anita_blake | (no subject)

(no subject)

Anita is curled up on the couch in the room she sees as the lycanthrope room, a book in her hands. She's trying very hard not to think much.

Think about Jean-Claude.

Think about Richard.

Think about Asher.

Think about Micah.

Or Damian.

Or Nathaniel.

No one. Nothing. She just loses herself in her book, the door ajar in cases anyone comes by looking for her.

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Anita slowly approaches the bed again, hesitating for a moment before she crawls atop the mattress with her cloth. It's odd, seeing him naked, sprawled as he is, and she pauses only once before she sets to wiping up the cold semen. She tosses it to the hamper in the corner and lays down beside him once more, her hand splayed over his stomach.

She knows she'll overthink this once Damian leaves for the day. She knows she'll think it to death and worry about her choice and regret things. She knows this because she knows herself. The doubt is there, a kernel, a small ember waiting for the air to breathe life into it, make it a raging blaze that will devour all the compassion she feels in this moment with Damian.

But that will come later, once he's gone.

For now... for now she presses against his side, resting her head on his shoulder as her fingers draw idle patterns on his alabaster stomach. The contact is calming, soothing; it keeps the doubts at bay and her mind silent so she can simply enjoy what they've shared -- what they share.

That first touch still brings a small gasp from him, like a switch being thrown that sends a jolt of electricity through him, but the tension eases quickly this time as relief washes through him.

With her power close, his heart beats steadily in his chest. No matter what the future brings, this moment feels as close to perfect as he is likely ever to come. It's been a long time since someone has traced patterns aimlessly on his torso, and he likes the familiarity of it.

Tilting his own head slightly, he rests it against Anita's at his shoulder. It's the only contact he initiates, careful not to push her. "This is what I needed," he breathes into her hair with the softest of sighs. "This is what I need from you, and what you need from me as master and servant. Would it be too much to ask that we do this again?"

Anita pauses for a moment in those patterns, and then begins again.

"When?" she murmurs.

He's right, regardless of whether she's happy about it or not. Right is right, and dammit, Damian is right. She needs this. He needs this. No matter her doubts, the need can't be denied.

Damian hears that hesitancy and understands it. He never expected Anita to particularly like that she needs to be around him, but he commends her for at least internally admitting it.

"Next Saturday," he suggests. "I know you have a raising to perform, but after you are home and clean, you might enjoy it most. Just us, Anita." He gives her a small smile, knowing what is probably going on in her mind. "I'm not asking for sex once a week, just your undivided attention and touch for short periods while the world isn't about to end." Though, if it were up to him, the stressful times would mean more contact rather than less.

Anita holds his perfect, emerald gaze, weighing the request, and she knows he's not asking for more than she can give. She gives a slight nod, and then rests her head on his chest, listening to the quiet beating of his heart.

"Next Saturday," she agrees softly. "And we'll start including you when we have the terrible movie nights."

There is a glimmer of something in his eyes, and it is clear from the rich quality of his tone that that small inclusion is something more profound than she would think.

"With Nathaniel and Micah?" It's his way of double-checking her. In his mind, this is too good to be real. He tries to convince himself that he isn't hopeful like his tone implies... and fails spectacularly.

Anita nods against his chest.

"With Nathaniel and Micah and anyone else who drops by."

He is a part of them now, right? It would be cruel to exclude Damian now that his needs have been so thoroughly brought to her attention.

Damian simply doesn't know what to say. It's more than he had dared to ask of his mistress. Such little things, and yet they mean the world to him. In Scandinavia, there were no illusions of community or family. He had only the most superficial of friendships the majority of the time, and all centred around the pleasure of She Who Made Him.

Anita has just offered him more than his previous mistress ever did. In the end, all he can do is take what he is given. His arms close around Anita, tingling with the power shared through their contact, and he gives her a small, grateful squeeze.

"Thank you, Mistress," he whispers into her hair, falling into the old habit of formal address despite the casual setting.

Anita smiles.

"My name is Anita."

No more of this 'mistress crap'.

Damian smiles as well.

"My deepest apologies... Anita."

"We can stay like this until dawn nears," she murmurs, her hand stroking his stomach. "If you'd like."

"I would like that very much," he asserts quietly, settling himself and Anita for the short hours ahead.

Once they're settled, Anita sighs, closing her eyes.

"So would I," she whispers.

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