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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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.

He can feel it before it happens, the rush of heat to her groin, the clenching of muscles around his fingers, the flush that spreads across her skin. He holds back to the last moment, until her body teeters on the precipice above her release and just begins to tip over the edge. Only then do his fingers push inside her depths, while at the same time, his fangs scrape across her throat and plunge inside as well, penetrating her from above and below at once.

With the marks open, her willing, and her body already trembling with physical climax, it seems easy for Jean-Claude's power to wash through her mind. They'd not know if he could roll her, but with his increase in power -- and her willingness -- it seems they had their answer.

There is no pain in his bite, only the waves of pleasure as his fingers move inside her. Her climax is drawn out, her scream choked as he feeds from her, and Anita gives herself up to the moment without a thought of fear or regret. It's the closest she's ever been to Jean-Claude, and she revels in it as she trembles atop him.

Jean-Claude drinks deeply, more than he would for a normal feeding from Jason. The ardeur feeds as well, soaking up the energy from her climax as it washes through him. Anita's blood is everything he had imagined it to be, strong and rich, with an earthiness like mushrooms which he suspects stems from her necromancy.

There is, as always, the desire to drink beyond satiation, to let her blood pour from his mouth and cover his skin, but Jean-Claude is well-accustomed to fighting back that part of his beast. He draws back, both his mouth and his hand, and cradles Anita against his chest until her trembling slows and her breathing calms.

Resting against him, she hears the rhythm of his heartbeat, showing that he had drunk his fill, and maybe just a little more. Her head is light, swimming in the lingering pleasure of her orgasm and his power, the loss of blood adding to the sensation.

Anita, though, doesn't pull back from him, doesn't become angry or feel any shame. She rests against him and smiles.

"I love you," she breathes.

The power flowing inside him is a little intoxicating. If Jason's blood were a glass of wine, Anita's would be a fifth of bourbon. Not impairing, but enough to send a pleasant warmth throughout his entire body.

"And I love you, ma petite," he answers, kissing the top of her head.

"That was..."

Far better than she'd ever imagined, and she certainly hadn't felt like food to him.

"Yes?" he asks curiously, and with a hint of nervousness. This would be the test, of course, that would determine if she would ever allow this again.