Learn to love it:
A Fic request from @selfcestmovies who also provided the beautiful cover art ⬇️
Rating: 18+ (E)
Pairing: Young Agatha Harkness x Older Agatha Harkness
Warnings: Public sex, faint daddy kink, alcohol consumption, selfcest.
Agatha needed a drink. Like a real fucking drink, one paid for by some seedy guy at a bar that she didn't know the name of. The kind of guy that made her skin crawl, but then again enough seedy guys and free drinks the crawling starts to feel more like a shiver, something almost bearable. She waltzed up to the bar crop top and leather jeans, heeled boots helping her view the liquor available for selection. Rows upon rows of brightly stained glass form every country imaginable, every poison available to her. The light seemed to catch a dusty bottle in the back corner with the image of a green fairy catching her eye - the young woman was taken back to her time in Paris, with her... Agatha swallowed thickly flagging down the bartender with the flick of her perfectly painted black nails.
Thinking about her always had this effect, which often led to drinking, drinking into forgetting. Though how else would one forget themselves? Lose how perfectly their reflection moved without influence. Free for viewing, a wilderness many would never experience. Agatha longed for the nights where her shadow split in two.
Three years ago…
She rests her hand on the stained bar, intersecting circles left behind from long-ago drinks. Green absinthe poured into a glass, a cube of sugar floating above it. Agatha watched as the barkeep meticulously dripped water over the club till it dissolved into a sugary film.
She turned to face the room, glass in hand, balanced between her slim fingers. There are couples curled together in dark corners, there are writhing bodies against one wall, moans of pleasure dampened by indie music from the band upstairs. The pool room catches her eyes, round five men were arguing over-rules and tactics, it would be easy prey for her to get a few games in at their expense. She loved to hustle, after all, she was just an innocent girl who needed a man to teach her how to play - right?
"Princess!" Agatha looked towards the noise and grimaced, "We see you over there, come play doubles with us," Some taller button-down wearing nobody shouts from where he's crammed into the pool room with his two friends all three dripping with their own apparently sleaze as they eyed Agatha up and down. The brunette merely smiled, she could practically smell the trio from where she stood all cheap beer, too much clone and bad dental plans. The perfect targets for a couple of free drinks and a pool hustle.
Agatha pulls on her best sickeningly sweet smile, giggling childishly "oh I don't know fellas, I'm not very good" she plays with a strand of her hair, walking towards the pool room. The men now grinning between themselves, elbows nudging, drinks spilling.
"I'd hate for you to lose, because of me" Agatha continued as she reached the table swinging her knees together, the perfect image of innocence to lure these idiots into a false sense of security.
"Not a problem Sweetheart." One particularly potent blonde states swinging an arm over the brunette and smiling, his eyes most definitely fixating a little too often in her breasts as he spoke. "You'll be playing with me and well— I won't lose." He winks, nudging her lightly and the other two set up the game, howling like dogs to support his claims.
"Oh well." Agatha tutted, fighting the desire to roll her eyes, "I guess you wouldn't mind us playing one on one then? Make things fair?" She asks, fluttering her eyelashes adorably.
The blonde laughs looking at his friends like a dog in heat, scratching his stubbled jaw pretending to think about it. "You know what gorgeous, you're on I'll even bet on it." He states cockily slamming down a $50 on the table.
Agatha cocks her brow slightly, surprised at his confidence just knowing how much more fun it will be even if she eventually beats him. Sliding a hand into her own back pocket, not ignorant to the way all three men followed her hand like a magnet, the brunette placed her own $50 onto the table - $100 on the line, easy money she grinned.
"Alrighty then," Agatha started, downing the last of her drink and dumping her empty glass in one of the nameless hands. She bit her lip, making a show of eyeing up the cues, weighting one in each hand before choosing her own to chalk up. "But take it easy on me." She winks, her voice dripping like honey as the blonde bends down to break the table and start the game.
"You got it, princess." He grins as he takes aim to pot a striped ball by bouncing it off the top left corner rather than the solid straight shot in front of him. Obviously trying to show off. He potted but missed on the second go, sighing heavily and calling himself a twat, something that Agatha was honestly inclined to agree with.
Agatha watched the move, and grinned to herself - men were so predictable she thought, shaking her head. Bending over the table, the brunette lined up her first shot, shifting a solid red ball from the bottom left of the table into the top right corner with ease. The cue gliding gently between her fingers, the chipped black polish tips pressing gently into the green.
"Nice" one of the men stated at the ball potted, earning the glare from his friend.
"Beginners luck" she shrugged, bending over the table again to line up her next shot. The blonde watching with amusement knowing she was blocked by his stripped ball. The brunette smiled at the smugness before aimed over the ball, switching down at the last second so that the ball chipped and bounced over the blondes own, potting.
"Fuck" the blonde muttered shocked, each of his friends looking a similar shade of blue, the realisation they had been sharked dawning on them.
Agatha grinned at the shot, making a show of standing back up, slowly drawing her hand back up her cue before leaning on it - cocking her hip.
"What's the matter, boys? Haven't you seen someone chip in pool before?" She grinned, watching the blonde man panic about where to place his next shot. The brunette smirked at the scene, each man looking a little more heated and well- sweaty knowing Agatha could actually play pool.
The blonde missed his shot, potting the white, and the game contained on. All the while Agatha couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched... She was used to the attention, especially in bars like this one after all she was the only thing in the place that was washed within the last 72 hours. Not to say that she wasn't pretty, Agatha knows she was- is hot, but attraction and looks in this place really was second to inebriation and stimulation.
But this feeling was different, it was warm and cold all at the same time - it made the hair of her arm stand on edge. It felt familiar. As though standing in the plains between mirrors - two ways.
She took a chance glancing over her shoulder as she lined up her next shot, but missed for the first time that night when she was met by the most perfect eyes she'd ever seen in her life. Ones she'd seen everyday since birth.
The older woman sat at the bar, perfect legs crossed intensely watching the pool game from across the room. She had a high set of cheekbones coloured by the dark light in the room. A sharp jawline that could probably cut skin if you touched it just right, and then that regal slope of a nose enough for Agatha’s fingers to itch around her cue. Suddenly desperate for a pen, a paintbrush, anything to depict such beauty on a substantial thing - the walls would do. Her lips plump, the bottom one pulled between two rows of perfectly white pearly teeth as her gaze flicked up and down her body - causing a shiver.
Her shoulders sloped into toned arms that rested against the bar behind her, the stretched elder relaxed stance complimenting her slender neck, the Agatha couldn't help but lick her lips at the pale white flesh like a river after months of drought.
She was exactly how she’d always imagined herself and she was waiting.
Agatha couldn't think of a better canvas for her art, the mystery replicas battered, brushed and bitten skin the paint, and Agatha mouth the brush creating the most perfectly arousing mosaic of pinks, reds, purples...
Piercing blue eyes boring into hers with an intensity that sends shivers down her spine. The woman is smirking at her, as Agatha realises she missed her shot. The trio of men all cheered with relief.
Agatha suddenly feels extremely flustered as those blue eyes travel from her face and downwards. They fixate on her cleavage for several seconds, and when a pink tongue pokes out to lick at those plump lips, Agatha gulps.
The replica’s eyes continue to flicker over her without her consent and she sighed, lining up her next shot. She was wreaking havoc on her pool game. Her gaze switches from the tempting replica to the trio of baboons she had the displeasure of playing pool with; wanting nothing more at that moment to take their money and buy that variant a drink. Not that a woman like that would give her time the time of day. She shot, potting her final ball and looked around ready to line up the black and finish the game.
A corpus of groans emitting from the men around her, that quickly turned to giggles as they realised they'd snookered her. Two stripped balls balling her final shot at the black. Agatha sighed, standing straight and perusing the table for any possible chance to take a winning shot. It was tuff but not impossible, not if she got her angle right.
Leaning over, Agatha took her time ribs resting delicately on the table as she lined up the shot. However, Before she realises what's happening a body is behind her, a hand gripping at her lower hip, dangerously close to her backside. A slender hand running up her arm slowly. The action sent a series of goosebumps all over the brunette's skin. Agatha gulped audibly, tilting her head to see the replicas from the bar now stood beside her, their hips sinfully aligned, as a curtain of red consumed her and voice graced her ear.
"Why don't you show these idiots what's what, pot that final ball and meet me in the bathroom honey?" The replicas smirked, obviously amused by the startled look on Agatha 's face at their close proximity. The replica's gaze flicks up at the view of the men in the room, grinning before she leans down to bite the shell of her ear gently, teasing the skin and flicking it with her tongue before pulling away - making a true show of things. Staking her apparent claim.
The brunette gasps at the sensation, the two still pressed together against the table in this very public pool room.
"Thank you for taking such good care of my girl here, gentlemen I'm sorry you couldn't beat her." She winks taking in the men around them, tapping Agatha arse lightly with her palm before she straightens her back and walks off back towards the bar and aforementioned bathroom.
Agatha practically shook, grinning as she takes her final shot, potting the black and grasping the $100 from the table; stuffing it in her back pocket. "Good game fellas" she smiles, practically throwing her cue at one of them, "but if you will excuse me" she doesn't wait for an answer as she turns in her heels and rushed off in the direction of her replica.
All three of the men left stood high and dry, their jaws slack, clutching their pool cues - all a little more worked up about the show the two women had put on for them than losing $100.
She stumbles for a few steps before catching herself on shaky legs, swallowing several times as she manages to straighten herself out, rolling back her shoulders fluffing her hair lightly. The last few steps to the door are excruciatingly slow, and her hand trembles as she reaches the poorly eliminated sign of a feminine gender sign. Its glow now tainted a dull brown from years of long hours and dead flys collecting at the bottom of the bulb.
Her fingers wrap around the handle; she took a moment for herself, drawing in a series of deep long breaths. Pulling till she hears it click and jerk down, sliding open with a creak a mass of sawdust collecting along the bottom from the floor. Before Agatha can talk herself out of it, she slips inside and closes the door smoothly - there's no lock she notes as her palm lays flat against the wood pressing it undeniably shut.
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming"
Agatha has to shut her eyes at the sound. Every part of her was suddenly alert and on edge, her back still to the voice. The brunette couldn't help he wonder if this was what it was like for those who faced Medusa on Sarpedon; the fearful temptation all the more overwhelming that with the promise of ethereal beauty they just had to sneak a peak - despite the consequences.
She turns around slowly, letting her eyes flutter open to land on the old woman leaning over the sink on the other side of the bathroom. She was even more gorgeous in this light, one leg propped up against the counter, a hand raised to check her makeup and then another crossed over her chest, her features bathed in the harsh fluorescent glow of the flickering light bulbs above the sink.
"Well with a proposition like that, how could I not?" Agatha gave with a laugh, The replicas' eyes gliding over the brunettes reflected features in the mirror-like a predator.
"Humm how could you indeed." The other woman hummed finally turning towards the younger woman. Her back pressed against the bathroom counter, arms places behind her to hold the dominant stance. Half drank a glass of whiskey beside her. "did you win?"
"of course I did" Agatha states proudly, almost offended at that idea she may not have.
"I've been watching you little one." The replica started sucking her teeth audibly, "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
Her eyebrow quirks, lips twitching into an almost unnoticeable smirk.
