What if Lila Tournay from Dexter (Jaime) and Bianca St. Claire from The Dresden Files (Joanne) somehow fell into the same (sexy) universe? Well, this, apparently. Brace yourself, little fangirls. Don’t come crying to me when your knickers fly off.
The heavy scent of incense permeated the air, blanketing the room with its heady aroma. Candles flickered, straining to cling to their last vestiges of life as they drooped inside their holders, forgotten as they hung like martyrs upon the walls. Silken fabrics adorned the space, shades ranging from the deepest reds and purples until they finally succumbed to darkness; the round bed was the central point of the room and was draped in black sheets.
The only door serving both as an exit and entrance was thrown open and the dying flames jumped as if desperate to spread warmth and light to the new arrivals even as they perished. Their dim glow bathed the lithe figures as they somehow navigated their way into the room, despite being so utterly lost in one another, and where one woman stumbled the other’s elegant grace would find a way to compensate, ensuring that their embrace went undisturbed. An embrace that rocked them to the very cores of their beings, unwound them from the inside until they felt their souls begin to trickle forth. Their mouths hungrily sought out the kind of molten warmth that could only be found in another, in one another, and though one pair of lungs screamed for oxygen, it was an appeal that would go denied a little while longer.
The taller of the two, all sinewy limbs and winding curls, had the fingers of her left hand tangled deep within tresses almost as dark as the sheets and her left hand shot out to catch the edge of the door as they moved past it. The force behind the motion was too strong and the door slammed into place, shaking in its frame, but neither woman paid the action any attention. The wood had barely slipped from her grip before it found the hem of the shorter woman’s shirt and slid beneath. Cool fingers met warm skin and that contact strained something to its final breaking point. Their kiss ended abruptly as the raven-haired woman suddenly jerked away, gasping for breath.
“Myka.” The name came as scarcely more than a ragged breath, a whispered moan, a plea for something as of yet unspoken, and eyes the colour of leafy canopies hanging above the most undisturbed forestlands blinked heavy lids half open and drank in the sight of the wanton woman standing before her. The first few buttons of the pale blue shirt had started the night free of their proposed holdings and the vast expanse of skin exposed by that choice had been one of the many things that had drawn Myka in. And oh how she had been drawn in. Helpless as a babe, gripped by the arms of lust and desire, the woman with the dark eyes and pale skin and an accent that made Myka as dizzy as she knew the scent of the room made her companion had called to her. Like a siren song called to a sailor, but there were no jagged rocks beneath her soon-to-be lover’s feet, only the carpet of the bedroom, and the only danger present was Myka’s and Myka’s alone.
She eased her hand free of dark hair only to drag her fingers through it again, combing it back from the woman’s face as she gasped, open-mouthed, and tilted her head back against the motion. Myka’s eyes trailed the smooth expanse of her neck and she licked her lips. Closing her eyes, she let herself get lost in the press of their bodies, flush against one another from their breasts to their feet as they stood at the foot of the bed with even their legs somewhat entwined.
“Helena.” She teased, tracing the ridges of the spine beneath her hand with the pads of her fingers, and she saw the affects that her touch and low growl evoked. Helena’s entire body shuddered, the hands grasping at Myka’s shoulder tightening to a level that might have been painful for someone else. The pressure drove some desperate need even higher within her and Myka ducked her head, brushing her nose against the soft, flushed skin of Helena’s neck. “You smell…” she inhaled deeply and felt the woman tremble in her arms once more, “delicious.” Helena’s groan was guttural, primal in its urgency, and Myka felt it pull threads of desire through her body to pool between her thighs. Unable to hold back, even if she’d wished to, Myka’s tongue slipped out from between pointed teeth and swept across the length of Helena’s neck and, for an instant, Helena froze. And then there was an explosion of movement.
Hands that could not quite decide what they wanted to be doing were everywhere, burning against Myka’s cool exterior, kneading flesh through clothes that seemed suddenly stifling and then turning Myka’s head so that their lips could meet once more.
There was no preamble, none had been afforded since their first kiss, stolen as their bodies were forced together amid the throng of people and as if by the very hand of the universe itself, and Helena’s tongue slipped in to forcefully press against Myka’s, brushing against smooth fangs in the process. Slight as it was, Myka growled into the kiss at the touch and raked her fingernails along the gently defined muscles of the Englishwoman’s back.
“I need to feel you against me.” Helena’s words were warm against her lips and Myka somehow found enough restraint to hold still as dark eyes undressed her seconds before long slender fingers found the hem of the simple sheer black t-shirt she was wearing. No sooner had she blinked than Myka found herself bare above the waist, nipples stiffening further under the exposure, and hungry eyes turned almost black devoured every inch of the newly revealed skin.
It was enough to make Myka feel alive again.
