Bloody Isses

The following is an original work of fiction. All characters belong to the author and any likenesses to real people or places is purely coincidental. Please do not copy or repost any part or portion of this work to any other website.

Eris Jade

*****

He comes home late, blood-drunk and smelling like stale smoke and the air at midnight. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone and his blue eyes are heavy-lidded and cloudy.

He shuffles to the bed in silence. Flops down on his back with his arms spread wide and his booted heels splayed out over the carpeted floor. He looks tired and full, and she smiles to herself. Doesn't think she'll ever grow weary of the sight of him like this.

Centuries have passed since she turned him, an eternity of nights since the blood took hold, mending what was broken and making it like new, but she still remembers that boy, barely a man, really, an infant compared to the years she'd already lived.

He had been angry. Angry and sullen, and he'd caught her eye; she'd seen something in him, a fiercely burning flame she'd wanted so badly to hold within the palm of her hand.

He'd agreed so willingly back then, eager and hungry for the blood before she'd even allowed him the first taste.

And here they are now, very much removed from that long ago time, immortal and unchanged.

He doesn't move when she crawls up onto the big bed next to him, hiking up her nightgown so as not to become entangled in the fabric. She bends over him, braces her hands on either side of him and stares down into his handsome face.

He blinks bleary eyes up at her. His full lips are flushed a deep, deep rose. There's a dead leaf caught in the loose, wind-tousled waves of his blonde hair, which is fanned out artfully over the bedspread.

"Look at you," she says softly, lovingly, for there's more than just love for him inside of her. There's an unapologetic admiration, an unencumbered adoration living there.

He licks his lips. Blinks in an attempt to clear away the haze.

"You are a mess," she goes on just as softly. Plucks the leaf from his hair and absently tosses it aside. She can smell the blood in him, can hear it sloshing sloppily through his heart as it forces the dead organ to beat, if only for this short window of time. "Do you intend to share, my love?"

His smile is slow and lazy, the corners of his lips turning up in a teasing half-grin.

"There is a price," he replies, voice low and slightly slurred. Blood in it, as well.

She lowers herself to one elbow. Nuzzles his cheek with the tip of her nose. His skin is warm, scorching compared to the iciness of her own.

"A price, you say?"

He shifts to cup a large, rough hand over the back of her neck. Holds her there a moment while he presses his face against her throat. Rumbles out in his slurred, blood-soaked tone, "My fee is... one kiss."

She laughs softly. "A kiss?"

"Mmhmm... just one little kiss."

His fingers flex over her flesh and he uses his lean body to maneuver them both onto their sides.

She loves this playful side of him, just as she loves the vicious, surly side of him - the light in stark contrast to the darkness roiling within him.

His soft lips slip down the curve of her jaw and across her cheek. Warm, so warm, and she can feel the hunger rising in her, bright and sweet, churning up from the very depths of her being, reaching, stretching for him and the drink he's offering.

She opens easily, eagerly, for him when his mouth slants over hers, moaning as the hunger snaps and lights off in her veins. His tongue sweeps inside and teases her own. She moans again when it slicks over the needle sharp point of one of her fangs, bringing his blood welling quickly to the surface, and the dark, copper taste of it nearly overwhelms her senses.

The taste of the blood, his and that of whoever had been unfortunate enough to cross his path tonight, fills her mouth and she digs needy fingers into the lapels of his jacket. Tries to pull him closer, to dive deeper into his messy, bloody kiss. But, he stops her, pulls back enough to gaze down at her with glassy, half-lidded eyes filled with his own hunger and desire.

"Will you drink," he asks.

She licks her lips. Nods. And he smiles down at her. Softly. Lovingly.

She is centuries old, so old that even she has forgotten the exact number, and far beyond the need for blood to survive. But he still offers her this because he can, because there is connection and life when her teeth are sunk into his skin. Love, full and blindingly bright.

She waits and watches in silence as he slips out of his jacket and tosses it to the floor. Then he's back, leaning over her, curling his large hand at the back of her neck again and pulling her up to meet him. Brings her face to the sluggishly pulsing vein standing out beneath his ruddy skin.

She nuzzles at him. Breathes deep of the stale smoke and moonlight scent of him, much stronger and thicker here. She smoothes her lips over his flesh, hums with need before opening her mouth.

Her tongue teases at his pulse. She shifts closer, aligning her body with his. Imagines the look on his face as her fangs finally pierce his flesh.

There's a brief moment where he tenses, his fingers spasming where he holds her, but he quickly relaxes. Moans lowly as her lips and tongue work to pull the blood from his vein.

