Alameda Making a famine where abundance lies (nsfw)
#1

After Zin's birthday party



The world moved like it was submerged in molasses, the dirty orange lights of the streelamps smudging over the urban landscape as Theo focused on walking in a straight line. His feet swung a little more freer than usual, the impact of his shoes on the cobbles feeling muted and distant, even when he looked down to make sure they were going where he wanted. He didn't wobble overly much, relatively steady, if moving with a loose gait not usually attributed to him.

He was absolutely ratarsed, but he had many a decades of experience in keeping himself upright and steady, although he knew if he stopped walking he'd start listing to the side like a ship in a storm, so he kept walking. He'd taken the bus with the rest of the city's drunken stragglers, hoping the brisk walk from the bus stop to his house would help clear his head a little. Minutely. Miniscule.

No, he'd be just as drunk once he arrived home.

The cobbles turned into flat slabs and the little bit of Theo's brain online enough to steer him in the right direction turned him down his street, passing through the pools of light in the pitch black. The passage of time muddled, time passing either quickly or slowly, Theo couldn't tell, but the important fact was he'd reached his own door.

Bracing himself on the door, leaning heavily against it as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He leant the side of his face against the rough wood-grain, taking a moment to enjoy the cool sensation, before he managed to dislodge his keys and lifted his head up again. He squinted at his lock, trying to get the key in the hole, drunken hands fumbling as they were far from coordinated to get it on the first try.

Drunkenly, the Englishman's thoughts lingered on that ridiculous Sherlock series the BBC has aired, with the weak writing and ridiculous deductions about alcoholics and scratched charge ports. How many times would he have to scratch up his lock before he qualified for alcoholism?

Theo snickered to himself, pushing himself off the door to steady himself, keys jingling as he pulled back and tried again.
#2
What was she doing out in Alameda? Nothing good. Never anything good.

Tonight, Asphodel was sneaking up on a drunk man and had zero compunctions about it. Even as a raven, inky feathers disguising her against the dark sky, she could easily smell the alcohol roiling off him, twining together with the delicious scent of his blood. If she just startled him, would he piss himself? That would absolutely abhorrent but equally delightful because she was an awful creature... Hmm, no maybe not. If she managed to wheedle a feed out of him, she didn't want to be smelling that the whole time.

So, she alighted on the porch railing next to him, swooping and landing in a flutter of wings. There. That was enough of a warning.

A moment later, the black feathers melted away and the wood creaked lightly as she appeared perched on the railing near his elbow. "God, look at you, Theo." She chided, literally tsking with her tongue. "The very picture of intemperance." She shook her head, as if she were the picture of innocence, and not mentally slavering at the idea of sucking the alcohol out of his body.

Just. Push her off the fucking railing, Theo.
#3
Even Theo's sluggish mind caught the sound of wings, the faint woosh of feathers displacing air and the soft sound of something light landing on something solid. He looked up from his tribulations with his own bloody lock, bleary eyes taking in the bird on his porch railing.

Brain stuttering, Theo wondered if he was finally cracking, hallucinating ravens because he'd spent a good month looking over his shoulder like Asphodel would appear out of nowhere. Pure paranoia, he was sure she didn't find him that interesting, just good for a snack and an insult, but she'd ruined his life so he'd always see her as a looming threat if he knew she was around. Then the raven turned into a woman who shamed him for being on the piss.

Not a hallucination, then.

The pleasant buzz of the alcohol faded into the background as his temper flared, the sight of her making him drunkenly frown. He should shove her off the fucking porch.

"Piss off," he slurred, accent thick and unwieldy on an almost numb tongue. "Don't have the patience for an argy-bargy with you, no matter how lush you are."

The key finally went in the lock - while he wasn't even paying attention, how insulting - the noise of it pulling his attention back to getting the door open. He turned the key on automatic, unlocking the door and resisting the urge to congratulate himself.
#4
"Oh come on now, Theo. We got on so well last time." If she weren’t from across the pond herself, Asphodel was sure she’d have no idea what he just said. Barbaric gobbledygook. She shook her head again, as if gently lamenting the lost potential of a very promising child. The effect was spoilt by the Cheshire grin.

Lush, he said! That was like handing her the keys to the kingdom.

The sound of the key sliding into the lock drew her attention and where he didn’t manage it, she gave him a small condescending round of applause. As it faded, she turned to settle against the wall, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. "What, pray tell, has my favorite psychic so deep in his cups this evening?"
#5
The Englishman scoffed at her, opening the door. Got on well was an understatement, considering, even if they'd been hissing and spitting through the whole thing. He would've made some crass remark, but her condescending applause cut him short and he just huffed loudly, annoyance prickling all over. It only ratcheted up when she called him her favourite psychic, reaching apoplectic levels. The multi-layered implication hit him where it hurt - not only was she claiming ownership of him, she was implying she had more poor sods at her mercy.

Logic dictated that as a vampire of course she did, but hearing it implied got his hackles up more than he thought it would. Lord have mercy on their foolish souls, and his.

"If it pleases you, ma'am," he said, voice saccharine sweet and venomous all at the same time as he walked through the doorway and into his entranceway. It sounded more like a 'fuck you' than what he actually said. "I've been out, getting proper trolleyed. On the piss, as they say."

The loud discordant jangle of his keys as he dumped them on the hallway commode was loud in the hall and he braced himself on the edge of it to slip his shoes off.
#6

Belatedly, dress



"Ma’am! I do like that." God, but he was like some great drunken bear. The door opened with a gentle swish, allowing a rush of cool air out into the summer heat. As he disappeared inside, one of her hands slipped out to test the threshold.

To her relief, his “piss off” hadn’t revoked her invitation. He’d simply been telling her to go away in a general sense—the Rules were so touchy that way. Unfurling her legs she swung down from the railing and trailed in after him, brushing imaginary dust from the back of her summery dress.

