continuum_of_drs | Home Again?

There wasn't anything he could do but hold her, as though keeping her from coming apart from the force of her sobbing--though soundless, he could still feel it shaking her hard. He had no idea what to do. How to comfort that sort of pain, so close to the surface. His ... was hidden by time. Covered over. He'd buried it himself, after all.

So he held her close, hoping his warmth would help.

She was cold. A vampire doesn't produce much heat for herself. His warmth penetrated, eventually, making breathing easier and slowing her heartbeat, easing the jagged-edged turmoil of her mind. Her breathing slowed to long, deep breaths with only the occasional shudder, and her eyes drifted shut.

He'd prided himself on his rational mind for centuries. He knew what to do in any situation. Well, almost any. He held her, looking down at her small form, defeated and broken, and he literally had no idea what to do. And it tore at him, seeing her like this, vampire or no, not only because he could hear the pain in her mind.

Because of this greater telepathic sensitivity, he'd come to a few rather startling realisations with this regeneration, the first being that emotion was not a thing to be walked away from or overlooked. It can't always be distracted from. Not even for himself.

The second, of course, was the realisation that people, including himself, needed to know they were not alone.

And the third was that affection did a lot for the mind.

He leaned closer, then, and gently kissed her.

Her shoulders hitched a final time, and she returned it with a shy hunger, her face tipping up to his.

He was so warm. Like... No. She banished everything else from her mind, for once able to silence Russell's angry racket. This was a gift, and she wouldn't have it polluted.

He helped to soothe her mind, even while his lips remained on hers and his arms still held her.

It wasn't something he did often. He was a bit out of practise. Yet he found he did not want to pull away and break this warm moment.

One hand was fisted in the front of his shirt by the time she pulled away, her eyes flicking up to meet his. Bashful, nervous about what was happening. Grateful.

"I ... ah ... only if you want, that is...."

No-one ever said he was always erudite.

"I...." Honesty. She has to be honest, or she's no better than Russell. Who's fuming somewhere in the back of her mind, disgusted and hateful.

"I... I want to be close to someone. I'm damaged, and I will be for a long time, but I need closeness, and...." Little flail. "Please."

He nods. "I think I know what you mean." He hasn't let go of her, yet. He'll draw near again. Softly kiss her again.

She melts, bit by bit, against him. Her death-grip on his shirt loosens, her hand spreading across his chest as he lips travel, warm on the corner of his jaw in that place where the skin tightens.

He tenses, ever so slightly, as the feeling of her lips moves to his neck--the nearness of her teeth to his pulses. They're warm against the recent bite, soft and teasing and his eyes slip closed after a moment.

It's tempting, his blood so close, but the earlier drink nearly sated her, and there's no urgency when her teeth graze the sensitive skin there, no pain or puncture. Just a shy eagerness.

He drops his head into the corner of her neck, lips teasing her ear, hopefuly distracting her from his veins.

Mmmr. Successful. Her head tips back, revealing her own scarred throat to him even as she presses closer, tugging at his shirt.

He's warm under the clothing. Very warm, now. But the chair isn't exactly the best place to be doing this and somehow they end up on the floor, his fingers twined in her hair and his lips capturing hers again.

The floor's not really the best place either, but they're a little distracted. She slides her hand against his stomach, cool little fingers spreading there.

She's Not Listening to Russell.

She could hear a quiet sigh in her ear, and feel clever fingers making their way under her clothing. Slender, light hands, warm against her sides.

You're just using him. You know it.

Clair only acknowledge her with a tiny sigh, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

By the time she got to the shirt, she'd already made her way through layers of clothing and a watch chain. Under the shirt, he was warm and smooth and lovely, and his hair tickled her chin as his lips made their way along her collarbone. He'd shut everything out--he couldn't hear anyone's mind at this point.

Which was good. Russell was disgusted, and getting increasingly angry the farther this goes. Trying to drown her out, Clair murmured things against his chest, things she'd like to do to him and things she'd like him to do to her, while her fingertips traced the lines of ribs and muscles.

The murmur in his ear caused a delicious tingle, and it was short work to shed the rest of their clothing, entwined and naked, tender fingers and curious lips exploring lines and curves.

On the dark floor, they both stood out palely, soft murmurs and breath the only sound.

Clair's breath came faster as she twisted to dot hungry kisses down his chest, the faint prick of her fangs a contrast with the softness of her lips and skin.

"Hold me down and I'll wrap around you, so perfect," she promised in breathy little murmurs, half-coherent.

It almost didn't make sense, not that he was paying terribly much attention to words, at the moment, eyes closed, mind submerged in sensation. But she could feel the weight of his body atop her, his breath in her ear, pulses thundering in the hands that held down her arms near her head.

She pressed up against him, warm and slight, and hooked her ankle behind his. Closer, she wanted to be closer. Wanted his warmth and his affection and the blood singing in his veins.

And closer they became, one in sensation and in intent. Inside her, consciousness swirled out into rhythm and sense, nothing but the two of them filling, for that extended moment, all of reality.

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brainswithteeth.livejournal.com - 2007-01-02 05:30 (UTC) - Expand