Helena’s mouth was on her then, warm tongue teasing a rigid peak to an almost unbearable tightness, and Myka’s head dropped back so that she was staring sightlessly at the ceiling of the room. She threaded her fingers into dark hair once more, holding the woman’s head in place, and then let out a breathy moan as a hand came up to finally cover the breast not receiving such rapt attention. With teeth and tongue, Helena worshipped Myka’s chest, setting the taller woman aflame as she worked her way down until she knelt at the feet of the dark goddess above her.
“I need to feel you, Myka.” And that goddess became a blur of inhuman speed and fluidity of motion, tearing clothes and mortal bonds alike, freeing desire and desperation as they fell to the bed.
“God, I love how to you say my name.” Myka breathed against a pale neck, sliding her body so that her hips brushed the inside of Helena’s thigh. Evidence of the raven-haired woman’s arousal was immediate, painting Myka’s skin like an illicit stroke of paint, and suddenly she was lost. The scent of the body beneath her, the feel of her, the mere idea of her existence; it was too much. Myka’s body surged, form hovering like some terrifying, exciting shadow, eyes piercing as they caught Helena’s in her descent. She paused, an inch before inviting flesh and parted her lips. Her tongue snaked out to run along the edges of her fangs, pointed and sharp, and she dipped her head to drag their tips lightly over yielding flesh. Not enough to break the skin, but with pressure sufficient enough to leave a mark. The hands against her back still and Myka panted, hot and heavy breaths ghosting across Helena’s skin, painting it with her unspoken yearning. And then strong fingers moved to claw at Myka’s hips, urging her further, urging her onward, but Myka was stronger and would not be moved without her own consent.
“Do it.” Helena rasped, accent thick and eyelids slatted, hips undulating against her control to spread slick wetness across Myka’s waiting thigh. The vampire, for there was no denying that was what she was, growled so low in her throat that it became a purr. She could feel her restraint slipping, felt the darkness reach towards her with its beckoning hands. Helena whispered to her, “I want to feel you inside me.” And all was lost.
Her teeth slid in with grace and ease, drawing blood and rasping moans from the woman beneath her. Helena’s back arched as her chest seemed to swell, brimming with what suddenly felt like too much breath and yet she could not seem to expel it. She clawed at Myka’s back, fingernails leaving duplicate trails the colour of the liquid being siphoned from her, and she slammed her eyes shut as she felt a strong arm wind itself around her bowed torso, holding her. Their bodies had never been closer, and yet all Helena could focus on was the need for more.
Myka’s head began to spin, high from the tang of blood and heat of flesh, and from the woman whose thighs she knelt between writhing under her touch. In that moment, Helena was everything, and Myka drank her in. A leg was flung around her hip, gripping tightly, wanting them pressed closer still and there were fingers in her hair, hoping to prevent her from pulling away. Myka wasn’t sure she’d be able to if she tried and though the thought should have troubled her, it did not. Something about Helena made everything seem so less worrisome.
“Myka.” The gasping moan fluttered close by her ear and though she tried to sate her thirst as slowly as she could, the woman’s voice drove her to near madness. “I want more.” It could have meant a hundred different things, and at that instant Myka vowed that she would ensure they enact them all, but for the moment she chose perhaps the easiest of them all. She slid a hand down across Helena’s chest, not lingering very long on any particular spot, until she landed at the apex of the woman’s thighs and found her drenched in molten fire. A gasp lifted from one of them, both of them, then a growl that was more distinct, and then Myka’s fingers were enveloped. And the world simply ceased to be, grinding to a halt around them as Helena’s hips rocked against the expert touch. Myka’s fingers curled inside her, the heel of her palm adding a delicious pressure exactly where it was needed most, and her teeth seemed to spread fire into her very veins. The sensation of being drained was akin to riding the ‘come down’ waves of climax, only it kept going, and going, and just when Helena thought she’d die if forced to bare the pleasure any longer, Myka’s fingers would move inside her and that wave would rise again.
Not once did she feel afraid or as though she were in danger, all she knew was the woman draining the very essence of her life from her and that she would gladly give her soul along with it. And it was with that thought that Myka’s bloodlust peaked and Helena felt her body go rigid and somehow explode without any movement at all. She screamed Myka’s name, though did not remember doing so later, and pulled painfully at the hair she had fisted in her hands. Her hips rocked as the final tremors shook her body and then she finally fell back limp against the bed. Myka eased her fangs out, but let her fingers remain, and smiled as Helena whimpered and gasped at the sudden loss. She blinked dark eyes open and slackened her grip, allowing Myka to pull back and gaze down at the pale face of her lover. Her lips and teeth were stained with red and Helena felt her stomach roll pleasantly at the sight.
“God, I wish I could fuck you right now.” She whispered, words quiet and lacking strength. Myka smirked and ran her tongue along her fangs to clean them. And Helena became enraptured once more.
“No. I’m not done with you yet.”
*clears her throat*
Righty ho, then! Pardon me, I seem to have an urgent need for what I'm told is now called "alone time".