The term left her lips and Agatha could instantly feel the ache between her legs grow unmistakably. She presses her legs together, swallowing thickly, before nodding her head. Having an attraction to one’s self was natural surly? Having the ability to act on it… another.
"Use your words, sweetness." The replica's smirk grows, and she pushes away from the door to take a tentative step towards Agatha . "I couldn't possibly give you what we want, without your verbal consent." Her perfectly wet tongue peaking out to dampen her lips. The telltale signs of her teeth were imprinted on the delicate skin.
Agatha had to fight not to lose her balance, the closer the woman came the harder it was for her to maintain her composure - a faint yet sharp fragrance of pomegranates and bourbon consumed her. A small moan leaving her lips as her eyes flicked up to meet a familiar blue, never in her life had being asked for consent been such a turn on. She supposed the older woman had the advantage of experience, she knew what you liked better than you ever could, would… she would always be one step ahead.
"Yes." Agatha chokes out, her back slowly moulding to the wall as the replica steps closer to her, barely an inch each time. "Yes, I could feel you watc—watching me." The older woman leans in to tuck a lock of hair behind Agatha's ear and she hummed softly at the response. The air between them is thick with tension, her gaze falling down to the younger woman's lips, licking her own before returning her gaze to her younger self.
"And is that why you're here sweetness? Because you enjoy me watching you?" She teased leaning, a hand on either side of the brunettes head, her nose running along the a-line of the taller woman's neck. Agatha a faucet, a drowning mess beneath her.
"Yes," Agatha whispers, a small smile reaching her lips as her mind begins to calm down, two could play this game. "All night," she graces, blue eyes flitting down to the copy’s lips, "I couldn't stop thinking about you kissing me." She reaches up, unclamping her clammy fist to stroke a thumb across the older woman's lower lip. "Touching me."
It’s all she could think about really, ever since last semester when they had come across a spell to attract variants. The opportunity to see yourself in every reality, the rest of the class had buzzed with the concept of questioning, learning from their future and past self through every plain of existence. Agatha however, hadn’t been able to shake the feeling, the idea of enjoying herself further. How could anyone satisfy them better than themselves?
The replica whimpered then laughed. Taking a final step, now pressed flush against Agatha , pressing her lightly against the door. She's warm and soft - softer than Agatha would expect with all those lean muscles on down - subconsciously Agatha arched into the touch. The soft silk material of her dress pressing against the exposed skin of her torsos, the older woman's hands run down along the wall, tracing the outline of Agatha 's body behind her.
"What else?" The woman's lips ghost across Agatha 's cheek, her breath like the wind against her heated skin.
"Fucking me." The brunettes breaths leaning in to graze her teeth against the shorter woman's earlobe.
"All you had to do was ask." The replica grins, surging forward, capturing Agatha 's lips with her own. Fused shades of lipstick, saliva, an audition of new touch, noise. A sensation that sets their bodies alight.
Her hands coming up to grasp Agatha 's hips firmly as she pushes her harder against the door. A moan breaks out between them as their hips grind together. Agatha tangles her fingers into the thick straight red hair tugs hard until the old woman grins and licks into her mouth tugging roughly at the flesh of her arse.
The wet glide of the replicas's tongue against hers sends Agatha reeling, and her moan is deliciously filthy as the brunette's hand slides up to cup her breast. Strong fingers knead her roughly through her dress. A strong thigh comes to rest between her legs, black red bottoms pushing her feet aside
She tugs at Agatha 's hair, breaking the kiss with a sharp gasp as she arches her chest against her hand.
"Why'd— Why'd you stop?" Agatha breathed, their lips pulling away with an audibly smack, her chest heaving while the older woman still looked to be with the perfect state of grace. All but her eyes were now clouded, a dark film overcoming her earthy eyes like an ocean storm.
"Open your mouth." The replica states simply the hand in the brunette's hair drawing her head back so that her chin was pointed up.
Agatha complied, still a little confused until the older woman's hand comes to grasp her jaw their lips almost touch before she slowly spits down into her mouth.
The warm liquid hitting her tongue and rolling back down into her throat. Agatha moaned, untamed, grunting at the taste.
"Swallow" The copy whispered her tongue coming out to lick across the brunette lips as she closed them to swallow the other woman's essence, like the sweetest shot she'd ever tasted.
"Please" She croaks, voice rough and desperate, and the variant smirks in the most infuriatingly sexy way as she pulls back to stare at Agatha with hooded eyes.
"Please what, Little one?"
Instead of answering, Agatha pushes the woman back until she has control, or At least the illusion of which, pressing the replicas against the bathroom sink. One hand reaching to tug upon her dress, the other roughly shoving the straps aside to reveal a stiff, aching breast.
The replicas chuckled as she was suddenly engulfed by a warm, wet mouth. Agatha lavished her tongue against her nipple roughly before sucking on it, and she gasps feeling a gush of wetness between her legs. The brunette young and talented fingers teasing the waistband of her panties.
"Oh I knew we’d have fun, baby girl" She laughed, hissing lightly as Agatha’s teeth grazed against her breast. The brunette moaned against her skin as the nickname left her lips. "Humm, you liked that one? Huh? Baby girl?" The replicas hummed, repeating the endearment again.
Agatha pulled back a string of saliva stringing from her bottom lip and the other woman's breath, breathing heavily. Mouth agape, wet and wanting as she nodded hungrily.
"What's my name sweetness?" She asked with her hands raising the grasp on either side of the brunette face roughly, she had a feeling she'd respond to it well. Her thumbs pressing into her cheekbones, palms touching every crevice of her skin, fingers imprinting themselves along her jaw. "Say it and I'll give you everything you want."
The rasp of her voice was more intoxicating to Agatha at that moment than any other substance known to man; if she'd asked her to scream she'd scream, to get on her knees she'd crumble - Agatha Harkness was well and truly incapacitated by her older self.
"Daddy." She whispered, their lips brushing with every syllable, every shuddered breath.
"Good girl." The replicas smirked, kissing her lips quickly, hardly enough to quench either of their thrusts. Even as Agatha had her pressed against the counter in a public restroom she was still quite obviously the dominant one, completely in control of the situation as her hand ran down her torso to pop the top button of Agatha 's tight leather jeans.
"Can you stay quiet for my little one? We wouldn't want anyone to walk in and see just what a good little slut you are now would we?" She mocked, the brunette shaking her head fiercely as the replicas rewarded her with a kiss, her underwear uncomfortably wet. Like this woman, this goddess of a woman, who smelt like pomegranates, leather and tastes like expensive liquor; Agatha doesn't think she's ever tasted anything better.
She breaks away from the kiss for a second, gasping for air as she moves to suck and nip on the replicas' neck. The thought of leaving her possessive mark there, her undeniable claim had her trembling and clenching, and she can't stand being touched for another second.
"No marks baby. Not yet anyway" she smirks, as Agatha bites down at her neck drawing back to admire her work, using a thumb to clean her own face.
The brunette shrugs at her own disobedience, "Hardly anything there; and oh look, seems like I'm not the only one who's wet." Agatha giggles the final word falling from her lips with a thick tut of her teeth.
The replica tightens, her eyes visibly darken, a possessive groan emitting from her throat as her hand slipped into the younger woman's underwear. "Listen here brat." She whispers scowling lightly, "Keep that pretty mouth of yours shut and I'll fuck you so good you won't be about to walk straight, but keep it up with that little attitude and I'll leave you here, like the sopping mess you are understood?"
Agatha whimpers, the ghostly feeling of fingers brush against her clit.
"I said, am I an understood slut?" The woman repeats.
"Yes!" Agatha cries out tears forming at the idea of not being touched, "yes Daddy I'm sorry, I'll be good" is promises kissing the replica’s jaw for good measure, burying her face within the soft and welcoming flesh of her neck as she is finally given what she wants, those slender, elegant fingers finally gliding through her slick folds, parting her and dipping into her wetness.
It was everything she could have ever hoped for and more, there was a distant level of understanding or knowing that circled beneath each variant's skin. Heightened and maddening - how could anyone ever compete?
"God, Baby girl, you're so fucking wet" The older woman groans, tilting her head up to kiss Agatha 's neck as she strokes at her clit. Agatha shudders and bucks against her hand, desperate for more friction. The replicas' fingers slip down to her entrance, dipping just inside to tease her and gather more wetness, before moving back up to rub tight circles against the aching bud. Agatha cries out as sparks of pleasure shoot up her spine, and her knees buckle under her. The replicas steady her easily, pressing her into her body more firmly, her other hand coming up to grasp her thigh and pull it around her hip. The change of angle has Agatha silently crying out biting down on her own hand that grasps against the woman's shoulder, in an attempt to adhere to her orders.
"Would you rather me be gentle with you?" She whispers, taunting. Agatha could picture perfectly the smug look of faux confusion on her.
The brunette shook her head no, vigorously. The older woman chuckling darkly as She leaned forward, lips at her ear once more. Agatha whimpering involuntarily as the lobe of her ear was sucked in briefly. She bit her lip to stop herself from letting out noise at the sensation.
"You're doing so well baby," The other woman cooed, pulling back. Agatha groaning at the loss of warmth, before the hand inside her began to move in earnestly. Her pace was rough, unyielding. She pulled her finger out almost all the way out just to the tips, that circled her entrance before slamming back in, pounding in and out until Agatha lost all ability to form a coherent thought. One of her hands groped at the mystery woman's chest, pinching her nipple hard. She cried out, and Agatha grinned wickedly. She rewarded her lapse in control by moving the hand down her body, treating her clit with the same roughness as she did the rest of her.
The woman moaning throatily against her lips. Heaving Agatha 's thigh further up her hip, grip tight enough to leave bruises. Both women's hands working tirelessly.
"Oh, fuck daddy" Agatha sobs, clenching and fluttering wildly around the long digits, and she can't stop herself from bucking her hips, desperately trying to fuck herself on the talented fingers. The brunette sets a quick pace on her lover's clit, slick sounds filling the room as her hips thrust and the replicas's fingers pump into her swollen cunt, and soon both of them teetering on the edge of coming.
"Hold on baby, I want us to cum together," the replicas gasps, arching as Agatha leans down to take her nipple into her mouth again. She scratches her nails desperately against the brunette's scalp, and Agatha growls and biting down on the aching nipple.
The other woman circling her fingers, the stretch had Agatha 's spine arching and her whole body tensing as the replicas thrust faster and harder into her. When she curls her fingers deep inside her and drags them firmly against her swollen front wall Agatha screams, a desperate cry ripped from her chest. Her own thumb pressing firmly against the other woman's clit.
"Cum for me please" Agatha whispers, practically begging for her release while chasing the own. "Please Daddy" she whimpers bitting down on the other woman's lip until a familiar Natalia taste flooded her mouth.
Their orgasms hit together; a heat spending across their skin that flushed so bright they practically glowed as their bodies pressed together firmly - each woman clutching the other to them tightly. Their chests heaving, a mixture of giggles, moans, whimpers filling the room.
"Well fuck." The older variant flicked her head back from where it rested on Agatha 's shoulder, running a hand through sweaty yet annoying still perfect hair. "You're just full of surprises aren't you little one." She grinned, her tongue running along her teeth and lip cleaning up her own blood that had started to dry there. Then teasingly she removed her fingers and sucked them clean; the simultaneous taste of cum and blood filled her senses. "You taste amazing too, better than I ever dreamed."