"And the occasion?" The commode knocked noisily against the wall as he braced on it and Asphodel rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her. Coming up beside him, she would offer support, one deceptively strong arm slipping about his waist so she could help him sit down before he fell down. “Favorite psychic” did mean she’d rather not see him brained on his own furniture.
#7
Theo shook off her arm, practically hissing like a furious cat at her. He stopped short of shoving her away - he might just topple himself - but he made it clear her help wasn't welcome.

He finished toeing off his shoes, leaving them where they were rather than trying to tidy up after himself. He straightened to pull his worn wallet out of his back pocket and slapping it down on the commode.

"None of your business what the blasted occasion was," he bit out, moving away from the immediate entranceway and further into the hallway, towards the kitchen. "What in the world do you want? Did you just pop by to peck at me, you daft bird."
#8
Worthless! Asphodel stepped back, unduly affronted and propped her hands on her hips. Fine, if he wanted to just slip and fall and die in a puddle of his own vomit, then it wasn’t her problem.

His accusation pulled a sardonic little titter out of the vampire. Yes, of course. Why else did she ever approach him? Asphodel couldn’t resist throwing herself after him down the hall, the woman appearing suddenly leaning at the entrance to his kitchen.

Propped as she was, shoulders against the wall, hands behind her back, her body was shamelessly angled to show off long bare legs and slender figure. "Of course." She admitted, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Then she effortlessly assumed his boorish accent. "Maybe I just came by for a little slap and tickle. And a snack. Is that so bad, Theo?" Pouty lips at that, because she was insufferable.
#9
In the kitchen, Theo was banging through his cupboards, getting a glass out and going to the tap to fill it. It was tempting to just put his entire head under the flow of water, get some of his wits back, shock the system. He glanced at Asphodel as she moved in, eyes taking in the length of her body as she lounged up against the wall. She was posing, he realised, rolling his eyes.

He guffawed, rough and incredulous, the sound unexpected even to him. It had come out of nowhere to punch him in the gut, her use of the crude colloquialism strange and at odds with her appearance, combined with her lampooning his own accent. It was a neat little package of unexpected humour from the vampire he could say with all honesty he hated on a deep abiding level.

"Guess I fuckin' deserve that," he admitted, voice hoarse as the laughter eased into rough chuckles even as he brought the glass of water up to gulp some down. He could see the humour in it. His own attempt at driving her away with being crass and crude backfiring spectacularly. Shit, a master of putting his foot in it. He deserved some sort of medal. "Taking a page out of Lenore's book, hm. Want my hand up your skirt while you're latched to my throat?"

He put the glass down on the counter with a little too much force, too drunk to really be effectively careful with anything. It either looked entirely exaggerated or accomplished the opposite effect.

"You must be gagging for it," he observed, deceptively casual. "Waiting around like this."
#10
Part of her wanted it to be so easy. Asphodel was hungry, just let her have her pint of blood and she'd go away. He had to know it was inevitable. The rest of her knew that would never be reality and relished the challenge in a twisted kind of way. His laughter was met with an airy smile of her own, the vampire genuinely unbothered--mirth was a better reaction than anger. Falling back out of the pose and out of the accent, the vampire found her way further into the kitchen.

"Please, Theo, it's the other way around. Lenore learned it from me." She made a teeth-sucking noise at him, a little indignant at the misattribution. With her usual flair and casual disregard for his dining surfaces, she turned and pulled herself up onto the counter, settling to cross her legs at the knees and lean back on her hands. "I am the elder vampire."

She watched him pitch and yaw around with the glass before it finally made its way to the counter next to her, a bit of water sloshing out and onto her dress as he slammed it down. She didn't move, just sighed. Then she looked up at him, lips twisting to one side with affected mischief. "I was just passing by. But you did say I might call you if... what was it..." She tapped her lips. Again with the accent, the woman pitched her voice lower to try and imitate him, "'Give us a call if you want a proper fuck again'?"

Asphodel tilted her head and looked at him expectantly, calling him to account.
#11
Theo didn't particularly care which of the vampires who'd made it their twisted hobby to hound him first thought of the honey trap method of blood acquisition. Her correction went entirely ignored, although it was tempting to ask her if she was the one to introduce Lenore to the idea of memory erasure as a coping mechanism for dealing with her tattered fucking humanity.

That she echoed him verbatim and put on his accent again, to remind him of his stupidly failed attempt at offending her out of contacting him ever again, made the temporarily banked coals of that ever present anger just flare up again. God, she was such a cunt. One that was far too interested in him. He knew she could go out in her little summer number, flick her hem at someone and they'd follow her into a dark nook with very little convincing needed, and that was without the fucked up vampiric compulsion.

She was just here to be a pain in his ass.

"Okay," Theo snarled, settling for the option Asphodel didn't think he'd go for. "Bend over the counter and flip your skirt up, Asphodel, and I'll give you a good seeing to, but you'll not get a single drop of blood for it. You've got nothing to offer for it, as nice as it was to see you face down and arse up, the novelty wears off."
#12
The finger that had been tapping against her lips paused, moving to gently pinch her chin in thought. One pale eyebrow lifted as she stilled, regarding him with renewed and fervent curiosity. Really? Well, that certainly elevated the game, didn't it? She didn't have much in the way of mental powers to tell if he meant it. She hardly thought it was possible. She supposed she might be able to grab his head and suggest it out of him, but.

No, this was way better. Obviously. Even if there was no promise of blood, he'd provided a perfect avenue of torment. Smile going predatory, the vampire slowly slid from the counter and turned about, still looking up at him over her shoulder. Her eyes took on a limpid, almost innocent expression. Bunching her dress up at the front, she started to draw it up her thighs, until the hem cleared the curve of her ass and revealing a lacy navy blue number. Eyes going half hooded Asphodel leaned forward, one hand on the edge of the counter and gently waved her ass at the psychic.

