Likened to a Liquid Lash
He came every night, at the stroke of twelve, as chimes echoed up the creaking stairs, and dust floated harmlessly in the air. He came.
Because he had promised.
She was lying awake, just like every night. Waiting.
The last bell: midnight.
The woman lifted her head, and watched the key hole with wide eyes. Eager. Restless. Waiting.
A fine white mist began to trail its way down to the floorboards, wreathing like silk and hissing like sand.
She felt her heartbeat quicken in anticipation. Palms suddenly sticky with cold sweat, and throat suddenly thick with raw emotion. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. There was her heart and the mist.
The smoke writhed and swirled restlessly. Until finally a pale man stood by her door. Though to call him a man was to stretch the truth somewhat, as the woman well knew.
He took a step, his bare feet making no sound on the old boards, his long ivory hair swishing with the motion, then he smiled.
The woman felt her eyes flutter, and she began to take deep breaths. She was not going to hyperventilate. Not this time.
One step after another, and with each second that passed, as the space between them was winnowed further and further, his smile grew more and more predatory. She didn't stand a chance.
It was the eyes really. That's what had her hooked: liquid orbs of midnight blue, surrounded by purest alabaster. She could quite peacefully drown in those eyes. But that would never happen. There was no 'peace' around him. To enter his eyes would be to plunge oneself into a harsh and vivid ecstasy.
Denied, she was always denied. How many nights had she tried to make him see how much she craved that final, burning oblivion? Too many to count; lost into the rivers of immeasurable pleasure.
Worth the wait.
He sat on the end of the bed, watching her. Identifying each and every change since the last night. Sadly, he noted, the fire which had drawn him to her—that blazing spirit that yearned for adventure—was beginning to diminish. He sighed.
"I told you to get rest. You need it more than I do," he intoned ruefully.
The woman shuffled herself upwards, till she was leaning her back on the head board. It hurt, but she didn't care. "I can't sleep during the day like some people," she replied mischievously.
He sighed again.
She wriggled a bit closer, trying not to get tangled in the silk coverlets. He fixed her with a steady stare, and she stopped moving. She stopped breathing again.
Slowly, he brought his legs up onto the bed, and crawled to her quivering form. With gentle hands he pushed her down, back onto the covers, so that she lay beneath him. Then he slowly stripped back the scant layers she wore. His eyes never left hers.
She was lost.
It was hard to tell if there were any remaining pieces of her consciousness that weren't aflame. It was hard to feel anything but blazing warmth. It was hard not to feel alive. All the woman's senses were painfully acute; every touch was an agony of pleasure, every whisper on her skin was an eternity of bliss. She was turned inside out and outside in, spun around till up became down, left became right, right became wrong, and wrong became beautiful.
Then that sweet respite before finality: a second she must make last an infinity, for what came after was too much to bear. His lips trailed fire and ice over her sated skin, and she was not even aware of the moans and gasps that tore themselves from her throat.
After his lips, came his teeth.
The tipped canines were a liquid lash against her skin, and her eyes rolled back up into her head as she jolted against his suckling mouth.
"Will you do it?" she managed to force out. "Like you said you would?"
"Do what, my sweeting?" he whispered against her collarbone as he switched sides.
"You- you- you- ah! You know what!"
He stifled a chuckle around the woman's shoulder, squeezing her softness to him. "Ah that."
"You said you would..."
The vampire wrapped both his arms around her slender frame, rising to a sitting position, bringing her neck with him. "I know I did."
Then he lowered his lips to the gashes in her skin, and drank.
After a while, the woman stopped struggling in ecstasy, and began to struggle in panic.
But his grip was iron, and his mouth fettered.
"Stop!" she wept hoarsely, her energy fading with each drop he drew from her. "You said you would turn me, you promised!"
Eternal seconds ticked by, prolonging the agony before he withdrew, and by then she was hardly more than a paper doll.
He smiled, reaching out to break her neck.
It was quick, painless, and he relished the brittle snap of her bones, gazing at the sight of her exposed flesh with eyes aglow. Just like all the rest...
He left every night, at the stroke of one, as chimes echoed up the creaking stairs, and dust floated harmlessly in the air. He left.
Because he had promised.
This teeny one shot is dedicated to Sesshy, and his addition of the phrase 'Liquid Lash' XD