Agatha laughed out her chest heaving, forehead pressed against the replica's collarbone. "Well, I aim to please." She winked, suddenly feeling excruciatingly thirsty. Her eyes flicker up to the mirror behind them over the replica's shoulder taking in her frankly destroyed appearance; her own lipstick and the other woman's spread across her face like spilt ink in an old painting. Her mouth was swollen and bitten almost blue; The only comfort being that the older woman looked just as thoroughly fucked too.
Her eyes flickered down to the replicas's forgotten malt drink, picking it up she took an indulgent sip humming slightly as the burn of liquor raced down her throat. The older woman's watched her intensely as the brunette raised the glass and suddenly drew a gasp from between her lips, the cool brown liquid new racing down her chest. The replicas grunted at the sudden burst of frost that hit her heated flesh, Agatha merely smirking before chasing the liquid with her tongue.
"Hmmm" Agatha made a sound of appreciable as she drank from upon the other woman's skin; begging sure to lick the flesh perfectly clean. Before raising her head, blue meeting blue.
"That was my drink." The older woman complains, a faux frown on her features and the younger woman grins.
"Oh, I'm sorry where are my manners?" She smirked raising the glass teasingly to the other woman, "here let's share." She continued pulling the glass back towards herself indulging in the final slip before grasping the back of the other woman's neck - connecting their lips and spilling the contents of her mouth in between her lips. The whiskey, their lips, silva and tongues mixing in a perfect serenade of sex and alcohol poisoning.
"Don't say I never gave you anything" Agatha whispers teasingly kissing the older woman's bruised lips before pulling away slightly. The replicas merely gazed at her in awe, her hand still groping at her hips and arse tightly. Agatha 's thumb swiping gently at the side of her face, to clean up the drizzle of alcohol that ran across her flesh. The brunette takes a moment to truly take the older woman in her blue eyes, flushed skin, her bloodied, bruised and cut lip.
Agatha tutted slightly reaching into the empty whiskey glass beside them to retrieve a piece of ice. Holding it up between them, the replicas cocked her brow in question before the brunette's free hand came to rest beneath her chin tilting up slightly before pressing the cool substance against her sore lip.
The replica hissing at the soothing yet stinging sensation; Agatha smirking slightly as she worked at nursing the other woman's lip with the ice gently, intensely focused on the broken flesh never looking away until satisfied with her work.
The other woman watched her closely, admiring the way the harsh light bounced off her soft auburn hair. The slope of her deep round cheekbones, the indentation of dimples clean upon her skin.
That's when she decided; This couldn't be a one-time thing. She had to see her again.
"There," Agatha stated, running her thumb gently across the broken lip, pulling it down slightly.
"You a nurse or something." The other woman's laugh, grasping the brunette's hand sharply before she could pull it away. Sucking her thumb into her mouth, tongue swirling around it delicately rehashing in the taste of her own dried essence.
"Or something" Agatha shrugged watching as her appendage pulses in between the replicas's lips; before drawing it with an audible pop.
"You think anyone heard us?"
"Oh most definitely, we'll have to work on their volume control little one." The older woman complains smirking, leaning down gently then slipped her own underwear off and into their palm before stand up straight again, a bundle of red lace handing off the index and pointer fingers.
"I'll go pay our tabs. Meet me outside, ten minutes." The replica ordered kissing the brunette quickly before drawing her mouth open with her tongue and stuff the underwear in. "In the meantime to keep that pretty little mouth quiet and busy, look after those for me."
Agatha moaned at the taste of the other woman against her tongue, the Lacey material scratching the roof of her mouth perfectly.
"Understandable baby? Clean up, mouth shut, outside ten minutes." She stated, kissing her forehead gently as Agatha nodded slowly, groaning around the fabric in her mouth. The replicas grinned wildly, pulling away with one final kiss on the younger woman's hair before exiting the bathroom. The image of excellence rather than someone who was just got fucked in a public bathroom.
Agatha watches her leave utterly perplexed at what had just happened, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, legs in steady as she grips the dirty porcelain sink. Her mouth filled with a mysterious woman's expensive underwear, legs slick with her own desire, fingers rained with another. She shivered all the utmost exhilarated at the thought of what could possibly happen next.
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The Blue Hour
a Max Phillips &
Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic
Chapter 2:
Oh - Hi, Mark.
How's Your Sex Life?
After Max took Mr. Rochester and held him hostage, he’s decided to make good on his threat - but not without playing with his food first! Teasing out his secrets, it’s a wonder we don’t keep him on a shorter leash. Oh, these wicked games, Max - if he loses, he’ll probably just put what’s owed on his tab. Although, to his credit, this rakish fellow does know there’s a time and a place to be cruel and a time to be kind. Let’s just say, in the words of Fiona Apple, he’ll let you use his skin, to bury secrets in - things are definitely going to get a little hot and heavy in here.
Reader beware, you're in for graphic fare!
Pairing: Max Phillips of Bloodsucking Bastards x afab!fem!reader
Rating: Explicit / NSFW 18+ (No Minors)
Author’s Note: I wrote this piece during the month of April 2024 - Adenomyosis Awareness Month, and the idea came to me during March 2024 (Endometriosis Awareness Month). This will not have any type of pregnancy kink, but will touch on infertility of OC due to the aforementioned; canon for this story is also that Vampires are infertile - there will be no Renesmé. OC is intended to be around the same age as Max, reader’s choice up or down, but no age gap. Because older afab/fem lovers are sexy - we drink and we know things.
Warnings: This will continue to be a blanket coverage of this point forward.
A bit of rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration - P in V, oral [m + f receiving]), food play, 18+ only content, able bodied fem afab reader, alcohol consumption, non-gendered pet names, fem can be carried and has hair - though length is not mentioned, consensual "bondage", some use of y+n - but not explicitly, though consensuality is implied and intended through actions and reactions, no protection used for Vampire reasons TBD (be wise and always use protection, this is fiction). Did attempt to stay away from gendered pronouns and nicknames, although did use the word woman, 3 times throughout the entire piece (not fully published yet) referring to OC. Discussion of history of endo / adeno, and future chapter will mention previous relationship / SA; there will also be Vampire hunting, murdering, and blood….sucking bastards.
Wordcount: 13k + a few, but who's counting?
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The next evening, when I woke up, I started receiving a bunch of texts from Max. Just one right after the other. By the time I realized he had been sending them, I had 40 new texts from him.
Thirsty much? I scoffed.
And then I clicked on the text thread and gasped, covering my mouth. Oh no.
Each text was a picture of Max outside of a specific apartment with a huge grin, either with a single person or a whole family, holding Mr. Rochester and variously captioned, “Doesn’t belong to them!” - “Not these people, either!” - “This guy will take it if we can’t find the owner!”
Scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling - the Cullins family, old Mr. Feeney, little Old Mrs. White whose husband just passed away last year, the Partridge family with all of their little kids. This was a nightmare!
I mean, eventually, I will probably laugh at this, but right now I could sink into the ground. Groaning, I buried my head under the covers and practiced mindful breathing - 8 seconds in, hold for 8, breathe out for 8. Camped under the covers, I had just started to find my calm, when my phone gave off another singular glow, “Just wanted to let you know that I was thinking about you. All day.” From Max.
Okay. Heart rate increasing, but in a good way. I can work with this. I sent him a non-committal gif of Kathryn Hahn in WandaVision, throwing a sassy wink, and tossing her head back in an adorable giggle. Yeah. Yeah. That’s good, I think. Or I still have things to work on in therapy? Six of one, half dozen of the other! Then I winked and tossed my head back in an adorable giggle.
These pictures of Max with Mr. Rochester and various people throughout the building continued on until the next evening, and the evening after that. To say that I was not a fan, would be an understatement. I persevered and honestly, gave some of my best narrative performances of sexual tension and duress while recording.
The author reached out to me, letting me know they were very happy with my work, and that they would be adding a male narrator for that character’s chapters. To be honest, I was a little relieved. It could be challenging to find the right pitch and timbre for masculine voices. But even more importantly, I was a bit of a wreck. I needed a break.
Would it be fair to call what Max was doing psychological torture? I wasn’t convinced that he was doing it intentionally, and my confused attraction to him technically isn’t his fault. My own hormones and body have been so out of whack since my insomnia set in, it would hardly be fair to place the enigma of my intricate chemical fluctuations on him.
Why am I thinking about this so much? You know exactly why you’re thinking about this so much - he has a name, and it’s not Max. I physically and mentally waved my thoughts away, as I poured 160º F water over two bags of Yerba Mate in one mug.
Strolling around my apartment, I spotted my shake weight, and set down my cup of tea. Perfect - now lefty can become a lean, mean, orgasm machine! I picked up the shake weight with my left hand and started shaking it - almost immediately, there was a knock at the door. Um, no one knocks on my door without an invite, I thought to myself. Peeking through the peephole, I saw Max, who gave a wave.
Weird, he must’ve just seen my shadow cross the peephole. I opened the door with my right hand, shake weight still absentmindedly shaking in my left hand.
His eyes widened and his grin pulled up to one side, revealing his dimple, “I’m not sure exactly what’s happening here, but I like it!”
Taking notice of my left hand, I realized that I was shaking the weight directly towards my mouth in a rather hilariously obscene manner which, to be fair, seems like an intentional design flaw.
Putting the weight down immediately and plastering my best customer service smile on my face, I greeted Max, “How may I help you today?”
“I like the sound of that.” he took a deep breath in, “As much as I’d like to seek your help, I’m actually here to provide,” he emphasized.
“Oh, indeed?” I stepped back as he leaned against the doorframe, getting a bit closer to me, and I put my left hand on my hip.
“Indeed.”
From behind his back, he pulled out Mr. Rochester.
“Seems this fellow has no home. Looks like you can either adopt him or send him to the pound.”
The way he said that with a sneer was downright dirty, and I gave him a look letting him know it.
“BUT –” interjecting before I could, “I was wondering what you were doing this evening.”
“Well, I did just get off the phone with the author of the series I’ve been narrating, and it seems my part is done for the time being.” I said, giving a shrug. “I’m between projects at the moment.”
“Interesting, and coincidentally perfect timing. How do you feel about going to a midnight showing of a terrible movie?”
“That’s not a particularly alluring invitation, I think I’m gonna have to hot pass that one.”
“Hot pass?”
“Yeah. Hot pass. Not a days-old hard pass that’s been left out, getting dry and crusty. A hot pass served straight from the oven, farm to table, I didn’t need to sit on that at all, it’s ready when you are, made to order, HOT PASS.”
“When you say it that way, how could one resist?”
“And yet, that’s what a hot pass in essence is - I’m resisting, Max. Hot. Pass.”
“I promise you, it’s a cult classic! The theater serves booze, there will definitely not be any children there - if you don’t have fun, I’ll owe you.”
My ears pricked up. Owing. Interesting. Sounds like I can’t lose. I raised my eyebrows in deliberation. What do I do now? Cold Take? No, that’s not the opposite of a Hot Pass - I’ll have to work that out later.
“I accept!” I grabbed my spring jacket, my little purse wallet, and my keys.