Calling your goddamn bluff, Theo.
#13
In the grand scheme of things, Theo had not even considered Asphodel responding with anything but an outburst that he'd hoped would be flavoured by outrage at his nerve. She collapsed his working theory with a slow slide and turn, Theo's drunk mind struggling to understand what exactly was happening before his stomach plummeted in a flash of useless fury that she'd called his bluff.

Of course he watched her. Eyes following her hands as the white material of the summer dress slid up. It was an effective tease, the visuals putting in the work to catch the interest of the part of Theo's brain that catered to the simple pleasures of sex and getting off. It was muted, however, behind the haze of drink in his bloodstream. It might take monumental effort to deliver on his bluff, but then, he didn't intend to.

Shifting from his spot by the taps, he moved so he was behind her, slightly off to the side, looking down at her bent over the counter. He leant over her, one callous rough hand coming up to slide over the globe of her ass, scratchy over the smooth material.

"See?" He said, conversationally, quiet and calm, before his tone switched to something mean and sneering. "You're gagging for it."

He didn't stop talking, moving on to his next verbal hit. He knew that later he'd be disappointed in himself, never one to hide from his personal flaws, but right now another one overrode the part of him that clung to the idea that he was still a good man. He was loathe to give in to Asphodel's manipulations and lose this ridiculous little game they were playing, traps of his own making or no.

"This your usual hunting tactic, Asphodel? You wave your arse like a common whore, give a little rough trade for your next fix?"
#14
Theo's initial strike only had the vampire making a light little 'hm', shrugging it off. Certainly, she was the one bent over at the counter, skirt hiked up around her hips, but he was the one with his hand on her ass. His palm was warm, wandering. It did quietly excite her, in the fucked up way that getting this kind of attention from him seemed to. It wasn't sexual... Except it was. But it wasn't about the sex, it was the about being the siren and the subsequent domination.

Fucked up.

The second salvo deadened that minor triumph. She'd gotten him on his bluff but... Asphodel's gaze grew dagger sharp and her head whipped around to look at him, to pin him with her fury. Here this awful man was, turning it all back on her? The tiniest lilt of shame played in harmony to the concerto of her rage--yes, he was right. To a point. Asphodel didn't see it that way, but how could she ever explain?

The moment drew out into a high string of tension, her lips drew back from her teeth, fangs growing sharp and hungry. A powerful urge to lash out at him gripped her. She could simply kill him. Take, feed, rend his worthless fucking head from his fucking body. The summer dress would be red by the end of the night and she would wear it proudly. It was a little bit of madness in her that stayed her hand.

God, but that would be a victory as final as if he took a blowtorch to her. He'd be laughing at her from beyond the grave. Who lost control this time?

Sliding into his shadow, the slight woman straightened and pivoted into the crook of his arm in one smooth motion. They stood face to face, with her back to the counter and she didn't yet drop her skirt. If his hand stayed planted on her ass, then all the better. The hand that lifted to slid along his side had no murderous intent, but it would draw their bodies close, flush if she could. Tilting her head back she looked up into his face, searching out his gaze.

"Why can't you just see this for what it is?" She asked, quietly exasperated, "It's all very simple. We could make this fun, but you always need to be such a beast about it."
#15
Ah, he'd gotten a hit. The dark vicious fury, a promise of violence tinged with that primeval madness that he'd felt from her on occasion, from Lenore when he'd confronted her. The flash of that vicious monster she was hiding under that pretty packaging was satisfying, even if he didn't like the way he'd done it. The fangs told him he was recklessly playing with something that could kill him if she decided that was what she wanted.

He was expecting her to lash out, proving what he knew true with tangible action, but something held her back from acting on those violent emotions. They remained firmly in her head, saving Theo from being another body on a police report.

She moved, straightening from her bend and turning into the curve of his arm. His hand slid over her ass as she moved, callouses catching on the lace, there was a stray thought to dropping it, but he was momentarily still wondering what her move was in response. He was surprised she hadn't smacked him clear across the room, still. Instead, her hand was sliding along his side, pulling herself closer. Theo was rocked closer without meaning too, his equilibrium faulty under the influence of alcohol, Asphodel's deceptive strength no something he had the ability to shrug off just then.

He kept his eyes on the top of her head, although even that felt like a risk, barely trusting himself to not accidentally slip up and meet her eyes while he was so deep in his cups. There was always that temptation, meet her eyes in a defiant 'fuck you,' but that'd be a short trip to self-destruction.

"I wonder why," he sneered, sardonic and biting. He pulled his hand away from her bum, bringing it up wrap around her throat, feeling the absence of a pulse, the cool of her skin. All indications for how utterly dead and heartless she was. He lowered his head slightly, tilting his head so he held his mouth near her ear, rather than stuck looking at the top of her head.

"I'd kill you, if I had evidence you were anything other than just a manipulative bitch," he promised, feeling a little wild with it. His hand tightened, but it hardly mattered. She didn't fucking breathe, but it felt satisfying in a dark way Theo'd shy away from in the stark light of the morning.
#16
A gentle tremor vibrated through her body, the heat of his hand searing on her skin, fingers wrapping the column of her throat. It was an impertinent gesture at worst--Asphodel had no fear, not when she could put a fist through his rib cage with contemptuous ease. His body heat, the ambrosia of his blood, and the steady siren song of his heartbeat had her tensed, poised with carnal need. Silver eyes flickered closed, head tilting as his warm breath brushed past her cheek. She welcomed the whisper, the threat of death.

What game they played. Asphodel could easily see why he said that; the man clearly thought she'd ruined his life. He didn't know the truth, but Asphodel thought he wouldn't like it any better. She'd played the villain for long enough that it didn't bother her.

