Christmas Gift for Jovi @uccisore | @exoptabilis ♡~ Merry Christmas ‘v ‘ ♡
Such they proceed with their evening in glory unbeknownst. Unattainable by those who would writhe and desire, pine for the both of them: shown just with white lace upon even paler skin, always does she seem like the calm after a raging snowstorm [ such a perilous little comparison, for both of them would be equal to a disaster’s rhyme ]. The lightness of her form rests securely, comfortably, upon the plush softness of a settee. The only show that the Countess does present herself to be a living entity was the hold upon a glass of wine. Crystal made as fragile and delicate, as the picture perfect frame of a doll lying before his waiting eyes. A predator watching his desirable prey. And said prey? Could it not hold the smile of a lioness’ interest? Just watching. Anticipating. Expecting something that would so surely come.
Behind his eyes, was the delirious dreaming of tearing and ripping that finely crafted bit of material slung around her form, tight and yet tighter, as if pulling on an invisible string [ how much would he not desire to see all it bare? to have her pure before his ravenous eyes? ]. It all rings itself out to a laughter set to disrupt the otherwise peaceful quiet.
Halted and caught once more in a faint click. Proceeding door behind his back to be closed so gently, so carelessly. Announce that they were all alone.
That the moon in the night sky would be the only witness to their personal doom.
Approaching. Taking. With the featherlight feeling of a kiss trailing up the inside of her wrist. Acknowledged merely, with the rise of chest in breaths taking in too deep and those eyes, blinking, flitting, dark and heavy, that find themselves caught and carried away by a pair of gloves left on an armchair so far away. His own? - they were simply meant to indulge her upcoming stir ‘to live’, by all but the shine from the deepest night sky. Caught in the beauty of an earring, blinking and telling tales against the faint hollow of a light.
Would not anybody want to question their sombre togetherness? Would they even attempt? Even dare? Yes, they would. Even if any were bestowed honour of knowing what they went through: the happiness and peace fought for so desperately, with years that had passed counted with every single press of his lips against such fragile skin [ he could tear it open, take a colour from herself mimicked by the faint song of wine in her lilting grasp ] would be meant to be a reminder of their time spend in ludicrous disasters they had battled so hard to mend.
And then again? Inexorable was this knowledge. That all that had happened had been for a cause of their own undoing, to be created as a whole yet once again.
So, while the Count takes and takes in unrelenting ways, he lets her do it just the same. He lets her cherish. Lets her hold. His own touch so soft while her’s, perhaps, was quite so bold. Energy. Power immeasurable pulses in the depths of his every grace [ no matter just, if it were lips or eyes or fingertips ] it all she wanted, it all she craved.
And so, breath falls softer, lighter. One would [ so many had just done before ] want to wonder how her creation had come to be. She looked like nothing else but a man-made puppet. A beautiful porcelain doll ready to be free. Was she not quite that in her husband’s grasp as well? For Alucard’s power over her, it was undoubtedly like a string of life, keeping her from slipping completely away. And so--- shimmering was that aforementioned glass. Tempting. Captivating. The catching of a dark red soaking into finest silk. From her shoulder falling in small rivulets, rivers following her torso, catching itself as a waterfall on sternum soaking the priceless creation in shades of red and aching white, turning darker, darker—
[ yet not quite? ]
—Being caught in the middle of their personal paradise. From nothing to everything. With the faint glowing of the moon set ablaze by the brightness of a crystal chandelier [ how fitting, no? similar to the way her glass had caught each and every drop of fervour, now discarded, now thrown aside ], dousing beautiful marmorean ground into the blinding pulchritude of a ballroom’s shine.
Desired they had, to be left alone like this. Still caught now, afterthoughts had brought forth that picture time and time again, in the raging bitterness of a claiming snow’s storm, howling and talking, explaining tales unknown around their home. And despite the clamour of the turmoil outside, the manour was - otherwise - drowned into perfect quiet. Of a pair cherishing and fostering their moments of togetherness, so scarce they were and were they not all ever desired to hold in grasp? Hands all the same, with being brought back from the unknown [ from the mingling ideas brushed away like the fine scent of gunpowder. drawling and captivating themselves ] had found each other in the flowing step of dancing to an unheard beat.
A heartbeat’s rhythm---?
Pulse racing beneath the fine veil of pure white skin. Lead around, lead by careful chime of footsteps echoing inside the hall’s wide realm. Faster and faster, a spin to the take, until a form like her own [ petite, breakable, in comparison to her husband’s monumental physique ] finds itself cradled and kept easily, delicately, in a hold of power and gentleness all the same. Shall not many want to lay an eye on this? Would want to see the thoughts shared between one another [ by a hidden link? ] of adoration, of love, of undeniable worship, only to be drawn closer and closer unitedly and untorn.
A broad hand then settles on the small of her back. Dainty palm and fingers aligned perfectly, to be settled in his grasp. They stand - proud and tall - a noble picture of two beasts, finding calm and deceptive lingering of faint contemplativeness only in each other’s arms.
What had happened? The colour red suits her far too well.
What had come to pass? Wine to coat what teeth had not yet graced.
Their chimes and songs were created for only their own beats and drums. Pressing up so closely against one another just after a pirouette came to the lingering knowledge’s halt of their need and want and neverending pursuit for one another. Only then it was that Katarina’s slender arm came to wrap around his shoulder far too broad. Helped up and lifted. To close the distance aching in their thoughts, a distance that was not there anymore. The exhale of a sigh? Wordless of an answer needed. Eyes closing from their distracted stare somewhere off and else into the night. Perhaps towards the snow just falling calmly after the storms raging went finally quiet---?
The white of the lace. A glass of wine. All combined towards the most beautiful of a heavenly shine. Oh, they know, they are aware, whatever they are and have become, their world would approach to a standstill, to a halt to greet and accept perfection, for as accomplished and consummate [ themselves? their love? their lives? ] ---their very existences had become. Shall not everybody’s breath be paused and falter, in merely accepting their time together to be of a beautiful and purest destiny? Oh, who would have thought, that this would come to be.
