anita_blake | (no subject)

"The wound is deep, placed there by one I am powerless against."

He forces himself away from the door, his steps measured and slow, giving Anita plenty of time to react. He doesn't want to somehow scare her away. No, he doesn't want her to run; he wants her to wrap her arms around him, wants to feel their bare skin touching.

When he is close enough to touch her, he resists the urge and drops to one knee. It is formal, he knows, but he can't help it. "Mistress," he murmurs, bowing his head. "Did I do anything in St. Louis to displease you?"

Damian on his knees before her is weird, and she takes a step back.

"Of course not. You handled everything really well, actually. You refused to give into Musette's teasing. Why would you think you'd upset me?"

Damian wants to remain silent, rather than risk upsetting her, but she has just confirmed what Nathaniel was so certain of: his treatment was not punishment.

It doesn't make the hurt in him any less -- if anything, it amplifies it -- but he can't leave her question unanswered.

"You ordered me to guard your door until dawn. I did as you ordered. To be forced to listen to you, Jean-Claude, and Asher together was something I would normally classify as punishment." His throat tightens, and he remembers every moan, every scream, the scent of blood and sex through the door. He can't bring himself to look up at Anita for a few more seconds, and when his face turns upward it is blank and perfect. He would appear completely unaffected by it all if it weren't for his eyes, which are filled to the brim with the emotions his pale skin refuses to hint at. "If not for punishment, then why?"

His words confuse her. She shakes her head a little.

"We needed to be guarded. I trusted you. Why is it so bad that I asked you? Why would it be punishment, Damian?"

He can't believe that she is so very dense, so very innocent of the way her actions have affected him. It makes the ache in his chest all the more acute.

"Think, Anita," he says, the first hints of anger and frustration entering his voice. Normally, he would be able to keep them at bay, but it seems the longer he is bound to Anita, the less he is able to hold back his emotions around her. It's inconvenient. "You would not feel nothing if Richard had the power to stake you outside his door and forced you to listen as he had sex with two women from his pack. Richard does not have the power to force you into anything. Perhaps no one has such power over you, but you have that power over me."

"You're not in love with me like I am Richard," she insists. "That would hurt me because I love him. I want him, and I know he wants me. It would only be done out of a desire to hurt me if he set that up."

She takes another step away from him. There's a niggling memory she's tried very hard not to think about, to keep far away from her, but his words are pricking at it.

Damian's thoughts run in a frighteningly parallel to Anita's, but he knows exactly where they turn, precisely what was said and done in the past that contradicts the implication of Anita's words.

"In Tennessee you wanted me, and I made it very clear that I wanted you as well. You told me to fuck you. You kissed me, and I kissed you back. I knew when I was lying by your side, with your power reaching through me, that it was no longer a simple matter of lust or want." Damian slowly rises to his feet, and his eyes glimmer as he says, "I need you, Anita, just as you need to breathe. It is an ever-present ache, and I know I am not the only one to feel it."

"Raina was running through me," Anita whispers. "I pushed back. I pushed you away. I protected you. Asher said Jean-Claude would kill you, and I wouldn't risk you just to scratch Raina's itch!"

But it had been more than just Raina, and she knows it. That kiss, the groan when she'd ground against him... she'd been willing to feed him, fuck him, and it hadn't been all Raina inside her wanting that.

He had told her back then that Jean-Claude was pleased about their growing bond and what it meant. Anita has been gaining power, and that means that Jean-Claude is gaining power in turn. He doesn't believe for a second that his oathed Master would begrudge him the closeness that he craves.

Damian knows that nothing he can say will convince Anita or make her admit the true state of things to herself. Instead of words, he finally resorts to action. He fears the consequences, but that doesn't stop him. Not this time.

Moving faster than she can react, he reaches out and pulls their bodies together. The only distance he allows is that which is needed in order for him to bend down enough to claim her lips. It is the first time since Tennessee that he has had such contact with her, and he can't keep his desperation quiet or gentle anymore. He kisses her now as he kissed her then, as if he can drink in her essence through the contact of their lips, tongues, and teeth.

Anita shivers against him, power and relief flaring along every place they touch. His tongue in her mouth, the faint herbal taste to his mouth, the weight of him against her... it's like a puzzle piece fitting into place. The need to touch him, to be near him, is finally satisfied, and after an awkward moment, her hands delve into his hair. She tilts their head enough to deepen the kiss, to press a little closer to him with a soft moan.

When she doesn't push him away in disgust or anger, he can't help but pull her closer. He can feel her power sing through him, and it is like that first breath of air taken by a sailor that has nearly drowned at sea. It is almost painful, the way his being responds to their proximity.

It frightens him, the need he has to be close to her, the immense power she has over him. Any order she gives, he knows he will obey. Wherever she goes, he knows he will follow. He has no choice, but even more terrifying than that is the fact that if he were asked his choice right now, he knows that he would choose to follow her. Even She who made him never held that power over him.