His grip tightened and she did try to gasp, a fucked up sense of arousal rushing, rising like bile in her throat. It wasn't the sensation, but the audacity. What a delight, to know their murderous desires were mutual. An inadvertent balancing of the scales. Asphodel would kill him without a second thought, if he didn't do such a splendid job of contending with her. And even then, the thought of draining him absolutely dry was undeniably, morbidly beautiful. He was such a flash in the pan, a fearless, stupid, reckless human, and one of the monster's greatest delights. That bright roaring fire of mortality. She could throw herself on its pyre again and again.

Perhaps he would end her. She wasn't certain why this pleased her so much, except an inkling that it would be a very grand way to go. Maybe she'd take him with her.

The powerful arm that wrapped Theo's waist pulled him ever closer so that their hips and stomachs pressed together, while the other slithered up over his shoulders, as tender as clinging to a lover. Her teeth ached deliciously and she was a hairsbreadth from simply sinking them into his neck.

Although she didn't need to breathe to live, she did need air to speak, so any words were gently stifled. "I think you'd miss me." She rasped, smile evident in her voice.
#17
Keyed in as he was, drunk and with a building headache in the back of his head, he felt that fucked up sliver of arousal in her. His stomach roiled at the thought that she was responding to the thought that he'd rather have her dead than anything else. It solidified what he'd already known; she was simply playing with him like a cat batting around a mouse before it was eaten. He wasn't a threat, however much violence he wanted to do to her body. If she got tired of him, she'd just kill him, dig her fangs in and drain him dry.

A human was helpless in the face of a vampire, not unless they planned for it. Theo was always planning for it, but Asphodel dropped in at odd times, with him drunk and senseless. It rendered planning useless.

She pulled him ever closer, the lines of their bodies slotting together like a mockery of a lovers embrace. He found his hand tightening a little more on her throat, his body held steady by Asphodel because he was wavering himself, still drunk. Her other arm came up over his shoulders, tangling them together further. His hand, which had been braced on the counter, came up to settle on the small of her back, his entire body wanting to sway and pitch to the side, but her hands held him steady.

It felt like a trap.

Her declaration that he'd miss her made him sneer in contempt. "Like a hole in the head," he asserted.
#18
If she could bruise, she would by now, the brutish man leaving his mark in the shape of his hand on her pale throat. She was immune to death but not to the pain and she could feel her windpipe and vocal chords constrict. Patiently, she bore it while he held her close. The man didn’t know what he fucking wanted, that much was clear.

His retort was amusing. As always. And so true. She would leave a hole, because she was the kind of nightmarish creature he’d be looking over his shoulder for for the rest of his life. She was such a focus of rage, that her absence would leave him empty, struggling to begin anew. She knew these things but she couldn’t say them. She wouldn’t say them. People did not like mirrors held up to their ugliness.

Feeling the gentle see-saw of his body and balance, the vampire stood steady and held the psychic firmly. God, he was absolutely soused. The arm around his shoulders pulled back so she could lay her hand against the nape of his neck. Her fingers warmed, healing magic flowing from the tips and into his bloodstream.

It was not a gift. Asphodel did not give gifts. Her tongue flicked out to start tenderly laying stripes of numbing saliva across the side of his neck in preparation for her bite.
#19
She was amused again, he could feel it, followed by the ache of the headache close on its heels. He'd overdone it. The party, this now. Small subtle uses, the constant drone of everything in the background. How drunk he was didn't help.

A cold hand settled on the back of his neck and he tensed, body going taut in alarm, the instinct was to shove her off but he found his limbs like weights, the ache that'd been simmering in his head all evening finally snapping into place with a vengeance. He sagged alarmingly, grimacing in pain before that telltale heat spread from the point of contact and into his head. He felt the haze of the drink lifting by a measure too, but the headache was what it targeted.

But he wasn't willing to pay the price of that relief, not quite.

"No-" he tried to snarl out, but that warm lethargy of the healing washed over him. The drink and the healing working to relax his muscles even as he wanted to push her away, clench the hand around her throat tightly and get her to back off, but instead his finger slackened, his head drooped.

Her tongue lapped at the side of his neck and he made a noise of protest. The hand at the small of her back fisted into the fabric of her skirt, still bunched up, and he made an attempt to shove her away, but the tight embrace she had him in made it futile.
#20
It was all dramatics when his hand relented and she drew in a gasp. However, she had no words save a soothing shushing noise, an unconscious attempt at comfort. Twisted, considering she was the cause of his discomfort.

It was no trouble to hold the psychic up as he sagged, the weight of his body unwieldy but hardly unmanageable. Asphodel realized that the problem would likely come from her subsequent high, but she was too intent on his pulse for any of the more comfortable measures.

Knees bending as if she were slowly buckling, the vampire led him in a controlled descent to the tiled floor till they knelt together, tangled. Asphodel held the man close, supporting him still, as gentle as if she held a newborn. Her skirt bunched up around her waist, the cool air near the floor drifting between her thighs in a shiver inducing counter sensation to his heat.

Only then did she press her lips close and sink her teeth, the initial puncture into his flesh—resistance, then a little pop as the skin yielded—making her tremble, before blood flooded her mouth.
#21
Theo followed her down clumsily, but helpless to stop it with her strength and his own weakened state. Drunk and suffering the after-effects of overdoing it, that jolt of healing having eased the headache but left him lethargic. His hand slipped off her throat, grabbing onto her skirt as he felt his legs awkwardly giving way to her attempting to lower them down.

He settled heavily on his knees, rocking back to rest on his calves. Blinking rapidly, he watched Asphodel leaning over him, standing on her knees between his spread thighs, holding his body up, listed to the side so she could get at the whole fucking point of this. She was cold when she pressed her mouth against the column of his neck, Theo tensing against the knowledge that her fangs would pierce, even if he knew he wouldn't feel it beyond the dulled sensations through the numbing.

