anita_blake | (no subject)

(no subject)

Her feet move slowly as she walks through the lower areas of the Circus, heading towards Jean-Claude's room. She's hoping to catch him before he makes the rounds tonight, doing whatever it was he did when he wasn't dealing with her shit. Anita takes a deep breath when she reaches Jean-Claude's door and lets herself in. It shuts quietly behind her, and she leans against it, her eyes falling on Jean-Claude's half-clothed figure.

"I need to talk with you," she says softly, "and I can't do that when you're only half-dressed." Anita smiles. "I tend to get distracted."

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Anita smiles at him.

"I'll talk with Asher and Nathaniel," she says. "Work this out between us, and then Asher, you, and me should sit down and talk. I think... I need to see things so I can understand them. When I think about it, I don't like the feeling I get, but I don't know if that's jealousy at sharing you or an honest dislike for the act."

Jealousy could be worked through.

Dislike of boysex couldn't be, if that was the true issue at hand.

"I am always at your disposal," he says with a nod before drawing her face up to his and kissing her.

She's always liked kissing Jean-Claude, and now is no different. It's reassuring and familiar. Anita sighs softly into the kiss, her hand coming to rest against his cheek.

"Why aren't you jealous about the men sharing me?" she whispers against his lips.

"Who says I am not?" he replies with a smile, not pulling back from her mouth. "Any man would be a fool not to feel some measure of jealousy at sharing such a woman as you."

When Anita licks her lips, her tongue touches Jean-Claude's, and she's tempted to forget all about this and just make out with him until she's senseless.

"Then why do you let things go on as they do?"

"Because my jealousy is not your responsibility, and to restrict you because of it is wrong. I once read, 'jealousy is merely fear in a funny hat'. All jealousy is born of fear. But what do I fear? That you will leave me for someone else? Ma petite, if you would have done so, it would have happened by now. That others will take time that belongs to me? I might as well be jealous of your work, or of the police. Any time you give me is a gift; it does not belong to me in the first place. So what is there to fear? And without fear, what power does jealousy have?"

"You make it sound so simple."

How did they do that? Both Jean-Claude and Damian. They made it sound so easy to just... change how one thinks.

He smiles again, tucking her hair behind an ear so that his fingertips can brush along her neck. "It is not at first, of course. It is a natural response to run from that which we fear, especially when the fear comes from within and not from without. It takes courage to face the monster in the dark, but quite often when we do, we see that it is merely the shadow of a hat rack and a chair, and not something to fear after all."

His fingers on her throat are distracting, and she shivers, eyes closing a little.

"I want to turn on the light," she breathes. "I don't want to be afraid of the dark anymore."

It was an adequate analogy, she thinks, and so she runs with it.

"Then we shall do it together, and face whatever comes."

He knows the effect his touch is having on her, but he can't seem to stop. He's missed this closeness with her recently, so he savors it while it lasts.

Not being alone always seems to make the dark a little less frightening, even if the dark was inside herself.

Their closeness makes her think back to the night of the banquet, when they'd fought with Asher, and then each other. It makes her remember what they'd been about to do, and what Jean-Claude has tactfully not brought up since.

"Have you called for Jason yet tonight?" she asks.

"I have not," he says with a small sigh. "I had been preparing to do so when you arrived."

Anita's eyes dart from Jean-Claude's lips to his impossibly dark blue eyes.

"Would like to not have to?" she asks, her voice soft.

He licks his lips as the implication in her words sinks in.

"You know that I would."

Anita kisses him then, slowly and deeply before pulling back and saying, "So would I."

She doesn't want to hold back from the people who love her anymore. Denying them -- denying herself -- has gotten them a very short distance in quite a long time. Anita's been afraid for so long of saying yes, afraid of liking what she's been condemning, and now she thinks it's time to stop being a coward and take a chance.

"I want you to feed from me tonight," she states, making her desire very clear for them both. No going back, no punishing him when they're done. It's what she wants. It's what he wants. And, by God, she's going to give in to what they've wanted for so long now.

He does not bother to ask if she is sure or remind her that his bite will most likely hurt her. They have been through all of this before, and he can feel her surety radiating through the marks. The ardeur is not pushing her; she is in full control of her wants. He simply nods his understanding and agreement before pulling her up into another deep kiss. This one is not slow and gentle, but firm and hungry as he opens the marks fully between them, pouring his desire and love for her through the connection.

Anita gasps into the kiss, swept under by the emotion she feels from him. There is no way she can deny he loves her, or doubt how much he wants her. If she'd just looked before -- really looked -- she'd have seen it.

She meets his hunger with her own, hardly passive in the kiss, but giving more than taking. Her fingers pluck at the buttons of his shirt as she seeks skin-on-skin contact.

Her shirt hits the floor only moments after his, and her bra quickly follows. Jean-Claude lays back on the couch, pulling Anita atop him. His hands roam across her back as her body presses against him.

Anita shivers against him, moaning softly as one breathless kiss leads to another. The satisfaction she feels at their chests pressed close is deep and warming, even if his skin is slightly chilled. Just his touch is enough to make her squirm with arousal, and she finally leaves his mouth to litter kisses and sharp nips to his throat while rocking against his lap.

Jean-Claude groans as Anita plays at the sensitive skin of his neck. His hands drift down her back and slide inside the waistband of her pants and underwear to cup the firm flesh of her backside and pull her hips against him.

Anita cries out softly against his throat, her hands skating down his sides, nails lightly scratching. She leaves his neck for his lips again, careful not to scratch herself on his fangs. While she may be careful, she certainly withholds none of her passion, her body moving against his sinfully.

His hands slip around to the front of her pants, emerging only long enough to undo the clasp and push the jeans past her hips. He breaks from her lips and trails kisses down to the hollow of her throat, while his hand moves inside her panties once again and slides to the growing wetness between her legs.

Anita cries out, her hands tightening on his shoulders as she pushes down against his fingers. She opens her eyes to stare down at him, her lust shining in her own eyes, the love and want for him pouring down the marks.

"Jean-Claude," she pants, arousal dripping from her voice.

Jean-Claude takes his time with her, rubbing and stroking the tender flesh while his lips and tongue move along her throat, tracing the line of her pulse. He nips and sucks at her neck, keeping his fangs carefully away from her skin, drawing out the moment almost teasingly.

Anita's head is tilted back as she concentrates on everything she feels. His lips and tongue against her throat, his hand on her hip, his fingers circling her intimately. Her breath catches several times, cutting off various gasps and moans. Jean-Claude knows her body, and he knows how to work it to his advantage, and Anita has never been happier to let him as heat builds in a perfect rhythm within her.