She drinks. Drinks slow and deep. Revels in it. Wallows in the taste of the blood as it washes over her tongue and down her throat, so hot and sparking.

Something flickers in the darkness behind her closed eyelids. Light, pale at first, then growing and shifting. Becoming more. A memory. One of his which he's pushing through this bloody connection, and it moves and twists inside her brain.

She sees herself through his eyes, in that long ago time, on the night she'd offered him eternity at her side.

She sees herself bathed in firelight, the flames reflected in the bottomless depths of her eyes and glinting dangerously on her teeth, her deadly fangs, as she smiled down at him.

And in this long ago memory, edged in shadow and flickering, writhing firelight, she gathers her skirts and kneels before he, offers her hand to this young King, hears her voice as he'd heard it then, low and melodic and full of so many promises -

"Love me forever, and I shall make you a god..."

She pulls back now, full and smiling against his skin, her tongue flicking out to lap up the bit of blood which trickles down the side of his neck before the wounds can completely heal themselves.

When he moves her, sitting up and shifting until she's straddling his thighs, she goes easily, her brain deliciously muddled and her thoughts more than a little hazy around their edges.

She mewls quietly, satisfied and sated and high on the blood coursing through her veins. She can feel it there, can actually feel the heavy jump of her heart as it suddenly and quickly starts to beat. After all this time, it's still so strange, the sudden awareness of the organ and the way it works, if uselessly, inside her now.

Her fingers find their way into his hair, gently sifting through the silken strands as she licks her lips and tries to hold onto the taste of him, the memory, on her tongue.

Strong arms envelop her, enfold her, as the warmth of the blood begins to work it's way through her body, filling up her limbs and settling inside her, infusing muscle and tissue and lighting off in the nerves of what is otherwise dead.

She feels his lips on her skin, kissing gently, marking a slow trail between the delicate wings of her collarbones. Lower and lower still. And the blood is surely working in her now as the scent of her own arousal fills the space around them, between them.

He murmurs her name, mutters something in the old language that sounds very much like 'love'. But then his hands are on her, one finding its way beneath the messy fall of her nightgown where it's puddled in her lap, the other cupping at her breast through the flimsy material.

She shifts over him, winds her hips enticingly, needful and delirious, loving the feel of him, of his lips and tongue as he begins to mouth at her nipple.

Hungry. He's always been so hungry, even before she'd turned him. Greedy and wanting. Insatiable. But, then, so had she, and that sameness, that alikeness, that dark thing inside him had called to that dark thing twisting and churning and howling inside of her.

She gasps when two of his fingers glide sharply into her, her entire body tightening as her hips begin a slow rock into him.

She thinks he laughs, low and teasing and muffled by her skin, but then his teeth are there, sinking deep into the tender flesh around the edge of her nipple. Pain and pleasure collide and she moans shamelessly. Cups the back of his head with her fingers. Holds him there as he drinks, suckling deeply, his fingers moving within the wet heat of her.

There is no thought, absolutely no room to do so as he drinks and fucks her with his rough fingers, digits curling and dragging along her front wall. So she pushes these feelings into him, through the bond of their blood, this deep, ravenous pleasure, and he startles before groaning, the sound itself seeming to glance off her spine before settling in a hot throb inside her cunt.

She rides it, focuses on the the feel of him drinking from her tit, on the steady advance and retreat of his skillful fingers, the throbbing of the blood through her veins, and everything in between. Makes him feel what she's feeling and so much more, pushing it at him fast and hard, and laughing deliriously while he groans around the blood and flesh filling his hot, hungry mouth.

And when she comes, she howls, her arms winding around his neck to keep him close, to hold him steady and keep him grounded as he grunts and groans out his own release.

When they have both settled, when the pleasure has receded enough, both of their hungers temporarily sated, he hefts her up easily. Shifts her body - with the blood staining the front of her gown and causing the material to stick to the front of her - to a more comfortable spot on the bed. Busies himself getting her situated before stripping bare and curling up beside her.

Before he'd returned, she'd drawn the shades on the windows, securing the dark, heavy material into place to block against even the most minute sliver of sunlight.

She feels it now, the rising of the sun, feels the pull of it in the very marrow of her bones, calling her into that delicious and complete darkness.

He uses his thumb to scrape away some of the blood from the corner of her mouth. Kisses her long and slow before tucking her in at his side. Whispers to her in the Old Language, in her language, their language, dead and long-forgotten tongues that have been kept alive if only between the two of them.

"Blood of my blood," he murmurs. "Life-giver. My mate and my eternal flame. You have made of me a god, but I will forever be your servant. Sleep now, and I shall protect you. Always."

And sleep she does, his voice and the scent of moonlight following her into the darkness.