End...
She's surprised at the pain; normally, she would have opened a vein herself, deft with centuries of practice. The blunt teeth hurt, but she welcomes it; after all, she is about to inflict a different sort of pain, more durable and more damning, on Maria.
The girl looks up, her eyes hazed with desire. There is blood on her teeth, from the blonde woman's mangled wrist. Her companion kisses her, slipping her tongue between those perfect lips, forcing the girl to swallow if she wishes not to choke. Blood and saliva trickle down her throat.
The blonde pushes Maria back into the window seat's soft cushions. She lifts the flouncy skirt above the girl's waist. Quiescent now, sensing there is a greater mystery coming than what she had expected, Maria lets her lover in, stroking, kissing, hands making magic and new mysteries. As the girl bucks beneath her, the blonde slides quickly and puts her teeth together in the violet-scented throat.
As she feels the life drain out, she holds the girl, willing her not to be afraid, comforting her, wanting her to know what she has gained. First there is coming to life, then there is life, then there is the little death, then the full death. In the trees up the mountain, the cinghiale piglet is being devoured in the raptor's nest. It has gone full circle.
Maria will be reborn.
Yerp! (Rewriting some stuff, annoyed that I have to pause for such trivial things as "eating")
It sounded as if you were choking....
Good on the writing and the OK.
Sigh. You write Darla so well, Deb. Little warm in here.
I see Darla as a sexual omnivore....
Heh. I'm actually thinking of using this as the pornathology entry, since the first one turned into a completely non-erotic horror story. This one wouild work rather nicely though; Darla's name isn't even mentioned. And it's reasonably erotic.
More, picking up where I left off..
She smiled, and it felt almost real this time. "Good night, Wes. Thank you."
***
Claiming exhaustion had been the obvious excuse for escaping what was, for him, an uncomfortable attempt on her part to make the situation seem almost normal and his poor reaction to it. He shouldn't have snapped, nor should he have told her how little progress he was making, but both had been easier than attempting small talk while he his head was still trying to wrap itself around the problem in some new way that might allow him to see the solution.
What he needed was space. Her constant presence in the house produced a somewhat claustrophobic atmosphere. It wasn't anything she was doing, unless one considered breathing and moving and simply being as conscious actions. It was just the reminder that the peace he'd made with certain things and events came more from distance and less from having dealt with their effects.
Wesley took a book from his bedside table and flipped to a section he'd marked the night before. The Greek translated roughly to "Uninterrupted Serenity", a fairly simple spell intended to provide temporary mobile sanctuary for some sort of annual meditation. It would allow her freedom of movement with far less risk of backfiring than the other temporary measures he'd researched. Its strength was unfortunately balanced by a limited duration, but it would provide them both with a break. He'd gather the necessary ingredients on his lunch hour.
One hand reached up to absently rub the side of his neck. If he was going to attempt any sort of spell, he needed to inform Buffy of it first. He owed her that courtesy, at least, especially considering he needed this as much for himself as for her. Setting down the book, he got out of bed and made his way back downstairs.
She was still seated on the couch, her eyes glued to the television. He glanced at it, wondering what had grabbed her attention so firmly that she hadn't noticed someone else entering the room, then glanced again. Somehow, he'd been expecting it to be a news report on murder or mayhem with supernatural overtones, not a staged talk show with flashing 800 numbers running across the bottom.
"Infomercials, Buffy?" He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice, though it was hard, considering her rapt expression.
She jumped at the sound, but managed to collect herself quickly. "You'd be surprised how addictive they can be. I think this is the third time I've seen this one tonight, but I can't seem to stop watching."
"Actually, I'm well aware of their hypnotic quality. I hope you don't mind turning it off for a while?"
The screen blinked off with a flick of the remote. "Sorry, was I keeping you up?"
"No, I hadn't gone to sleep yet. We have things to discuss."
"At three in the morning?"
He blinked. "Is it that late?"
"Why do you think I was watching infomercials?"
"A certain desire to comfort yourself with the notion that things could be worse, or perhaps a burning need for men's hair growth supplements?"
"Something like that. What's up?"