His hands clenched down on the fabric in his hands, pulling on it uselessly as the fangs punctured his skin. As Asphodel began to drink, Theo's head became hazy and drunk with the emotions and feelings fluttering in her head, letting out a low groan as he flexed his fingers uselessly.
#22
The pull of the fabric was only a distant, faraway sensation. That he didn’t want this was also a distant concern. He couldn’t stop her and so she took what she wanted, perhaps finding a thrill in the weakening struggle.

The vampire’s high bloomed like flowers inside her skull, inside her chest, vines twining between her ribs. Fruit grew on the ethereal vine, swelled, burst, each one becoming colors and stars in the rushing void.

Fervent, desperate with sensation, the arm around his waist tightened, grappling the psychic close with supernatural strength and fervor. The vampire pinned him flush against her, gulping greedily, seeking, searching for a rapture that took her galaxies away.
#23
Asphodel's intoxication echoed in his head, piledriving the sluggishly drunk process of it and making the whole damned event equally as rapturous for him as it was for her. The headache was back, but he barely noticed it, drowning in the high.

Theo's hands unclenched, scrabbling at her back as he pointlessly tried to twist out of her grip, the emotional high too much and not enough at the same time. Asphodel just tightened her grip on him, pulling him flush with her again, pinning him helplessly. His arms curled around her, gripping at her like he desperately didn't want to let go even if the opposite was true.

Sounds got caught in his throat, wanting to moan under the second-hand emotional assault, but choking on his own ill-will and stubbornness.
#24
His heartbeat filled the silence, a powerful metronome cadence to the magical music that thrummed in her head. It came over her like waves and as his fingers pulled at the skin of her back, the heat seared beautifully. She wriggled in a confused space between pleasure and being tickled.

A titter of laughter puffed through her nose, a smile making blood dribble from one corners of her mouth. It was difficult not to want more of everything—blood, pleasure, sensation. Body trembling, her core twisted to try and knock him off balance, to lay the man out so she could pin him to the floor and curl in close as she leeched from him. It was a clumsy attempt, the high making every thing feel flush and swollen.
#25
Held so closely by her, he didn't have much of a chance when she twisted, pulling his stable seat off-kilter and forcing him to topple to the side. It was clumsy, his own limbs moving sluggishly and unnaturally, forced to move rather than moving by his own free will. He made a vague vocalisation in an attempt to stop her, arms around her unwinding to help himself, but it was too late by the time he was trying to shove her off again.

But he was lying on the floor now, the cold tiles of the kitchen seeping in through the fabric of his clothing. There was something warm and slick sliding down neck - blood, he imagined. He'd never known Asphodel to be a messy eater.

"You-" he let out a raw cough, the word caught in his throat as he felt parched, tongue thick and unwieldy in his mouth. "Stop," he attempted again, firmer, if still hoarse. His hands came up to shove at her shoulders.
#26
Sadly, his protests meant nothing, neither did his shoving. For the best though.

What detached the vampire was the laughter that kept bubbling up in her throat, threatening to send blood up her nose. Mewling, she gently pulled away and luxuriated in a press against his side, keeping her arm crooked up over his neck.

"S- stupid..." She giggled, nuzzling the hollow of his neck and along his jaw, amorous in her post-feeding bliss. "Don't shove me or I might tear youuuu..."
#27
His head spun, even as he was laid out on the floor. Closing his eyes made it worse, like the whole room was spinning and he was helplessly caught in the centre. He was drunk, headache spreading along his frontal lobe, and had just had a portion of his blood sucked out of him.

The vampire's high wasn't enough to ease any of it now, only making the headache worse. He toyed with the idea of lashing out, bringing his last measure of strength to bear down on her, press some unpleasant emotion on her; disgust, fear, horror, anything to get back at her. It would leave him worse off than he was now, however, at the mercy of Asphodel if he fainted with that last dumb hurrah.

So he did nothing, trying to get the room to stop spinning even as he felt her nuzzle at his neck. A mockery of a lover's tender gesture.

Unable to bear it he sat up, trying to get out of her embrace. He wondered if his hands were shaking from the pain in his head or if he was just clumsy from the drink, the blood loss. He knew his face would show it all, the tension from the headache, the throbbing flare of the ache behind his eyeballs.

Theo tried to get his feet under himself, thoughts on getting up and away.
#28
Grip loosening, she tumbled off onto the floor next to him, loose-limbed and giggly. The feeling of the cool tiles made her wriggle indecently, skirt still hiked up and skin retaining his delicious warmth.

Full and swollen like a tick, she could do nothing to stop his pulling away. Conscious thought or direction was gone, a blissful smile plastered on her bloody mouth. Hell, he could set her on fucking fire in that moment and she would burn happily.

The best she had was squirming to the edge of the floor and pulling herself into a seated position against the cabinets. She dragged her knees up to her chest and let her head fall back, still grinning like an absolute maniac.
#29
Habit or a vicious pavlovian response had Theo pausing when he was upright, eyes trailing along Asphodel's body as she sprawled on the kitchen tiles. Now she was the one lethargic and slow, expression blissful as the high his blood gave her did its job. With her skirt hiked up, she looked like an invitation, that dark bit of Theo that viciously baited vampires rearing its head and urging him to take his fill like she'd done. A true tit-for-tat that held true for the accusation he'd so viciously thrown in her face.

He was one of those humans she flicked her skirt up for, whether he did it willingly or not, the urge to get his always followed once she was boneless and satisfied.

She moved and Theo snapped out of it, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. Whatever he wanted, the drink and the blood-loss prevented him from delivering, a small mercy for the tatters of his fucking moral fabric. Getting off might've helped his headache, as the old trope went, but lord it'd be difficult to get there and he'd rather not give Asphodel the ammunition to verbally lash him until he bled.