“Excellent,” in his excitement, Max gave me a kiss on the cheek as I passed by him on the way out of my apartment, causing me to blush and turn around suddenly, walking directly back into him. He was a wall of a man, and as I started to fall backwards, he caught hold of me by the waist, steadying me.
“I would love to not be the reason for another personal injury to you,” he said, chuckling.
Startled by the sudden upheaval of being swept up into his arms upon impact, I found myself resting my right arm on his left, and gripping his tie tightly in my left hand. He appeared undisturbed, and I noticed that he’d dressed up in another three-piece suit, for this spontaneous date? His silver-gray button-up struggled at the seams under his muscles, yet appeared to move fluidly with him. It was certainly a well tailored suit, I thought as my jaw slackened, eyes moving to the muscles tensing in his neck as he pursed his lips, preparing to speak.
“We’ve got a movie to get to.” His eyes moved from my face, down to his tie and he smirked as he looked at my hand, clutching desperately at him. Raising his eyebrow, he said, “Save that for later, Sweetness.”
I let go immediately - and he let go slowly, gently.
“Oh my god,” I shook my head, and led the way to the elevators, realizing as I passed the hall mirror that I was significantly underdressed compared to Max.
Wearing my favorite classic baby tee with a pic of Jake Ryan from 16 Candles on it that says, “I ❤️ Jake Ryan”, a monochromatic gray striped peasant skirt, and some white leather Doc creeper loafers, I asked him, “Before we go - do I need to change? I just threw this on, and did not give a second’s thought to just leaving with you immediately as is. I kind of feel like an asshole, because you’re –” I gestured to his sharp ensemble.
He shrugged, “I think you look great –” pausing to look me over completely, his eyebrow going up slightly as his mouth opened slightly, letting his tongue stick out.
“But I would never tell you what to do.” Recovering somewhat quickly, he gave me a wink before hitting the down button.
I tried asking more questions about the movie on the way down, but Max would not budge, verbally. Physically, he managed to get closer and closer to me, intoxicating me with his pheromones yet again. It was a short walk to the dingy theater, where the midnight showing was of a movie called, The Room, which I’d thought was a movie starring Brie Larsen, but Max assured me - was not, in this instance.
The acting was terrible. The story was confusing, and maybe a bit upsetting, the sets were certainly a choice. It was absolutely hilarious, I spent most of the movie laughing out of pure surprise and delight at the absurdity. I could feel Max looking over at me in the dark, and smiling every time I laughed, pleased that I was enjoying myself.
As we exited the movie, Max squeezed my hand and asked, “So, what did you think? Are you owed anything for this jaunt?”
“Well. I will admit, Max, true to your word - there were no children present.” I gave him a sneaky little smile, as he gave me a surprised look, “BUT - but, I will also say that I did really have a lot of fun. The movie was absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sure I’ll be quoting it for years to come.”
“Oh, HIIIIII, Doggy!” Max said to me, leaning in.
“Oh, HAI MARK,” I quoted back to him, as he kissed me on the cheek, igniting a new bloom of blush on my neck and cheeks.
“You know there’s more that I want to show you?” My face mimicked a question mark, “Ah, yes! Keep that look of wonderment, for in the basement of this theater,” I scowled at that, and he continued a little slower and calmly, “is a museum, called the Museum of Bad Art.”
“Hmm? What’s that?” I was confused, but intrigued.
“All around this area are different satellite locations of the Museum of Bad Art, and one of them is located here. It’s really terrible art that they’ve collected from local art shows, from Good Will, the Salvation Army, estate sales, just from anywhere they can find it, and it’s stunning in its horrificness.”
Giving him a determined look, I declared, “Bring it on.”
Giving me back an equal amount of sass, Max proclaimed, “Oh, it’s already been broughten.”
Once we got down to the basement, it was hard to know where to go first, there was just so much.
Luckily, we came across an easy one - something that could almost have been done by one of the masters, but - maybe not.
“Max, tell me your thoughts on this painting.”
Max stood very still, his arms crossed, and then started nodding slowly, “Yes, I like this one a lot. Cat with overflowing cornucopia, overflowing with lush fruits, I really like how the artist uses the light to highlight –”
With his intense gesturing and the pause, I took the opportunity to help him out, “To highlight how the cat’s face is too small to be his face? To be the face that goes with that head?”
“Hmmm,” He groaned appreciatively, and then pointed at the painting, “I think that’s it. And I love it.”
We came to the next painting, an old woman in a blue dress in a field of flowers, and Max asked, “What feeling, or sense of ennui are you deriving from this work?”
“Well, Max, my general sense of ‘ennui,’ as it were, and I’d like to thank you for using that word,” he tipped an imaginary hat and did a little bow, mouthing the words ‘you’re so welcome’, “is a little bit confused, because while it appears this older woman is skipping through this field of flowers, she doesn’t appear to be happy about it. She’s got a very placid face, but not in a good way.”
“Hmm, yes. I see that. I find the bright yellow sky to be particularly upsetting. What’s going on back there?”
“Maybe she set something on fire, and she’s doing a crazed skip away from it?”
“I think Grandma’s not cooking pot pie for Grandpa anymore.”
We both hemmed and shook our heads over that tragedy. Poor Grandpa!
The next painting we came to was titled, Sad Monkeys and Woman, but they also had the title in French, which sounded even better, Singes Tristes et Femme. Sadly, the painter was anonymous, and no credit could be given where credit was due.
“Shall we break this down?” Max asked with tempered enthusiasm, making sure that I had a hold of his arm.
“If we shan’t, I’ll be terribly disappointed.” I leaned in to whisper - matching his intensity.
He nodded, “Excellent. Ladies first.” He gestured towards the painting.
“Well, I don’t understand the need for all of the broccoli florets, but if we can look past that, it seems that the monkeys are sad, and the lady is in a circus tent - but why are the monkeys sad, and why is the woman inside the tent without the monkeys?”
Sighing, furrowing his brow, Max gave it a moment and then replied, “I think it’s a medical circus tent. They’re waiting for test results, and it’s probably not going to be good news.”
A lightbulb went off in my head, “OR, what if, like the saying, ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys’ they just got their 23 and Me results back and it’s her circus –”
“But not her monkeys?” Max finished my thought, and we turned to each other and both said, “SAD MONKEYS!” and then made fake sad faces at each other.
We passed by a particularly disturbing painting of Joan Crawford, and I gasped, “Oh, Joan! What have they done to you?”
“Derivative.” Was Max’s passing response.
Kismet, it seems, brought us to a final portrait that appeared to depict none other than Molly Ringwald herself.
“What would you say is happening here?” I asked Max, gesturing towards the painting.
“I’d say that Molly Ringwald is battling a little cherub baby angel over one shoulder, and some sort of Mrs. Doubtfire inspired crone over the other shoulder.”
“Aha - the recurring duality of good versus evil, and of course, humanity represented by - Samantha, from 16 Candles?”
“Naturally.” Max nodded, “Who better? Although, I wonder if you would call it coincidence or serendipity that you’re wearing a 16 Candles shirt and we’re happening upon art with the very same subject matter?” We started to walk out of the museum and the theater, heading back towards the apartment complex.
Passing him an eye roll, “Coincidence, definitely. Although, I didn’t take you as someone who would consider anything serendipitous,” I looked at him curiously.
He shrugged, giving a snarky look back at me, but also kissed my hand, “I take what life hands me. Sometimes more.” He smirked and gave a chuckle, “Whatever happens, happens, sometimes - I think life has a way of surprising you. But listen - do you really love Jake Ryan?”
I burst out laughing, “What?! He’s a fictional character, and from a movie that has not aged well, at that.”
“Why do you have that shirt then?”
“I mean –” I shook my head a little, “it’s the persistent idea of Jake Ryan. Sitting cross legged, kissing over a flaming birthday cake? Yes, please. But, also - the one. The one who doesn’t forget your birthday, who sees you in a sea of others, who treats you like you matter - the fantasy of being someone to another person. To have passion that is reciprocated. Jake Ryan is a state of mind.”
By that point, we’d reached the entrance of the apartment building. Max paused, taking in what I’d just said.
“I’m sorry - that was a lot, and again, it’s just that over-romanticized ideal. You know, imprinted teenage crush.” I’d started apologizing, taking Max’s silence as a sign that I’d said too much, been too much.
“Hey, hey,” He shook his head and started rubbing my shoulders, “No, it’s a really nice idea. 80’s movies affecting the romantic interests of people over the years, how they react, behave, that’s absolutely valid. How it affected you personally? I mean - I’m happy to hear all about that.”
“Okay,” I smiled, “What about you? Was there any movie that stuck with you over the years of idealized 80s romance?”
Max paused, thinking for a moment, “Say Anything - I thought I could be Lloyd Dobler,” I frowned, “I know, I know. He’s a little, stalky. But he looked so cool holding up that stereo, playing Peter Gabriel. I needed to be him. Or, my younger self needed to be him.”
I nodded, smiling and encouraging him to open up more, but a cold chill ran through me as the temperature dropped, and I involuntarily shivered in my light jacket. Noticing, Max wrapped his arms around me.
“Let’s get you inside.”
We made our way up to the 4th floor on the elevator, and Max walked me to my door. “Thank you so much for tonight, Max.”
“Um, we’re not done.” His features hardened, and he gave me a stern look.
Taken aback, I responded, “I’m sorry?”
“We’re not done - or do you not remember that I brought back the ‘lost device’ tonight?” his hardened features smoothed into something playful, yet foreboding.
“We’re going to figure out what it does.”
My stomach sank, and so did my vagina - both feeling like they had just gone down a really high hill on a rollercoaster. To be honest, I couldn’t decide if I was horrified or excited.
This evening with Max had been exactly what I needed and wanted. We vibed so well with each other, and he made me feel so comfortable being myself, even when he was walking around looking like he did in that suit. I bit my lip a little too hard while thinking about it, and winced, as I tried to think about how I was going to come clean about Mr. Rochester. But what about - ? No. Not tonight. Fuck off ‘what ifs’ and ‘what abouts’. I deserve this. I was resolved.
“Very well,” I said nonchalantly as I put my key in the door lock - Max stood close behind me, putting both hands on my hips, he leaned his head down and sniffed my neck, while the hairs on my body all stood up. For a brief moment, I froze there with my eyes closed, feeling the strength of his hands on my pelvic bones. Until he took one hand off me, and pushed the door open in front of me.
Shaken out of my fog, I walked forward into the apartment, dropping off my keys, wallet, and jacket near the front door. I turned around, and asked if I could get him anything to drink.
“Just you,” he grinned ferociously, and bit his lip.
I unintentionally laughed nervously, “Okay - I’m assuming you don’t need a glass with that?”
He chuckled and shook his head. Picking up Mr. Rochester, he handed it to me, “Are you ready to get to work?”
The way he said it was commanding, strict, the type of question that deserved the exact answer I gave, “Sir, yes sir.”
When he heard that, he stood up a little taller, a little straighter, his pants leaned a little bit more to the left, as he took off his jacket, unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, keeping his tie and vest on, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
As I held Mr. Rochester in one hand, Max reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. I pouted a little, confused as to why he would need to check his phone right now.
“You said that this might be a bluetooth compatible microphone for recording things on TikTok, so I paired it with my phone.” Oh no. My face dropped. “Oh yes, yes I did. Let’s see if it works. Why don’t you sing into it for me?”
