MISERY LOVES COMPANY
damienxhunt:.
The ascent to the main floor was long and Damien was keenly aware of how Ruth pressed her body close to him, enough for him to feel the warmth radiating from her and for his senses to be assaulted by the smell of the alcohol she drank and the coconut on her skin– he could almost taste the creaminess of it on his tongue.
As they reached the top of the stairs where a large portrait of the infamous wailing woman hung, Damien turned around and pressed her against the wall and the portraits gently shook as his blue eyes slowly traveled from her face down to her body. Ruth looked different that evening– polished –that he couldn’t help but hum in approval. With his free hand he held her neck, and his other hand sliding down the plunging neckline of the velvet dress, his thumb grazing the curve of her breast that peeked through, enough to tease a man, enough to tease him.
It was curious, how Damien was feeling, the need to be close to her, touch her, taste her even and had he only checked his pockets perhaps then the vampire would know why. He would probably be disgusted to fall under such meager witchcraft. Instead he looked at her almost longingly and just as he was about to say something, someone appeared as he tried to pass through the stairs. Damien took a step back and motioned for the witch to follow him.
The Convalescence looked far different from the basement pub and the dimly lit floor provided protection from prying eyes, Damien went straight to the bar and ordered some top shelf liquor for the both of them as he waited. The vampire was conscious to keep his eyes averted– he didn’t feel like himself tonight for some reason.
“You’re a witch,“ he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “so you get to have access here, with all the other supernaturals.“
Ruth felt as though she were floating up the stairs behind Damien, her footfalls landing lightly on the wooden platform of each step. It was the viscous flow of alcohol through her veins altering her senses, the haze of sweet intoxication enough to put a dreamlike state over her surroundings, but keep her thoughts, and her decisions, on the ledge of sobriety. Those moments in the dark stairwell, slowed down by whatever force pulled on the puppet strings of her life, were suspended as the clamor of activity was slowly slipping away, until it was but a hum below the sound of their shifting bodies ascending the stairs. The walls were lined with old photographs ranging from to the old Sanatorium, to street views of the original state of the town through history, to it’s earlier citizens. Their eyes peered through black and white film, watching as the pair continued upwards. If she listened carefully, Ruth was almost sure she would have been able to hear their whispers, hushed words drifting through the stairwell, ripe with the intended sins of those who held their bodies so close together.
Ruth’s attention was diverted from the various photographs, lured away by the commanding portrait of the beautiful woman poised at the top of the stairs. Her eyes bore into the witch, it’s stare suggesting that it was not but a mere painting, but a living, breathing being. Words were readied on Ruth’s tongue, inquiries about the woman in the portrait, when Damien’s sudden movement sent the words tumbling from her mouth in nothing but a quiet, surprised cry. Her back collided with the wall and the pictures that hung clattered gently, almost like a chilling laughter as his hand come to wrap around the slender column on her neck. The air around them turned thick, and Ruth found her breath caught in her chest, fluttering there helplessly. Her eyes, amber in the golden glow of the light illuminating the scene, watched as his gaze slid over her body, slow in it’s meaningfulness. The way he looked at her, drinking the woman in with every sweep of his eyes, sent a shiver down her spine. Ruth tilted back her head to rest against the wall as his free hand glided over her chest, across the smooth expanse of her exposed breast, and down over the fluid material of her dress. The witches eyes remained on his face, watching every subtle movement— the twitch in his jaw, the change in his eyes as his gaze rested on her breasts. The balance of power was tilted then, and Ruth felt it was a sense of dangerous excitement, as she just barely restrained herself from arching her back into his touch. Ruth anticipated his words, her breath coming quickly now, aiding in the visible rise and fall of her chest, when a patron burst into the scene. The spell was immediately broken as the man, smelling heavily of whisky, passed by them before clamoring down the stairs. Damien moved away, and Ruth couldn’t help but feel the evident tug of disappointment in the pit of her stomach.
Still, she said nothing as the woman made sure her dress and hair were in order before they entered another section of the building. The atmosphere was immediately different, brown eyes drawn to the lascivious shadows that hid the sins of those lurking within. Laughter, pleasurable moans, the tinkling sound of glasses of liquor, and the deep, soulful and titillating voice of Nina Simone created an alluring symphony that called on the sinister chamber of the heart.
Ruth followed Damien to the bar, biting her lip as she took a seat. The woman crossed her legs, aware of the way it made the green material of the dress ride up on her thighs. She was careful to bring no attention to it though, instead focusing on the vampires words as she glanced around once more. “This… is amazing,” she confessed, as though the compliment was like a bit of gossip slipping from her tongue. She really was impressed as well as filled with a sense of exclusivity. It was not lost on the witch that this feeling was something she had been in search of since she could remember, and finally she turned her gaze back to the man before her, eyes much warmer than she had ever allowed him, though not without a unmistakable, an oddly personalized glint. “What other secrets does this place hold?”
