The Middle…

She took his lip between hers, bloodless, no air. How sweet life was to taste compared to this, but sometimes even vampires meet each other between legs. It’s a different sort of loving, instead of consuming, it’s the sex of companionship, of not having to explain bloodlust or savagery, nor to make excuses for it.
They were damned to hell, and they weren’t sure if souls or heaven even existed. The crosses branded on their backs, mottled, silver skin odes to a Christ that told them they were a sin – moved like silver fish trailing a river lit up by the sun. Except, they were in a less romantic setting – the back alley of a train station would have to do. Who knew a public place like Marleybone could provide such interesting opportunities for love under cover of streetlight?
“What…does…this…feel like…for…you?” She snapped out of her thoughts as he asked the question. She almost exploded in anger. Who wanted to talk about feelings now? Orgasm wasn’t the same as a vampire, their bodies needed adrenaline releases that came through the synthetic type blood that came with the change. It could never compare to the real thing. When vampires fucked humans, mostly they saw a writhing shape full of luminous veins in ecstasy, that’s why they lose it most during sex. Just to be close to that again, just one ounce of sweet surrender, and they could feel full for weeks. His question hung in the air. She felt the denim rub against the brick behind her, she felt the world and it’s material shape, she felt uncomfortable. She felt held.
The streets would run with blood soon, what the fuck did it matter what this felt like – she realised his movements had become slower, rhythmic. She caught herself trailing her fingers down his back, as if he really were a lover, as if they really were human again.
She bit her lip as he waited, his hair brushing her chin, steadily moving her against the wall as if he were the tide, and she was a beach he stroked into being. She almost laughed at the thought – how ridiculous. It was a moment of lust in a public place where they could kill anyone who saw them, hardly the life-giving ocean and sea-turtle sheltering beach she imagined.
“It…feels…like home. I suppose-” her words caught in her mouth. She hadn’t meant to speak that. It had been a hardly formed phrase in her mind.
The fuck did it matter what this felt like?
“Finish” he commanded. She hated that tone in his voice. Grabbing his face up so his eyes would meet hers, she painfully dug her nails into his face – it would heal in a moment, and he liked the pain. She pushed him back to the wall. She knew what he’d meant. He didn’t want her to finish that way, he wanted her to talk. She laughed for a moment – and his eyes grew stormy. She felt his muscles ready to pounce on her again. So, she stopped laughing. She held his gaze, something she rarely did without a challenge or laughter in her own, and she slowly kneeled, keeping her head to his face.
When she was done, his shoulders dropped, his face looked almost pained, and as she strode away he whispered –

“You’re home to me, too”

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