“What should I sing?”
“You can sing whatever you like.”
I felt Mr. Rochester start to buzz lightly, and I had a terrible, wonderful idea for which song to sing, but I knew that if I did it, there would be no turning back.
Picking up my phone, I connected to my speakers, flicked on Joan as Police Woman’s cover of Whatever You Like and started singing into Mr. Rochester.
“Stacks on deck, Patrón on ice. We can pop bottles all night. Baby, you can have whatever you like. I said you could have whatever you like,” Max’s mouth dropped into an open grin, mesmerized as I moved my body to the music. He turned Mr. Rochester up, as I dragged it down my body, “Late night sex, so wet, you’re so tight. I’ll gas up the jet for you tonight. Baby, you could go wherever you like. I said, you could go wherever you like.”
But then I bent my right elbow and yelped, holding it in pain. Fuck. Did this have to happen right now? I can play through it, yeah. I’ll just play through it. I lamented that I might not be able to have the necessary grip for all the things I’d been wanting to grip all night long. I opened my eyes, and Max’s crotch was in my face, definitely available, but he immediately bent down on the floor next to me.
“I’m going to fix this for you.”
He lifted his hand to his mouth, and with much larger incisors than I remember seeing (have I not been doing a good job of paying attention to him ?), he bit into his finger, and then removed my bandage. Taking his bloody finger, he rubbed it all over my bruised and slowly healing elbow. As he rubbed his finger over it, the bruise started to fade, the scars began to disappear, and in a matter of moments the whole area looked as though I had never injured it. I took a closer look at it, then bent my elbow up and down, back and forth, and it was completely fine.
I looked up at Max, completely baffled. “What just happened? What did you do?”
“I could make you forget that you ever fell and hurt yourself but, I’m not going to risk the brain scramblies. I want you to know the truth.”
“Good, I’d love to be privy to the inner workings of your life.”
He chuckled, “It’s a little bit more complicated than that,” he bared vampire fangs at me, and I scooted back, “Oh! No, no. I’m not going to hurt you,” his face looked so sad, as he reached his hand out, palm open towards me. “It’s basically a medical condition - extreme iron deficiency and sun allergy.”
I mean, I was definitely familiar with medical conditions - I was living a version of vampirism already, in constant darkness. Taking a beat, I decided to hear him out and nodded for him to continue, taking his hand.
“It happened on a business trip to Staten Island, I was hanging out with some clients at a club, showing them the area –”
“Staten Island? Really?” I interrupted.
“Yeah, you’d be surprised,” He seemed a bit squeamish about it, which was a first, “Anyway… this extremely crusty looking, yet very stately, oddly attractive fella - sounded like he was from an older European country, super weird, wearing a New Jersey Devil’s hat. Well, he interrupted our drinks with clients and turned me, out of nowhere. Afterwards, I never received any guidance for my unholy transition, I just had to figure it out on my own.”
“Oh my goodness.”
I clutched his hand tighter, searching his face for a signal, trying to figure out what he needed from me. He seemed so down, and he had done so much for me, so I decided to give back to him by opening up and being honest with him.
“Max?”
“Hmm?”
“I want to open up to you as well, and in the spirit of honesty, I have a confession.”
His face immediately perked up as he prepared to hear what I had to say to him.
“I know what that device is that I was singing into,” he bit his lip and raised his eyebrows, in what we’ll all pretend was surprise. “It’s Mr. Rochester.”
Then he actually was bewildered, and furrowed his brow when asking, “Mr. Rochester?? Like Jane Eyre? Charlotte Brontë? Wife locked in the attic?”
“One and the same,” I said sincerely, “He’s my vibrator, but you should know, it’s a friends with benefits situation, it’s not serious.”
“WELL! I mean,” he seemed exasperated, yet continued quite calmly, “I’m really glad you opened up to me. I like the honesty. Would you ever want to have a threesome with Mr. Rochester and of course, myself?”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, “How very Eyes Wide Shut of you! Yes, I think that would be something to pencil in. We’ll just have to check Mr. Rochester’s schedule, he’s very, very busy.”
Max gave me moon eyes, “Of course. And if you need someone to step in and fulfill your needs while Mr. Rochester is unavailable, I’m more than happy to - but I also have one more confession.”
“Another one?” I asked, shocked that there could be anything more than “vampire”?
Nodding his head, he began, “Because I am a vampire, I have some extra features. I can hear very, very well. I can see temperature differences in the human body, I can smell things that people can’t smell.” No idea where he’s going with this. But nodding encouragingly anyway. “When I first moved here, and when I first became a vampire - I heard you every night. You’re the only person in the whole building who has consistently had insomnia for the past 20 months, 1 week, and 2 days.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling a little woozy.
Max took my hand in his, rubbing his fingers in and out of mine slowly.
“I heard you when you cried on and off for those first couple months - which really annoyed me at the time. I heard you quietly humming around your apartment. When you started leaving your apartment to do laundry again and started singing in the laundry room, I fell in love with your voice. When you started narrating books, I’ll be honest, not all of them were good, but you - you are a good narrator, and your voice calms my heart and sets my soul at peace. I heard you on the phone with your mom, with your friends, I learned so many things about you - how you write poetry in the middle of the night and just practice reciting it out loud, to keep yourself from losing your own voice. I had to meet you, I had to know if I was going crazy about you just because you were alone in my head every night, or just because I was actually going mad.”
As I breathed in and out slowly, counting my 8’s, holding my 8’s, Max continued, “I think this is real, and I hope that you’ll give me time, and get to know me at your own pace.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I looked around the room, I thought about everything I had been through these past, nearly two years, and looked at the man, the vampire, presenting himself before me. I thought about the whirlwind of this past week. Normally, I would call this a huge red flag - love bombing, et al. - but he didn’t say that he loved me. He also told me to take my time. This is different, it seems like he wants to take time to see if it’s real for himself, too. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. What am I doing?
I bent my right elbow, which felt fantastic, as I traced my thumb back and forth across my bottom lip, and Max watched me with a concerned look on his face. Picking up Mr. Rochester, I decided to say how I really and truly felt.
“Max, I think that in order for me to communicate what I need, I’m going to have to finish what we started.”
His eyebrows furrowed, confusion and unease marring his face, I hit play on my phone, and continued singing.
“I want your body, I need your body,” standing up, pulling him up by his tie, “Long as you got me, you won’t need nobody.”
Using his tie like a leash, I gave him a tight little yank, leading him into my bedroom. Holding onto his tie-leash, I gave him a little push, encouraging him to sit on the edge of the foot of the bed. I slipped out of my peasant skirt and shoes, keeping my t-shirt, lingerie, and knee socks on. Sitting on his lap, facing him, I started to unbutton his vest as he put his hands on my hips, gripping me, rocking me against his burgeoning erection. I bit my lip, trying not to moan, but instead focusing on the task at hand which was incredibly difficult - especially while feeling his dick rubbing up against my vagina and clit through layers of fabric. Oh, that smell of him - leather, whisky, pine maybe? Something musky, I can’t - Resting my head against his shoulder, I pushed off his vest and started unbuttoning his shirt.
I loosened his tie, but only enough to get to the button at his collar. OH! He hit me with a deep, rough lunge against my lingerie, and my thighs quivered, anticipating the eventual thrust, the deep, violent rut into me that would scratch this itch, raging at my core. Pulling his collar out from under his tie, I tugged his entire shirt off, so that only his beautiful chest remained, with a neat little tie, perfect for keeping him right where I wanted him.
Pulling on the tie, I smirked, “Oh, Hiiii, Doggy.”
Max looked up at me, adoringly, and moved one of his hands up my back, pushing me right up against him, so that he could grab my mouth with his. Working his other hand up, while continuing to roll his hips into mine, he pulled my shirt up over my head. We took a break from kissing, and Max let his fangs out, biting into the fabric at the front of my bra, ripping it open easily and baring my breasts to him.
“Max,” I pouted, “That was expensive.”
He looked up at me, a devilish grin on his face, “I’ll buy you a new one.” Then proceeded to lick around my nipple, squeezing my other breast, jutting up into me, and rubbing the middle finger of his other hand up and down my spine, while I held onto his tie-leash. How he managed to hit my clitoris through the pants, I have no idea, but it created the perfect amount of friction in so many different delicious places, until finally, I gave a hard yank on the leash.
“We need to get all the way on the bed, because I need to be on top of you,” He looked up from the nipple he was sucking on, and replied, “Whatever I can do for you, Sweetness.”
He climbed back on the bed, then yanked me up with him, on top of him. I laughed, but only because I felt like I was going to explode if I didn’t get him inside of me soon. I kissed him, and he kissed me - he held on to me, and kept kissing me, his hands all over - sliding my lingerie down my thighs, and I had to pull away, “Max, no - I’m primed, I’m ready. I love kissing you, but I. Am. Ready.”
Raising his eyebrow, he licked his lips and grinned, “Don’t let me stop you. You’re a woman on a mission.”
I dragged my nails down his chest, around his nipples, giving gentle kisses along the way. When I got to his pants, I unbuckled his belt, popped open the button, and unzipped the zipper, my body shaking with impatience. Max lifted his hips, helping me to pull his pants and his black boxer briefs down, past his sumptuous, mouthwatering cock. I sat up, and blew into my hands to make sure they were warm - then licked the palms. Holding his dick just beneath the head with one hand, I slowly licked the underside, from the bottom of the shaft, to just under the head, giving it a little special attention, and then slowly, dipping my mouth over him, over his cock, up and down, slowing moving my hand up and down as Max started to groan. I kept going, keeping myself steady, going as far as I could, until he touched my hand.
“Sweetness? I want to fuck up your pussy with my cum. I want to wreck you - can we?”
Of course I was amenable to that proposition. He took my hand, like a princess, and led me forward so that I was hovering over his dick, letting it rub against me. While I continued doing that, he leaned all the way forward and started playing with my tits again, squeezing my ass, ravishing my body, so that I didn’t know where the pleasure was coming from. As he dipped the head of his penis into my vagina just slightly, teasing me, I finally - slowly, firmly, sat on his dick, and we both let out a loud groan together.
Every time I rolled my hips, my chest rolled, too, and we kept rubbing against each other in all of the right ways. Taking one hand from my hip, he started making circles with his thumb along my clitoris, and I started to feel the building coil, the tension, his dick throbbing as I clenched onto him. My vagina pulsing and squeezing as his dick kept pumping into me, and my clitoris, sparking and popping into a full abdomen orgasm. His warmth, his cum running down his cock and trickling along the edges of my vagina. I took my finger, and swiped at the puddle, licking it off my finger while Max stared at me in awe.
“Fuck, Sweetness. I could watch that all day.” I leaned into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me. “Please rank your customer satisfaction level with 1 being the lowest and 5 being the highest on your touch tone phone.”
“Um, hello? I’d like to lodge a complaint - I’ve been having sex with humans when I could’ve been having sex with vampires this entire time. Super Massive Blackhole Fuck Up.”
Max chuckled, “Your response has been accepted and will be processed between 10 - 15 business days.”
“What?! Why so long?!” I exclaimed as I pulled back slightly.
“Bureaucracy, obviously. A lot of paperwork to fill out. In fact, I should probably get started.”