Tired and disappointed in himself, Theo moved out of the kitchen, unsteady enough that he needed a hand to run along the wall as he set to make his way to his bedroom.
#30
To be left alone in her bliss was the best outcome. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy fucking around in the aftermath--she did, even with Theo though she would never say so--but simply being allowed to drift, exist in a state of non-existence was heavenly. Maybe it was the closest to heaven she would ever get, with her soul promised to the devil at the end of it all.

It was a wretchedly short jaunt in the ethereal nirvana though. Only three minutes, for all she'd glutted herself, and she slowly came back into herself, mind reassembling to remind her of where she sprawled. She couldn't feel tired post-high, but that didn't stop the woman from feeling weary. Sobriety was such a wretchedly ugly thing when it came calling and it made her itch for her next hit. Like always. Theo's accusations came drifting back. A bit of rough trade for her next hit. True exasperation soured across her face.

Pushing herself to her feet, the vampire drifted without purpose through the house, following the sounds of Theo's existence. A distant heartbeat, breathing, underneath whatever else it was he was doing. Finding herself at the door to the bedroom, she gazed inside, unsure of what she'd find, likely to say she was going to leave.
#31
Theo unsteadily made his way to his bedroom. Once there, he tugged off his shirt, a clumsy affair that almost sent him reeling into his wardrobe, but he saved himself from adding bruises to his sorry state. Wearily going into his en-suite, he rattled around for his painkillers, downing two and splashing the coldest water his bathroom tap could muster in his face. The cold soothed the ache in his head by a small degree and he hoped the painkillers would work quickly.

He took a moment, bent over the sink and forearms braced on the cool stone of the counter. A few deep breaths, water dripping off the tip of his nose, before he rose and went for the towel. Patting himself dry, feeling better by a miniscule degree, he moved back into the bedroom. He'd slumped down to sit on the bed when Asphodel crept up. He was caught in a grimace, feeling tense and uncomfortable in his own head, but nothing would help beyond waiting it out.

Glancing up at her, he braced his forearms on his knees and slumped forward, a hand coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose as he winced again.

"What?" he intoned, quiet and hushed out of respect for his own head, not mustering much else other than acknowledging she was there.
#32
He looked a little fresher than when she'd last been sober. The same level of miserable though, but that seemed his usual state. Asphodel regarded him placidly and then glanced around his room, curious but otherwise making no note of anything. She was always a little calmer freshly sated. And apparently, kind of a soft touch.

Stepping forward, she quietly crossed the distance, and lifted a hand. The vampire brought it level with his head, but didn't touch him, not yet. "Let me help?"
#33
Theo shot out a hand to stop her, fingers curling around her wrist to move it down and away, but he didn't do it with force, simply firm insistence.

"No," he said, quiet, pained. Trends might've seen him exploding like a barrel of gunpowder at the mere suggestion, but in the moment he begrudgingly did appreciate the gesture, but found it pointless. He knew what it did to her, it'd render her forcing herself on him a useless fucking gesture. Maybe she'd drain some more, leave him in a worse spot, maybe she'd find another victim. "No, it'll fade on its own. S'not worth it. I overdid it."
#34
“Overdid it” made the vampire smile for some reason, amusement faintly moving beneath her ennui. "Ah, I remember those nights." His refusal meant nothing to her though and she let her hand fall back to her side. His loss.

"Shall I fix you a prairie oyster instead?" She asked, teasing.
#35
Theo was momentarily confused, his own meaning at odds with hers, but then he quickly caught on. She'd assumed he meant the drink, then? Of course that was a part of it, but the worst was coming from his own fucking inability to switch off everyone else's fucking emotions in his head.

Briefly he had the urge to just say it, say outright that he always had a direct line into people's heads, what they were feeling. How he invaded everyone around him even if he didn't want to. He choked on the potential words, turning his head to try to hide his face. He didn't know what his expression would say, loathing? Disgust? Horror? He wasn't sure himself, he just felt muddled.

Too preoccupied with his own sins, he failed to rise to the teasing with any finesse. "And spend the rest of the night speaking Welsh? Please, no." A strained chuckle was tacked on the end.
#36
Without him spitting acid at her, even looking away, she felt a little at a loss. He seemed to be kind of upset about something and it wasn't her. Their interaction ran on bile at the best of times and this was... nearly civil. A little like their talk back at her shop, although that had devolved quite quickly. Maybe this time it wouldn't?

Smoothing her dress behind her, Asphodel boldly took a seat next to him, crossing her legs at the ankles. Her hands went into her lap, nice and prim. She was even a respectful distance away. "Some blood, then?" A little pinprick of it would probably fix him up very quickly. The vampire wasn't certain why she bothered to offer, but it was an earnest one.

God, what a soft touch.
#37
Despite himself and his headache, he could still feel Asphodel's emotions, helpless to as close as she was, but he didn't focus on it. He tried not to actively read, letting it simply wash over him. She didn't seem to know how to react to how he was behaving. Neither did he, really.

The bed rocked very gently under her weight, Theo warily turning to look at her. He didn't know what she wanted now, considering she'd taken the only thing he had to give. The distance she'd put between them ruled out that she was looking for that bit of 'slap and tickle' she'd originally approached for. Although he supposed even if he'd thrown out she could try if she was insistent.

He peered at her very suspiciously when she offered the blood, eyes fixed on her hands, folded so demurely. She'd never done that, preferring to use her power and then feeding on him. He'd gotten a taste the last time they'd clashed, but that was been purely accidental. He'd been aware of the risk, in the days following, uncomfortable with the knowledge he held about all this. He could also tell the offer was genuine, her emotions didn't imply she was working some angle here.

What did he have to offer right now, anyway?

