marlowemuses | If you were Dracula, I'd be letting you take that bite

Entry tags:

If you were Dracula, I'd be letting you take that bite

Lenore's immediately curious about their 'guest' in the dungeons from what Striga had to say: a swordswoman of exceptional skill, the most satisfying fight Striga had enjoyed in years and she only regretted that the woman was so tired out already before Striga got to her, if she'd been fresher in the fight and had vampiric advantages, she would have been a 'true opponent'.

The soldiers who had survived the battle spoke of it like something out of legend, to the point that Lenore almost had to roll her eyes at the way the story was already getting embroidered and exaggerated. (She thought it very unlikely that their captive was eight feet tall with eyes of flame.) There was little useful information from any of them--run down castle practically in ruins, aging retainers, decrepit king and queen, none of them even healthy enough to save for feeding purposes. Morana had plenty to say about that, the waste of losing forty-seven good soldiers for the gain of an ugly, crumbling castle in an ugly, barren land and if she'd known it was going to be this much bother they would have just gone around. Carmilla had already expressed her opinion in the original conversation, and the entirety of that opinion was a disgusted scoff.

Thus armed with as much information as she was going to get, Lenore dressed herself elegantly and went to the kitchens to collect a basket of freshly baked spice cakes, temptingly aromatic, before she descended to the dungeon.

Only one of the cells was filled at this time--none of the sisters were especially inclined toward taking prisoners unless they were of political value in some way, and their food captives were kept elsewhere under relatively minimal restraint.

"Well," Lenore comments, stopping in front of the dungeon cell and looking over the captive within with interest, chained on her knees. A heavy collar around her throat was chained to a ring in the floor in front of her, while her wrists were pulled out to either side and secured to more heavy iron rings and the cuffs on her ankles were attached to a ball and chain. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone in quite that many chains."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Good," Lenore states, feeling an immediate wash of relief that her gambit worked and they have someone. She gestures two fingers at Gideon to beckon her to Lenore's side, wanting her bodyguard back where she belongs, then returns her full attention to Bronwyn, letting go of any worry for her own safety now that she can trust Gideon to cover her. "Because now you have more people to stand against the mayor. I am Queen Lenore of the Sisterhood. I had my doubts about that man, and he proved the worst of them. We've taken the mayor's house and most of my soldiers are there holding it. We need to get back there before dawn gets any closer. You're coming with us. Unless you'd like to propose someone else, you're now in charge of this town."

Lenore nods toward the door, expecting Bronwyn to come with her and leaving space for the woman to walk beside her like an equal so that they can talk and she can ask additional questions while they get moving.

At another time, that little gesture - imbued with authority and expectation - might have served to piss her off, but instead Gideon is swift to take her place a step behind Lenore. Her nerves are singing, muscles tight-coiled and aching for a fight, so it kinda sucks that it sounds like she's missed out on all the action. It's not a disappointment she can dwell on though, not whilst relief still fills her like light just knowing that Lenore wasn't caught in some trap. That the others are back at the mayor's house, even if she learns this latter from the vampire's address to Bronwyn.

Bronwyn, meanwhile, takes her place at Lenore's side as though she belongs there, like she's earnt it. Gideon figures - based on what she's already been told - that she has. She shows no sign of fear in the presence of the vampires, nor at Lenore's lofty position as Queen, instead speaking to her in her quiet, steely voice in a way that conveys her own authority, but also her respect. Evidently, she'd anticipated this very outcome; intervention from the Queendom, something better than the corruption and brutishness they were currently labouring under. Her belief in the vampire women positioned above that of the human men.

Gideon stays silent, face filled with sparking menace-- but she's listening. Learning something new.

Lenore relaxes more as she returns to the mayor's manor and the larger group of her soldiers. Things are still tense for another hour, as she relies upon Bronwyn's judgement as to which of the mayor's men deserve mercy and do not. She puts twenty of her soldiers under Bronwyn's command to help ease and enforce the transfer of power while Bronwyn is establishing her office and arranging for the town to run properly once more. Bronwyn balks at having that many vampire soldiers intimidating the small town, but Lenore insists. If nothing else, she'll need all the hands she can get to help rebuild the mill.

It's all politics and bureaucracy until an hour or so past sunrise, when Lenore finally staggers into the room that was prepared for her. She steps into Gideon's arms as soon as they're alone (or at least with only Greta politely busying herself with ignoring them), pressing her face back into Gideon's chest (which, with their height difference, is more or less right into Gideon's breasts) and hugging tight.

It's a difficult thing - when one's nervous system is still flushed hard with pent-up adrenalin - to stand around and listen to stuffy politics that fly over one's head. Gideon thrums with the energy she never got to use up, muscles silently screaming for a fight, but instead she has to satisfy herself with dogging Lenore's footsteps, face hard and promising a vicious fight for anyone who steps out of line.

No one does. Not physically. It's just endless bureaucracy and planning and talking until slowly some of the tight-wound tension begins to bleed out of her, replaced by boredom and a desire for rest. She's half asleep on her feet by the time she tails Lenore to the space that's hastily been prepared for her, one hand still on her sword (now sheathed) despite the unlikeliness of an attack. It’s almost like being jerked awake when Lenore presses against her the moment they're (sort of) alone. With the vampire's face against her tits, the soft shape of her pushed close against her body, Gideon's nerves fire back into life all over again.