Max started to lift me up off his lap and I whimpered in disappointment. His rich chuckle tumbled out of his chest, “Or we could just sit here, counting the seconds since our last successful orgasm.”
Smiling as he rubbed my back and gave me a kiss on the forehead, on the cheek - then abruptly, his mood changed. His eyebrows furrowed, and suddenly he was very serious.
“We didn’t use any protection.”
I looked down, playing with his tie, “I know.”
“I want you to know that, one of the benefits of being a vampire is that we’re not susceptible to STIs. It’s not a thing in the vampire world, we can’t catch them, we can’t be carriers…”
“That’s fine.” I interrupted him, “I kinda assumed after you told me that you were a vampire, that we’d have sex, then you’d completely exsanguinate me, or make me your familiar. And then I wouldn't have any free will after that. I considered this that one thing that I needed to do if I were to –”
Max’s face fell, his right hand stopped drawing circles on my back, and he used it to lift my chin so that I was looking him straight in the eye.
“Never.”
He gave me a soft kiss on the lips. “For as long as the sun sets and the moon rises.” Kissing both of my eyelids, he pulled me into his chest.
“I have control. Not like the first night I turned, but that’s another story. Now, it’s - nothing.”
“So it’s not like Twilight when Edward made a stank face when Bella walked into her science class?”
Max started guffawing.
“No! No, no no. Being around people, it’s like being at the supermarket - you don’t want to go when you’re hungry, otherwise you’re going to end up putting way more in your shopping cart than you need. And if someone is bleeding, it’s like being around someone cooking bacon or baking brownies, or whatever your personal weakness is when it comes to food. You can resist, but DAMN if it doesn’t smell good!”
I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, “Okay, I was not expecting that at all,” Max laughed lightly, “Twilight, True Blood, Dracula, those are my entire basis of vampire knowledge. So - no worries of STIs, that’s great!”
As I finished what I was saying, Max stiffened, “I think there’s another thing you should probably know –” he paused, as though he wasn’t sure how to approach it.
Leaning back, I looked at him as he explored my face, clenching his jaw before starting, “Some people might see this as a bonus, although others may feel that it is a dealbreaker.”
I looked back at him, attempting to keep my face as supportive as possible, albeit I was somewhat nervous where he was going.
“Vampires cannot get humans pregnant - or other vampires, for that matter. The water turns to wine as soon as you turn. Which is probably for the best.”
Max bit his lip, raising his eyebrow in a questioning manner, “Is this a dealbreaker?”
My heart rattled around my rib cage, glowing as it warmed towards him, my appreciation for his candor and consideration, his openness and frankly bravery in being able to admit so many scary, risky things to me tonight. It was certainly a lot to take in, a lot to process.
“Well,” I started, “Between you not being able to have children and you being a vampire, I would say that being a vampire would probably be more of a dealbreaker than the extremely normal issue of male infertility, right?”
Pausing, I gave him a wink.
Apparently he was holding his breath, because he let it out in a whoosh as he nervously giggled to himself.
“That being said,” I continued, as he focused on my lips, “I actually can’t have children either, so - I’m glad you brought this up. And I’m really glad that we won’t be having a weird vampire-human baby hybrid à la Twilight.”
“Wait. You can’t have children?” Max asked, as I shrunk a little into myself, “DUMPED!”
And he swung me off his lap, onto the bed, where he stood over me. His chest slowly going up and down, the tie dangling over it, and his pants which were open just enough for our earlier sex acts, providing the full monty of his cock rising with another generous erection.
Sitting up on my elbows, I raised an eyebrow, “I’m not sure that I love that my inability to produce offspring, followed up by a subsequent dumping, which by the way - didn’t know we were officially a thing yet - is giving you such a massive erection. Don’t - love - it.”
I cocked my head to the side, after Max gave me a particularly charming grin, and eyed the precum starting to bead at the head of his massively beautiful dick.
“Oh, we were definitely a thing,” he said, reaching behind him to grab something - but what was he grabbing? No. Oh no. When did he have time to bring that into the room? “But it’s over now. Sorry. Perhaps it’s my turn to sing for you? Express my broken heart at your treachery and deceit?”
Setting up a song on his phone, the music started as Mr. Rochester started on a low buzz.
Immediately I recognized Wicked Games by Chris Isaak, as Max slowly climbed the bed near my feet, singing into Mr. Rochester, “The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you. Strange what desire, makes foolish people do.”
As he got closer to my thighs, he took Mr. Rochester, and gently applied him to the inside of my left knee, just along the side, moving slowly up, “No, I-i-i-i - don’t wanna fall in love. No, I-i-i-i - don’t wanna fall in love, with you.”
He looked me straight in the eyes as he increased the vibration, taking Mr. Rochester, and placing him in the lower center of my abdomen, about 3 fingers width above my clit. I scrunched up my nose at him in disapproval, although I was simultaneously feeling quite frazzled.
“What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way. What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.” He quickly swiped Mr. Rochester straight up and around my belly button, then over to the right side of my abdomen. “What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way. What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you.”
The buzzing, set to medium, was not too light that it tickled, but was just enough to set my senses ablaze. Up again he went, circling my right breast very delicately in concentrically smaller circles until he was focused on just the nipple, as I leaned back, curling my toes and clenching the sheets in my hands. Max moved in closer, hovering above me as he circled my left breast, my nipple, dipping his head into the crook of my neck. He started kissing, licking, and nibbling along my collarbone, moving up towards my chin, in the meanwhile, drawing Mr. Rochester down my body until he was right on my clitoris.
Gasping from the combined pleasures, I reached my arm around his neck, pulling myself up so that I could kiss him right in the little dip below his Adam's apple. Using my tongue, I gently massaged the divet in between generous kisses, inhaling large breaths of his virile, woodsy, spiced scent. With my other hand, I lightly ran my fingers up and down the length of his dick, stopping just below the head along the frenulum, tenderly swirling my finger in very soft, small circles.
“Oh fuck.” Max whispered loudly, putting his forehead against mine. “I’m gonna pull you up further onto the bed, okay?” he said through haphazard breaths, tossing Mr. Rochester aside.
I nodded as he reached underneath me, moving me closer to the top of the bed, and putting a pillow underneath my head. He glanced down at me, giving me a big smile, “And now I’m going to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked.”
Smiling back at him, he immediately put his lips to mine, pulling me into a full, luscious kiss that just kept going. His body against mine, our skin touching - melting into each other, moving together up and down, he used one hand to line himself up with my vagina. Edging into me, inch by glorious inch with each wave of our undulating bodies. Once fully inside me, he pulled back like a slow coil and then snapped back into me, and did it again, and again, and again. I put my hand above my head to brace myself against the headboard, and Max brought his hand up, grasping onto mine like he couldn’t bear to have any piece of me not engaged in making love to him.
He continued to thrust into me - the repeated, wet friction of the head of his cock on my g spot, the feeling of his shaft filling me up - hard and thick. Pulsing subtly as he clenched his muscles to continue driving into me, I started to feel the pull, the spasm, taking the bite of apple from the tree of knowledge with the snake at my feet. The intensity of which only increased as I opened my eyes, looking up at Max as he looked back down at me, with his sincere, enthusiastic half smile and adorable dimple. He slowed as he felt my vagina contract around him, and moved his penis in and out in deep circles. Until I could feel his rigorous and steady ejaculation into me, warming me from the inside out.
Giving me sweet little kisses along the line of my jaw as he remained inside me, giving my chin a little bite, he leaned onto one elbow and reached down, swiping at our cum at the base of his cock. Bringing his finger to his mouth, he licked it off, mimicking what I’d done earlier.
“Fuck, Sweetness. I could watch that all day.” I teased, parroting what he’d said to me earlier.
Max raised an eyebrow and leaned in, giving me a full, deep kiss, letting me taste our combined flavors. Everybody is different, but for some reason it reminded me of pineapple upside down cake, or rum raisin ice cream, with a slight saltiness, and I felt dizzy from all of the attention and care he was giving me. Or perhaps it was simply dehydration?
I looked over at my bedside table, where I’d left a glass of water just out of reach and Max, attentive beyond my expectations, reached over and handed it to me. Taking the glass out of his hand left it free to wander, and wander it did. He took his hand, trailing his index finger down my throat. Upon reaching my clavicles he splayed his hand and slowly drew his whole hand down my chest, resting his hand between my breasts and leaving it there. He moved over to my side, propping his head up on his other hand.
As he moved to my side, naturally, his penis came out of me. His dick was big, but realistically, it was not that long and that was for the best. Gasping theatrically, he took his hand off my chest and said, “Oh no!” Then scooted closer to me and draped his dick over my hip, making me laugh at his desire to use his cock to keep a claim on me.
Max started tracing imaginary shapes on my abdomen. Until he furrowed his brow and traced what, to most people, would look like a frowny face between my hips, my pubic bone, and my belly button.
“These scars - this is why you can’t have kids?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and sighed, “Yeah. I mean, it’s a little more complicated than that, but it’s the visual and physical evidence remaining of what happened that caused it.”
“May I ask what happened?”
I bit the inside of my mouth, then reached over towards my bedside table that was just out of reach, to put the glass of water back. Without trying, Max took the glass of water out of my hand and easily put the glass back on the table for me.
Without thinking too much, I turned on the clinical side of my brain.
“I have a disease called endometriosis,” I’ve repeated this so many times, for so many people that I don’t even have to think about it anymore, “it’s where tissue similar to, but not, the uterine lining grows outside of the uterus. In a way, it’s like cancer, in that tissue is growing where it shouldn’t - however, it absolutely does not metastasize the same way at all, so it cannot be qualified as a cancer. The tissue that grows is triggered by estrogen, so it’s aggravated by menstrual cycles, but the pain it causes is not limited to menstrual cycles. As it grows, it creates painful adhesions which are almost magnetic in drawing organs together, getting organs stuck together to the point that a person’s abdomen can be 'frozen' in place - organs are really supposed to be free floating, mobile, not stuck together.”
I took a moment to breathe before digging back in.
“That gets really painful. It can affect fertility in many different ways, and is responsible for about 50% of infertility cases. A lot of people who have endo often find success with pregnancy after having a surgery known as 'excision' surgery. Not to be confused with 'ablation' surgery.” Going on to describe the difference between the two, “Excision pulls the disease out by the root, ablation just burns the disease off at the surface - it’s basically like cutting the lawn versus pulling the weeds. You wanna pull the weeds.”
I paused. I knew I’d said a lot, and took a look at Max to see how he was faring.
His brows were knitted together, concerned, but he was paying attention. “So, you had one of the - excision - surgeries? Your fertility should’ve been better right?”
Tilting my head slightly, I continued, “Ehhh, well. I had 3 surgeries, well 2 - “ Max frowned, “My first surgery was with a doctor who was a gynecological surgeon, but not an endo specialist. So they opened me up, panicked when they realized how much was happening, drained an endometrioma in my ovary, and then sewed me back up. Then I had an excision surgery with 2 well known endometriosis specialists who diagnosed me with stage 4 disease, and based on visual confirmation only, adenomyosis.”
“Adenomy–? But they got all of the endometriosis?”