"Strange offering, from you," he said, quiet, a little suspicious despite the evidence he had that she wasn't pulling one over him. His point still stood from earlier - he'd be... fine, in the morning. Hungover. The headache would follow him for a few days, sure. "Sure you want to take that risk? I've already almost been killed once, being reckless."
#38
She hummed in agreement to his conclusion, head tilting back so she could look at the ceiling. It was interesting he knew so much. That could be a problem. Well, for her anyway. Let him remain wise to other vampires.

Head tilting to give him a sidelong look, she noted with a faint smile, "Yes, you are a fool. Should you die and begin transitioning, I'll kill you again myself." A morbid joke, but her smile widened by degrees to let him know and she dove into joking explanation she thought he might enjoy, even flicking her hair so as to appear unconcerned, "I've tormented you too much to let you grow powerful enough to get back at me."

Half-joking, anyway. And a half-truthful explanation. Theo as a vampire was... difficult to imagine. She thought he might hate his own existence.
#39
Chuckling darkly at her joke, he reflected on that. Lord, the thought of it was unbearable. He'd kill himself before she could, deny whatever new vampiric instincts might overcome him. He had no idea what it meant, to transition, how it felt, only that if he died with her blood in his system he'd fucking finish the job himself. Maybe the idea of using a corruption of himself as a means of getting revenge on Asphodel would appeal in his most furious moments, but the idea just settled an uncomfortable weight in his stomach right then.

No, better to die and end it. He didn't want to be immortal in a world that'd chewed him up as a human.

"I'd do the job myself," he said, tone dipping into a darkness. "I wouldn't want to know what I'd become as a vampire." Lenore had been unhinged and he remembered the sweet student who'd wrapped him around her finger. He'd be far worse, he knew.
#40
"A real monster." She confirmed with a smile, pleased he'd taken the joke well. These rare calm moments were the strangest thing. Lord, what if they'd met under different circumstances...?

Well, the circumstances would need to be very drastically different. If fucking Lenore hadn't screwed the pooch on the entire delivery, then maybe it'd be salvageable. If he didn't know her, maybe it'd be salvageable. The woman was feeling strangely bittersweet, maybe even a little absurdly sentimental.

"There are better vampires out there." She mused, leaning back on her hands, fingers sinking into the soft bedspread. Her gaze went back to the ceiling. "Than the ones you've met so far. They've made the best of it."
#41
Theo scoffed, doubtful. Monsters were monsters, they preyed on humans and no matter how they dressed it up in fancy language and good intentions, they were just a bad situation away from turning into a maw of serrated teeth and hunger. Asphodel was dishonest, manipulative, and conniving, but ultimately Theo had a feeling she didn't spend a lot of time lying to herself, which was somehow a step higher than vampires playing the role of noble parasite.

"Whatever you say," he dismissed, uninterested in hearing about other vampires. He was still bracing his elbows on his knees, but he'd dropped his hands to clasp them in front of himself. "How do you do it? Giving blood?"

Maybe an obvious conversation shift, but he was genuinely curious how Asphodel went about it. He couldn't remember Lenore ever giving him any, the Asian vampire had forced it down his throat, as violent an effort at healing as the man's claws in his fucking ribs had been.
#42
Take or leave it. She didn’t have any hill to die on either way. Perhaps Theo could’ve taken comfort in the fact that he might not be a monstrous vampire.

The change in subject was welcome. Progress, in some kind of respect. The vampire, still a little weary in her sobriety, maybe even feeling a bit weighty with age, blinked and pulled back from contemplation.

"Do you have a knife?" She asked, faint smile curving her red lips again. "You can suck it from my finger." She waited a beat and then, "Or I can put it into a drink for you."
#43
Frowning at the scuffed hardwood flooring, Theo cast around in his head for any readily available knives. He had plenty, really, and recalled he'd been using a leatherman to fix some frayed wires on his bedside lamp. He'd shoved it in his night-stand, no patience to put it back where he kept his tools. Leaning over to the nightstand, leaving his dejected pose, he opened and dug through the bottom drawer, picking up the leather sheath the multi-tool was in.

Sitting up, he wondered distantly why he was doing this, slipping the tool out of the leather sheath and finding the right blade. He flicked it open, checking out the blade for a brief moment. Sharp, well maintained. It'd cut easily and without needing to put force behind the blade.

He moved further onto the bed, pulling his leg up bent under him, turning towards Asphodel where she was sitting. The knife he was holding he flipped with an easy practised flourish, catching it by the blade and offering it out to Asphodel.

He made no move to get a glass, finding that a ridiculous affectation that just let reckless bastards like him pretend they weren't drinking fucking blood.
#44
That kept things nice and simple, although it was curious he would pick this method, with how much he despised her. It was the more potentially intimate of the two options, but she wasn’t going to complain—unknowingly echoing his thoughts, she found she often preferred the more visceral delivery.

Asphodel took the offered knife, tested the blade herself, eyes flicking up to the man as he readjusted to face her. Duvet shifting under her, she did the same, mirroring the pose with her foot hooked under one knee.

Once they were settled, she didn’t hesitate to push the blade into the dainty tip of her pinky. Dark, almost black blood welled against the pale skin, a little gem of magic.

Twisting her wrist, she lifted her hand between them, pinky delicately extended, and watched him carefully. One eyebrow rose, the vampire wondering if he’d go through with it.
#45
Watching the scene highlighted the difference between vampire blood and human blood. The almost black pearl seeping out of her cut finger didn't look human, with none of the flow of it, looking sticky and viscous. It was something Theo wouldn't have normally considered putting into his mouth, but his throbbing headache, firing off in unpredictable jolts behind his eyes, that pushed him towards it.

He leant forward and reached out, one hand curling around her wrist to hold her hand steady while the other reached forward and settled on her thigh. He didn't look up at her face, still cautious about the danger of meeting her eyes and entirely unable to trust her to not fuck with his mind.

