nun," she replied with a downright wicked smile, rocking her hips. The wet friction was incredible, the pleasure verging on pain. The room snapped into razor sharp focus. I could've counted every vein and artery in the gold and ivory body swaying over mine; I could hear the thrumming of her heartbeat like a wild bacchanal drum in my head.
"Alright," she said thickly, the edge of her teeth dimpling her bottom lip. "You can move."
My hands darted up so quickly they were a smudged blur in the air, fingers tearing through the delicate lace and silk. Anticipating such a frenzy from me, she was already grabbing hold of my shoulders as I clutched her hips and thrust into the ready warmth between her thighs. She pressed her mouth to my neck to stifle her shout, and the feel of her lips, the graze of her canines over my carotid, only served to urge me on further.
I abandoned myself to the drumbeat of her heart, the sharp notes of her hitching breath, the uneven rhythm of her chest as it crashed against mine. It could never be like this with any other woman; we had saved each other in ways that had remade us into different shapes, into corresponding halves of a single whole. When I caught her on the bridge. When she cured me of the poison of dead man's blood. People spoke of yin and yang, of the perfect opposites, and that was us. Female and male. Pale and dark. Day and night. Holy and profane.
"I swear it feels better every time," Nora said breathlessly when we had finally collapsed, spent and shaking.
"Practice makes perfect," I said teasingly. "...This was good--"
"Try great," she said with a satisfied hum, her head nestled under my chin and a heavy arm draped over my hips. I smiled and started combing through her snarled curls as gently as I could.
"But I hope some of the other times were memorable, too."
"Oh, yes," she said fervently. "Remember the first time?"
Hardly something I could ever forget. I'd been frankly terrified, worried I would hurt her despite all of my caution, worried she'd regret it or hate it. I'd undressed quickly, practically stumbling out of my trousers, before turning to see her standing by the bed so calm and amused, the gold of her turned to silver by the moonlight. She'd bridged the short distance between us, reaching up with soft, steady hands to cup my face so she could kiss me. A nice, long, reassuring kiss.
"I trust you," she'd said. "I always have, and I always will."
It was impossible to be afraid in the face of such conviction. So I eased her onto the bed, I took my time, I was slow and patient and thorough, and her first time (my first time in centuries) had felt like it's own sort of victory.
"I don't know if I like it better when you're sweet and hesitant or forceful and confident," she confessed in the present. "When you're gentle, I feel like my heart's about to grow wings. And when you're aggressive, it's like being swept up in a force of nature. Makes me feel vulnerable and awed."
"Force of nature, huh?" I grinned, ego rumbling contentedly.
"Mmmh," she hummed, pushing herself up to kiss the tip of my nose. "And now I think it's time for the force of nature to go to work." She tilted her chin towards the bedside alarm clock -- it was already half past nine. Virg was gonna be livid when I finally walked in, supposing he wasn't already out on a job.
I huffed, lifting a hand to ruffle my already tousled hair. "What if I just called in sick?"
Nora only gave me a Look. We'd been together long enough for me to decipher this particular one. It said something along the lines of, Sick excuses ceased being valid for you over nine hundred years ago. And besides -- you've got an angel on call. No one's gonna believe you.
"I know, I know," I muttered. "What are you gonna do?"
"Take a nice nap," she said brightly, a mischievous glitter in her eyes. "And then get up in time to meet you for lunch. I need to get used to the night shift again, and there're some things I want to talk over with you."
"That doesn't sound ominous at all," I said, unwinding the sheets from my feet and slipping out of bed.
"Nothing bad, I swear," she said quickly, rolling over to escape her own tangle of bedclothes. "Are you taking a shower before you head out?"
"Mm-hmm."
That eyebrow I loved so much arched. "...Want me to scrub your back?"