“They did their best. They got rid of everything that they were able to see, but I lost my gallbladder and my appendix to the disease and adhesions. However, they did save my left kidney, so I was psyched about that,” I gave Max two thumbs up. “And adenomyosis is when endometriosis grows in between the layers of uterine lining. It can either be focal or diffuse. If it’s focal, that means that it’s like a little ball or cyst that they can remove, although it’s very tricky to do because the uterus is basically a giant muscle filled with blood vessels. The muscles have two jobs: squeeze to shed lining, and close off blood vessels so that you don’t bleed your own blood. When there’s something like adenomyosis or fibroids interrupting the muscles, they can’t always properly close off the blood vessels.”
“And you bleed your own blood?”
“Yes, and it always makes me think of that line from the movie Dodgeball, ‘Nobody makes me bleed my own blood - nobody!’ You know what I’m talking about - Ben Stiller says it?”
Max chuckled, “Yeah, I know it. ‘If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball’! But continue, please.”
“Yar. So. It’s a lot harder to remove disease from inside the lining of the uterus. There’s a procedure called the Osada Procedure, developed by –” I paused for dramatic effect, “Dr. Osada, from Japan. But it’s pretty wild. They actually…” I stopped and looked at him, “This next part is a little graphic, but from a scientific standpoint, it’s also very interesting. Are you sure you want me to continue?”
He pretended like he really had to think about it, hemming in various different ways for a good minute, “Ummmm…ahhhhhh, hmmmmm, wellllllllllll.” And then he smiled at me and reached for my hand, “Yeah. Absolutely.”
“Well, they basically do a c-section, and lift your uterus out so that they can peel back the outer layer and remove the disease from the inner layer.”
His eyes grew wide and his smile turned to repulsion, “Whaaaaaaaat??? Really?? That’s - I don’t know that I like that.”
“Only 5 doctors in the world are capable of performing it, so it wasn’t actually an option for me. Well, 4 doctors now, one retired.”
“So what is the treatment if not that?”
“Birth control, aka hormone modifying medication. I had to have an IUD inserted AND take a progesterone-only birth control at the same time daily, in order to keep myself from bleeding through.”
“Progesterone-only because estrogen made the endometriosis angry?”
“Exactly.”
“You said ‘had’ though. You’re not doing that anymore?”
“Uh, no. So there are other options, like presacral neurectomy, which involves severing the nerves between the uterus and the presacral plexus, the bundle of nerves that sends pain signals from the uterus to the brain.”
Max’s face turned to one of unhappy disgust, with an exaggerated frown and I laughed, “I know, that doesn’t sound great. Some people have a lot of luck with it, which means they get to keep their uterus, try for kids, but sometimes the connection grows back, sometimes the wrong nerve gets severed and people experience tingling and paralysis, lack of feeling, the surgery is somewhere between 52% - 75% effective amongst patients - but again, there aren’t a lot of doctors who are qualified to perform that surgery.”
“Is that the surgery you got for your third surgery?” Max asked, looking concerned.
I shook my head, “No. I actually started having pain again about 7 months after my second surgery - the first surgery with the specialists - despite physical and pelvic floor therapy, and my endo specialist told me that it was possible, with all of the endo I had, that I had more disease. That it would be worth it to have another surgery.”
“So you did that.”
“Yeah. And, because there were some concerning things happening regarding national / local access to my hormone medication –”
Max interjected, “The birth control? With the Supreme Court and local laws?”
I nodded and he frowned, “Exactly. I wasn’t sure that I was going to have access to the medication that allowed me to stand up straight, and kept me from suffering significant anemia. After talking with my doctor, I decided to go ahead and have an Anti-Müllerian Hormone blood test done to see what my ovarian reserve was. It was super easy - they just drew my blood, and then I found out how fertile I was.”
“Judging by those beautiful hips…” a smug smile stretched across Max’s face.
Rolling my eyes at him, I forged ahead with good natured sarcasm, “Yep. That’s how that works. Science solved!”
He gave me a kiss on the cheek, chuckling.
“Normal AMH levels are about 1.5 - 4.0 ng/l and anything below 1.0 is considered low, but above 0.5-0.8, is still viable for fertility treatments. Mine came in at 0.05 ng/l.”
Taking a moment, Max gulped, absentmindedly starting to brush a strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear, then continued to trace along my jaw until he reached my chin, placing his thumb on my bottom lip, affectionately brushing his finger over it, his eyes focused on both of my lips.
“I think I know where this is going - but I want to hear it from you.”
Pursing my lips, I carried on - still fairly objective in my tone and phrasing.
“It didn’t make sense to try to hold on to an organ that wasn’t serving me and wouldn’t serve me, I’m not super young - and especially as someone who was not in a relationship or had any idea when or if I would be partaking in another one. Much less so in this climate. I’m not going to hold off for some ‘maybe’ person,” looking at him, “sorry,” he shrugged, and shook his head, unbothered, “-- to decide for me in the here and now, while I was currently in a lot of pain; when I could go ahead and make the choice for myself to get both surgeries done at the same time. And after doing the research, I decided on a total hysterectomy plus a salpingectomy - it’s one of the three options available. There’s hysterectomy classic - just the uterus; total hysterectomy - uterus plus cervix; radical hysterectomy - uterus, cervix, ovaries. I kept my ovaries so that I could maintain my hormone levels on my own, but I got a salpingectomy, aka got my fallopian tubes removed, so that I didn’t have a risk of an ectopic pregnancy, which oddly, is still a possibility despite having a hysterectomy. Wild, eh?”
Max gave me a horrified look, “WHAT? Jesus.” He shook his head. “So –” his hand hovered over my midsection, “how is this all feeling now? How long ago did this happen?”
Scrunching up my face, I responded, “About 20 months, 1 week, and 4 days ago - I had to stay in the hospital for 1.5 days.” Then I grinned and said in a British accent, “I’m getting betteh!”
Letting out an amused cackle, Max did his own Monty Python impersonation, “You’re not dead yet?”
Keeping my face in a dramatically large, frozen faced smile, eyebrows raised, I just shook my head and raised my shoulders in a shrug.
Max cackled even louder, and wrapped me up in his arms, giving me aggressively sweet little kisses, while I giggled at his relentless ardor.
Stopping abruptly, he inquired again, “Seriously, though - you seemed okay during sex, both times,” he flashed his eyebrows and smirked, as he gave me a quick look up and down, then got serious again, “but I didn’t hurt you at all, did I?”
“Oh, no - not at all. They found more stage 4 disease during my third surgery and removed that, and everything healed up quite nicely. No complications. And if anything, my hormones may be a bit out of whack - I’ve had a hard time obviously, with insomnia, and there was a period of time where I really, really didn’t feel like myself at all. But now that I’m off not one but TWO forms of birth control, which is a LOT, let’s be honest - I feel like I’m outside of a cloud that I’d been living in.”
Max nodded while he listened, “If anything I’m more present, I think. And my sex drive is a lot higher, sex is –'' I looked into his eyes, wishing I could convey to him just exactly what being with him meant, “actually pleasurable. It doesn’t hurt. Occasionally, the ghost of endo haunts me, and that leaves me a little sore. But if I’m going to be sore from anything, I want it to be from an intense sex session with you.”
“It haunts you?”
“There’s no official cure for it, and when it takes a really long time for a diagnosis, the disease can develop its own nerve endings, which can leave many patients with residual nerve issues, like fibromyalgia or other types of neuralgia.”
“Did you write a book on this or are you also a part time doctor?”
I laughed, “Ah, no. A lot of patients have to push to get diagnosed, and that usually involves becoming very educated in the various aspects of endo. I have spent a good portion of my free time helping other patients advocate for themselves - the whole system is problematic in a lot of ways.” I sighed.
“I have one final question for you,” Max led into his query, “The kids ‘thing’. How are you feeling about having to give that up?”
Giving out an exasperated huff, I launched into my response, “First - I have a lot of thoughts. I had a lot of thoughts. I always thought that I would have kids, but no matter what relationship I was in, it never seemed like a good time. Not just because of where we were planning-wise, but because I had other stuff I wanted to do instead. And I know that sounds selfish - I like kids, I do - it’s just, I didn��t want them around all the time.”
Max laughed at me, or with me, it was hard to tell, “But I did want the choice. I wanted it to be mine, and mine alone, not because of something that couldn’t be helped, not a government, not anyone else but me. And when I was setting up the surgery and had to coordinate with the insurance company, do you know what the insurance agent said to me?” Max shrugged and shook his head. “We’ll have to confirm with your doctor, to make sure that you’re not trying to get out of having kids.”
Max’s face took on a steely glare, his nostrils flared as he breathed out, and he accidentally bared his fangs.
“I know. I was furious. I didn’t realize having children was a requirement for my gender. But I spent the next 20 minutes educating that insurance rep on my reproductive system, and then they admitted that they knew people with similar issues and had some issues themselves, so it’s - whatever.” I threw my hands in the air.
Looking away from me, Max clenched his jaw - he seemed to be trying to get his fangs to retract. I could tell that what I said upset him, and I reached my hand up to his chin, turning his face back towards mine. He took my hand, and brought it down to his heart, holding it there in place as he leaned his forehead against mine. After a minute of slowing his breathing, he pulled my hand back up to his face and kissed it. Drawing back, fangs no longer on display, he studied my face - letting his rich, hot coffee eyes dissolve me.
“I hate that you went through that - and I feel like an asshole for being annoyed at you because I had to listen to you cry in the middle of the night when I first transformed.” Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to speak, but Max pushed on, “I am an asshole. It’s what I do best. And I suspect that sometimes it turns you on.”
He had me there, and I tried not to look directly at him. “I am trying, though,” giving me one of his deliciously charming smiles and a wink, he pulled me closer, and nuzzled my neck.
“You know what?” Max began, a teasing, smug look on his face as he pulled back, “All that you’ve been through - that’s all very impressive. And I want you to know that I’m here for you. Because I know exactly what you’ve been through.”
“Oh, really?”
“Absolutely.” He lifted his leg, showing off a small, white scar, about 3 inches long. “I was chased by a dog when I was 8 years old, and fell on some glass.”
Mockingly, but with sincere gusto, I gasped, “Oh no!” Touching the scar on his leg, “This is horrific. I hope you sued that dog. And that piece of glass.”
Max dramatically and emotionally sniffed back fake tears, “Thank you. We sued them into oblivion for everything they were worth. It was very traumatic.”
“And how much was everything they were worth?” I inquired.
“A bag of puppy chow and the rest of the broken bottle.”
“Sounds like you came out on top. Somebody didn’t have to pay for college!”
Max burst out laughing, “That’s right, I went into college admissions with puppy chow and a broken bottle and said, ‘This should cover one 4-year bachelor degree, right?’ and they absolutely said yes. And now I work in sales.” He shrugged, still chuckling.
“Wait - so you’re a vampire, and you still work? That didn't stop once you transitioned?”
“Ah, yeah. I still have bills, although I do get some kick back when I –” he mimed biting into someone’s neck, sucking their blood, and then tossing their corpse over his shoulder.
“Kick back?”
“Yeah, I take their wallets and drain their bank accounts. They’re not using it anymore.” All of a sudden his face jumped into a look of surprise, and he looked like a little kid who got his hand caught in the cookie jar.
Gasping in feigned surprise, I declared, “What?! Not my Max! Not my sweet Max? He would never steal from dead people!”