Rather than hesitate over the decision he'd made the moment he reached for the knife, he wrapped his lips around her finger, the pearl of her blood hitting his tongue. It tasted strange, not the coppery tinge he associated with blood, but he ignored that alien sensation. He sucked on her finger, laving on the tip of it with his tongue. It felt degrading, but then he was taking a vampire's blood willingly.

Considering he was not heavily wounded, just drunk, exhausted, and pushed to his psychic limits, he felt the effects of it relatively quickly. His head felt clearer already, the ache dropping in intensity. The feeling was strange, nothing like the lethargy of her healing, but something that seeped strength back into him. Unconsciously the hand on her thigh tightened, fingers digging into her pale skin.
#46
Eyes going half-hooded and a little unfocused, she watched the man draw her finger between his lips. Theo went after it with a bit more energy than she expected—rather than just licking the droplet off, she could feel him sucking a little more from the digit and the hot slippery sensation made her stomach muscles tighten.

And as degraded as he felt, the vampire enjoyed an equal sense of empowerment, a whisper of arousal. For providing, for deigning to give him this little gift of healing. The warm hand gripping her thigh through the skirt sent her mind sparking off into well-worn carnal, debauched byways and her body responded, nipples perking under the thin fabric. However, there was some discomfort as he drained her pinky of the viscous substance.

Asphodel hissed and pulled her finger from the searing heat of his mouth, although she didn’t withdraw completely, instead kissing her fingertips to his cheek. She made no move to push forward either. The man could easily send her flying out the door with one misstep and she was feeling a little insatiable. The blood would keep his supply fresh and lush and... No, better behave. They were doing so well.

"Better?" She mused hazily, tongue feeling a little thick.
#47
It was like scanning for radio stations and suddenly hitting on one that was a clear, clean signal, with no static or interruptions. The painful white noise in his head was fading, the haze of the drink withdrawing, he pain was no longer sending his irritation and anger up into higher actions of reckless stupidity.

Well. Possibly that was just Theo.

He caught the little slivers of emotion coming from Asphodel, the clear little signs that she liked this, arousal from... the power trip, maybe. So he didn't miss the flare of discomfort either, followed by her pulling her finger out of his mouth. It startled him out of the little healing high, although simply feeling better persisted. He wondered how the effect of the blood was influenced by amount ingested, or was it simply the act of giving it that did it? Would more do more, or did it not matter?

These were questions that didn't matter and that Theo would never ask.

He hummed tunelessly in response to her, but pitched upwards so it'd read like an affirmative. Theo's head was filling with thoughts he'd entertained in the kitchen, but hadn't had the means to cash in on. The hand on her thigh slid lower, skimming over the white fabric of her skirt. He tilted his head slightly into the fingers she was ghosting along his cheek.

"You got off on that," he husked, utterly certain of the truth of his words. It wasn't framed like an accusation either, simply... an observation. His eyes were half lidded, fixed with some deep consideration on her throat, purposefully avoiding her face yet again.
#48
When he didn’t immediately pull away, snap at her to leave, one side of her mouth crooked up in a grin, lip pulling back enough to flash a slowly sharpening canine. Her eyes roved his face, noting as always how he avoided her gaze. Smart. Troublesome but... smart.

"Guilty, of course." Asphodel chuckled with a shrug, a gentle incline of the head, and no self-consciousness. The tension in his voice sent a small thrill down her spine. She read his intention in the way his hand moved, the manner with which he leaned into her touch—yes, the man certainly did seem better. And she found she desired a little more than another go at his throat.

Slowly, though. Maintaining the calm between them felt akin to stalking a rabbit. One careless move and it would flee. There was a small effort of will to close the cut on her pinky and then her fingers drifted up from his cheek, to trace along his hairline, fading silver eyes following her touch.
#49
Asphodel's hands trailing along his hairline made him wonder where she was going with it, but she hadn't shoved his hand away or mocked him for edging towards frisky, after accusing her of whoring herself out. Wasn't it the reverse now? A little taste of vampire blood and Theo would give her what she wanted?

He didn't know what she wanted in this case, following only the little habitual paths they'd recently established. His fingers trailed along her bare thigh for a moment, before he dragged them upwards, pulling the fabric along. He'd been looking at the pale length of her legs not so long ago, the tease of her blue knickers, but he redirected his eyes to avidly watch the measure of skin being revealed anyway, wondering if she'd stop him, demand something else from him. Or if she'd been honest with her little slap and tickle remark or if she'd only taken the opportunity to mock his accent.

Common, in comparison to the posh bitch sitting in his bed.

It was strange, to be doing this in his bedroom. They'd kept their little dangerous game to living rooms, avoiding passing the threshold into a more normal setting for their fucked up little game. Maybe he'd regret it in the sunlight, but right now he was thinking about ripping her knickers to shreds and making her walk back to whatever hole she'd crawled out of like that.
#50
Theo’s hands were so startlingly warm on her skin that the vampire couldn’t help the fidget of her hips, a little squirm as his palm slid up her thigh leaving a swath of rapidly cooling flesh. The trajectory, the push of her skirt, erased a few questions from her mind and briefly, she wondered at allowing this.

Freshly sated, it was hardly a distraction for him from her fangs anymore. So this was a weird little jaunt into sober sex for her. How... novel. She didn’t think it would last, her gums already aching with desire but... for now?

Asphodel’s gaze went back to his face, to his averted eyes, the way they hungrily took in the sight of her bared skin. She too wondered what his game was. Was he just teasing her for his own amusement before tossing her out on her ass? Or did he mean to have his way with her, without all the usual trappings? Here on his bed?

Uncertainty was not the vampire’s favorite thing, so she set it aside. Wiggling her feet to push her flats off, she slipped her free hand under the one marching up her leg and circled her fingers around the wrist of the one that already held hers. Then, she pulled both legs up to kneel on the duvet and start coaxing the man further onto the bed. Silent and cautious for once, she moved towards the headboard, eyes on his face.
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