It isn't simple lust that compels him to untuck her shirt enough to slide his hands underneath; it is the need for more skin-on-skin contact. He doesn't press his advantage once the bliss of that contact is established. He doesn't let his hands wander over her back or slide down past the waist of her pants. He could, but he doesn't, because the need is more than sexual, and he doesn't want the two confused any more.

Anita gasps against his lips, shivering as his hands move over her skin. It's like electricity over her flesh, warning and tingling and enticing. She stares at him with wide eyes, panting against his wet lips, shocked by her reaction to him.

"Damian," she whispers, her voice uneven. "What are you doing?"

"I'm touching you," he responds, his voice equally uneven, which is quite a testament to the intensity of the sensations he feels. "I need to touch you. Look at me, Anita... Look at me and tell me in this moment that you don't need to touch me."

It's a challenge. He rarely makes them, especially to those with power over him, but he can't help himself.

"I don't go around touching people I just feel like touching," she says, shaking her head slightly. "I have more restraint than that."

But his hand moves up her back and she trembles, her eyes shutting slowly.

"God help me."

The prayer makes him hesitate ever so slightly, but although his hands pause, they don't stop completely. They don't leave her skin.

"Don't move away. Please, don't order me back."

There is such fear in his voice as he holds her close, as he looks down at her.

Her wide eyes hold his.

"What do you want?" she breathes.

The moment of truth arrives. He fears her reaction to his words, but if he withholds them now, he will likely never speak them, no matter how she neglects or abuses him in the future.

"I want you to admit to yourself that you are my mistress and all that entails. I want you to acknowledge the need you feel, because I feel it constantly, and you torture me by denying me the closeness we both crave. The past months have done nothing to lessen the hunger I have for your touch. It pleases me to follow your orders, but when your orders keep me from you while others are allowed close..." He trails off for a moment, ceasing the useless words of his hurt and returning to her question. "I want you to accept me as your servant. It frightens me. You have no idea how it frightens me, but that is what I am."

Anita swallows thickly, though she doesn't pull back or order him away.

"You want sex?"

There is a deep chuckle, though the mirth that curves his lips upward minutely doesn't come close to taking hold in his eyes.

"You know the answer to that, Anita... but it is not sex that I need. There is a reason I did not include it in the list just now. I need your touch." It's simple while being terribly complex.

That chuckle makes her think dark, unpleasant things, and she forces her mind away from that path. Anita licks her lips -- she can still taste Damian -- and nods a little.

"You want to touch me. And..." She takes a deep breath. "And I want to touch you."

He leans over, pressing his forehead to hers. "Yes," he whispers, the smallest bit of tension oozing from him just at hearing her admit it at last. His hands move across the expanse of her back, and the tingling sensation it sends through him makes him shiver ever so slightly against her.

Anita gathers her wits and makes a decision. And, like most of her decisions, it's make without looking too closely at the reason behind it.

"Release me, Damian," she orders quietly. "Release me and strip down to your underwear."

He releases her immediately, his eyes wide with shock as he steps back. The ache at the loss of contact is acute and only adds to the shock. It takes him a few seconds longer than usual to respond, and he can't help but make his words a warning.

"It is not a habit of mine to wear undergarments."

Of course.

Only Jean-Claude seemed to wear underwear, and she sometimes thinks he does it solely out of some sick amusement at her expense.

She waves her hand.

"Fine. Strip, Damian. All of it, off."

Anita turns away from him and begins to do the same, though she keeps her bra and panties on, even if the scraps of black lace did little to hide her charms.

Part of Damian wants to hesitate and ask if Anita is sure, but her own actions negate any protests he would be able to come up with. His mistress has just given him a firm, direct order, and he follows it without delay.

Shirt and trousers are shed swiftly, and he toes off his shoes so he can step away from the discarded clothing. His emerald eyes drink in the sight of her with a hunger that cannot be adequately described as lust. He comes from a place and time where undergarments were useless except in the summer months when they were substitutes for full clothing, but when he sees her sporting the lace, he begins to realise the allure of them. Sometimes the partially covered form can be even more tantalising. At the moment, Anita is proving this spectacularly. He is positive that Jean-Claude picked out the lace ensemble, and he doesn't know whether to thank the younger vampire or curse him.

Damian's body is lean but well-built, smooth as if carved from marble or ivory. In life he was pale, but in death he is nearly a bluish shade of white, despite having fed just after waking. The blood in his system allows him to react to Anita, and he is unashamed of being partially erect in front of her. It is not just lust that makes him thus, and unless she provokes him, he will likely not move beyond his current state.

There is a modicum of fear in his eyes as he watches her, awaiting her orders. The last time he was commanded to strip before his mistress, the torture had been excruciating.