His face moved into an awkwardly wide stretched grin, and his eyes shifted back and forth, “Ummmm - honesty is important to you, right?” I nodded. “More important than if I was a thieving thiever who stole from helpless dead people who were at one point alive before I drained their blood?”
Earnestly, I nodded.
“Well, yes. I may take a collection up from the corpses, but I always ask first. ‘Hey, Mr. Dead Guy, do you want to donate to my personal cause?’ and then,” he mimed moving a skull’s jaw with one hand, and spoke in a slightly higher voice, “they say, ‘Why yes, Mr. Phillips, this sounds like a great cause, I’d love to donate to it. Take my bank card and drain all of the funds, please and thank you.’ Isn’t that so nice of them?” He looked at me with his mouth wide open in a giant, cartoonish smile.
“Ohmygod, soooo nice.” I batted my eyelashes at him, while talking like a Valley Girl from the OG Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
“Sooo nice. They love it.” He leaned in to kiss me, his voluminous lips toying with my own, his tongue peeking into my mouth. I found myself feeling dizzy again, but this time I knew it was because we had just spent about ten minutes kissing without stopping to breathe, as Max moved with me, as though he were part of me.
Scooting me a bit closer to him, he wrapped his right arm around me, allowing me to rest my head just under his chin. With his left hand, he took my right hand, kissing each of my fingers one by one before asking, “Is that clock right?” referring to a clock I had hanging on the wall across from the bed.
“Yep.” I yawned.
Looking down at me, “Hmm. Well, it looks like I may have successfully tired you out.” I let out a snort. “And, I actually have to get ready for work.” He sighed.
“But you were up all night,” I complained.
Max took my hand and pointed at himself, “Uh, vampire - I think we established that.” Then chuckling, he kissed my hand again, placing it on his chest. “It’s only 8-9 hours. 10 hours if someone’s being a dipshit and doesn’t get their reports done.”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay, Max.”
“I was trying to psych myself up, Sweetness.”
“Ewwww. Gross.”
“What’s that? Not enough? Tone it up?”
I shook my head, giggling.
He sat up and pulled me with him, gently nibbling at my throat, “You’re good enough to eat, and I swear to god, that pussy’s gonna be on the menu tonight.”
Then, as he started to get off the bed, he tugged me off the bed with him carefully, by the wrists. As we stood there, naked and facing each other, Max maintained his hold on my wrists directly in front of his chest. Standing up straight, his strong, broad shoulders rolled back, he surveyed my body without ever moving his head. I stared right back at him, defiant, though my nipples betrayed me as they perked up under his calculating gaze.
“I want you to dress me.” Max said in a calm, firm voice.
I frowned at him.
He cracked a crooked grin, then leaned in close to whisper in my ear, “Please.”
Licking just under my earlobe, he gave it a bite and wrapped his lips around the lobe, right before giving me a kiss on the cheek.
How could I possibly resist that? I bit my lip, “Well, when you ask so nicely –”
“Manners maketh man, so they say.”
Max winked and let go of my wrists. I started to grab my own clothes, and he reached out to grab my wrist again.
“Ah-ah. Just me, Sweetness.”
It’s one thing to have someone attempt to control you and every little thing you do. It’s quite another when you know that someone is asking you to do something because they want to spend more time with you, because they want to see more of you, because they enjoy YOU.
I tossed my clothes behind me, and reached down for Max’s black boxer briefs, kneeling before him so that he could step into them, as he balanced by putting his left hand on my right shoulder. Then I began gliding the shorts up his muscular calves, his strong thighs, gradually standing up - until I reached around to pull them up over his ass, pressing my body against his. He groaned as I took my hands and ran them the length of the elastic band towards the front of his body, where his dick hung out the front, or rather, was beginning to experience a raising of spirits. Carefully, but firmly, I grasped his cock, and Max let out a pleased whimper, closing his eyes, and then immediately opening them.
“No –” he said breathlessly, “Not yet. I have to get going. But I love where your head's at.”
He smirked at me, reaching around to grab me by the ass while simultaneously pressing me up against him, leaning down to give me a kiss on the lips. As he released his grip, I went ahead and tucked his erection upwards facing in his boxer briefs, which kinda, sorta worked.
He put his hands on his hips and said, “Fashion, baby,” clicking his tongue and winking at me.
Picking up his pants, I got back down on my knees so that he could step into them. He put his left hand on my right shoulder again to balance himself and said, “Sweetness, I don’t have a kink for Stepford Wives, but the way you’re taking care of me is so fucking hot.”
I made eye contact with his dick as I stood, looking up at him, and he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”
“I’m counting on it,” I told him as I turned around to find where his shirt and vest went.
Under his breath he muttered, “You can always count on me.”
“What?” I asked as I turned around.
He shook his head, looking like a deer caught in headlights, but tried to play it off casually, “Nothing. Were you, uh - you were saying something?”
I pursed my lips in an amused smile, shaking my head, “No, I guess my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”
“I mean, you’re not a vampire.” he said, shrugging and looking slightly suspicious.
“Or, I’m just very tired, and - imagining things.”
As I made my excuses, Max seemed a bit relieved that I wasn’t pushing him to admit that he said anything. Although, I wasn’t sure that I was ready to hear him. At least, not ready to exchange words at that level of commitment, not so soon. I’m not in a rush, and he’s a vampire - he actually has forever. Man can wait.
Walking over, I tried to smooth over his crumpled shirt before holding out an arm for him to reach into, then walking behind his broad back, to slide the other sleeve on. Returning to my spot in front of him, Max put his hands on my hips as I started buttoning him up from the bottom to the top, making sure to keep his tie tossed over his shoulder. Once his shirt was all set, I tucked his tie over his collar, and folded his collar back down over it, adjusting the knot so that the tie had a slightly more tidy fit. I tucked his shirt into his pants by reaching my arms around him like I was giving him a bear hug, making my way around to the front the same way I’d done with his boxer briefs. My hands smoothing him over around his waist, until I got to the front and took one final opportunity to trail my fingers gently over his erection. He sighed again, closing his eyes, and I gave him a kiss on the cheek. Over his shirt, I helped him put on his vest, assisting him again with his buttons.
“You look so good.” I said as I stood back, admiring my work, and quite frankly just the beautiful human - oh, I mean vampire, that he is.
“So do you.” He said as his tongue stuck out a bit from his mouth, his eyes trailing my body.
I rolled my eyes, laughing lightly, “I’ll go find your jacket from the other room - your shoes and socks are here somewhere, so I’ll let you finish that part.”
As I walked out into the living room, nabbing Max’s jacket from the couch, I stopped to look out the window. Dark velvet night threatened to break with blue early morning twilight along the edges of the horizon, and I shuddered.
What happens to Max in the sunlight? I crossed my arms, feeling goosebumps rising on my skin, feeling - what? Fear for him? Worry? Caring? It’s been awhile since I’ve done this. I hoped that I could pace myself.
Without realizing that he’d come out of the bedroom, I found myself in his arms again after he walked up behind me, gently wrapping himself around me. Leaning his head on my shoulder, he gave me a nuzzle and a peck on my cheek.
“Walk me to the door?”
I laughed, “Like this?” He gave me the cutest, sweetest face of pleading. “Fine.”
So we walked to the door together, and as Max walked out he turned around to face me, leaning in the door frame. “I’ll text you later, okay?”
Just then, my elderly neighbor from across the hall, Mr. Vilallonga opened his door to grab a package that was sitting outside. Max took his arm from the door frame as he turned around to see what was happening behind him, and Mr. Vilallonga caught a full glimpse of my naked body. I gasped, immediately covering my body with my hands, just as Mr. Vilallonga looked up, dropped his package on the floor, and started apologizing profusely.
As soon as Max realized what was happening, he stepped in between us to block Mr. Vilallonga’s view.
Holding back a wheezing laugh and apologizing to me repeatedly, “I will make this up to you, I’m so sorry - never again, okay? Never again. Your body is sacred to me - it’s not for this fucking guy,” he frantically whispered, pointing with his thumb behind him.
Fuming! I fumed at him. Meanwhile, his features had softened so much, I could tell that he was very, very sorry that this had happened. But it was gonna take a minute for me to recover. I also might’ve prematurely killed Mr. Vilallonga, who had slammed his door shut, and whom I could also still hear yelling apologies through his door.
“Leave.” I told Max.
He gave me sad puppy eyes and nodded, then immediately switched to a giant smile, mouthing the words, ‘I’ll call you,’ while he held an imaginary telephone to his ear, followed by promptly pushing me back into my apartment and closing the door.
Alone, I went into the bathroom and started the shower using my right hand to turn the faucet on. I paused, remembering that it was less than 12 hours ago that I had a bandage on my elbow and struggled to bend that arm. And now? Bending my arm every which way, it was perfect. Maybe better than before. Was that even real?
Scrolling through my phone, I selected some music at random for shower time ambience and atmosphere.
As the beat kicked in, so did Miley Cyrus’ husky voice as I stepped into the shower. Shampooing my hair, I sang along, “I was born to run, I don’t belong to anyone, oh-no. I don’t need to be loved by you.” Rinsing out my hair, applying conditioner and using the loofah, I kept singing, ‘See his hands ‘round my waist, thought you never be replaced, baby. Ooh, you know it’s true.”
Flashing back, I remembered how many times Max put his hands on my body, reverently touching my flesh, making me feel incredibly sexy and simultaneously safe with him. I thought about the one who came before, the one who even now, had been holding me back. But not anymore. “That I was born to run, I don’t belong to anyone, oh-no. I don’t need to be loved by you.”
Exiting the bathroom, I slipped into a pair of silk shorts and a silk tank, grabbed my notebook and sat on my bed. Being with Max had been exhilarating, but my feelings were starting to get a bit intense for me. I decided to temper them by writing them out in a type of poem I’d learned way back in college - a freeform, stream of consciousness style. It felt better than journaling because I always ended up giving up on journals about 3 or 4 entries in. But with a “poetry” journal, I could say that I was being creative and artsy without any judgment from anyone else. There was absolutely zero pressure. I could let my thoughts flow, and in the end, they would be prettier than anything I would’ve written in a regular journal. At least that’s what it felt like for me.
Opening up my journal, I felt the dam break and I was off - scribbling exactly how I felt, on an extreme spectrum, allowing myself to engage in these feelings was a huge release.
Make me yours.
Mark me with your kisses,
claim me with your voice.
Tell the world
they’re making a mistake
when the hands they lay upon me
attempt to take away my choice.
Keep me with your quiet eyes,
let yourself enjoy
the image of my body,
the visage of my body,
it’s for your eyes only, that I disrobe.
Mold me with your gentle hands,
sculpt and shape me with your touch,
until I am no longer
the shadow of who I was,
but the silhouette
of who I will become.
Not because you demanded it,
not because I let it go,
but because when we’re together,
our love and sacrifices
create something bigger
than they could ever know.
A little silly, and it definitely turned out to be a love poem. I read it aloud to hear how it would sound, and I didn’t mind it. But it’s definitely not getting published anytime soon, and I giggled at the prospect.
Well now that’s out of my system – I put my notebook on my nightstand, and turned off my bedside lamp. As I slept, I had fitful, sexy dreams about Max, and woke up craving him.
To be continued...
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