It's done without thought, her own arms encircling the woman before her, Gideon's face dipping down to press against her thick and silken hair. It's with a small shock - like a snapped stem - that she realises her relief is genuine. That the vampire she'd threatened to kill only a few short days ago has somehow become someone she wants to keep safe.

"Hey, you did it. It's done. It all worked out good, I think?" she'd be lying if she pretended she'd kept listening to even half the stuff discussed upstairs, but she still thinks she has the gist of it.

Lenore nods, lifting her face with a tired smile and reaching one hand up to curl around the back of Gideon's neck. "Yes. We did it. You did well. Thank you for finding Bronwyn. We could have managed, but it would all have been a lot more difficult without your help. You were the bridge we needed, so that I knew I could work with her without having to delay, and she trusted us faster because you were evidence of there being a plan in place." Sure, it was just sitting in a jail cell for a few hours, but it had also been crucially helpful, and Lenore wants to be sure that Gideon knows that. She's needed. She's valued.

Pulling her down into a kiss, Lenore whimpers a little with need as their mouths meet, pushing herself up on tiptoe to make the connection easier. Her hand slides a little higher into Gideon's hair, curling possessively into the strands, while her other hand tugs at the hem of Gideon's shirt, untucking it, clearly seeking more.

Breaking off even while she's still impatient for more, Lenore licks her lips. She can't let herself get lost in desire just yet.

"Check the room for traps," she instructs, leaning up for one last quick peck before she lets go. "Then wash and undress for bed. There's food if you're hungry." Since she doubts the jail was serving any middle of the night meals, much less anything edible.

The washing supplies are just a cake of plain soap and a couple of ewers of cold water, but at least the heat of the fire is warm.

Warmth blooms thickly at the centre of her. It's kind of embarrassing, really, what a few words of appreciation can do. It's there in her now, the realisation that it's all she ever really needed; some indication that she’s needed, that she matters. That she is - in some small way - wanted. Lenore's words hit all the right buttons - even if all she'd done was sit about and miss out on all the action - but before she can express any kind of gratitude Lenore's hand is in her hair, her lips on her lips.

Gideon makes a muffled sound and goes easy into the pull of Lenore's hard-curled fingers. She's loose-limbed and obliging as she leans down for Lenore to better reach, hot sparks shooting through her at the feel of Lenore's hand at her neck even as she refuses to entirely acknowledge that she doesn't hate the weight of ownership in it. She's quick to kiss her back - firm and needy, with less finesse than she thinks Lenore deserves. Her hands move to the tight curve of the vampire's waist, thoughts turning hot and blurry around the edges as something in her goes yes yes yes, wanting more of this. More than this--

--but then Lenore breaks contact, licking her lips like she doesn't know the sight of it drives the spike of lust into Gideon all the deeper. She makes a low sound caught somewhere between need and frustration, mutters clit tease real quiet beneath her breath. Yet with pleasure still pooling hot in her insides and the taste of Lenore on her tongue, she's too lust-stoned to do anything other than obey.

Her patrol of the room is thorough, though it reveals nothing aside from the fact that they're as safe as they can hope to be. She is hungry, wolfing down food as though it might grow legs and run off if she gives it half a chance. Perhaps the water is cold and the soap plain, but this comes closer to what she knows, and the heat from the fire adds a touch of the luxurious despite everything. It's good, stripping off her clothes and cleansing her skin of the grime from their journey, from those few nasty hours spent in the piss-scented dungeon.

The fire gilds her silhouette in gold, dressed only in her underwear, but it does a fair job of disguising her flushed skin. "Soooooo, where do you want me?"

Lenore's brow quirks a little at the murmured words, briefly tempted to call Gideon out on her sass, but Lenore's still too on-edge, wishing they were home and safe, so she forgives it as a sign of Gideon's own nerves.

Greta helps to undress Lenore again to get ready for bed. This time Lenore strips down to her skin, clad in nothing but red curls as she walks over to the ewers of water and does her own quick wash. She's more cursory about it, having had very few encounters with grime in any way and not wanting to linger with the rough soap and cold water. She only bothers with her hands, armpits, and groin, a swift soap and rinse in each place, then dries off again. Greta slips out and leaves them alone, and Lenore dresses herself once again in the gauzy nightdress and clean silk panties.

"Here," Lenore invites, sliding into bed and then reaching out her arms to summon Gideon closer. "Come and kiss me."

It's hard to know precisely what to do, when you have a banging babe buck-naked in front of you, but she's like, all regal and shit, and also kind of owns you, so the rules of engagement are blurry around the edges. Because of this, Gideon hesitates around the duel choices of eyeing her up and politely averting her gaze; what she wants to do and what she probably should do warring violently inside of her.

It's almost a relief when Lenore slides into bed-- except that she's still barely dressed under there and her pale, slender arms are extended. An invitation - a demand - for Gideon to join her.

This, at least, isn't the kind of order she's inclined to back-chat.

Gideon slides into bed beside her Mistress, breath coming a little quick, heartbeat loud. She does as she's told - well, hell, who wouldn't? - resting on the apex extension of one arm, the other seeking out the curve of Lenore's waist. She kisses her then, aims for slower this time, and less rough. Wanting to do this justice.

It's a relief to finally, finally have Gideon where she can take some time with her, even if it isn't entirely the circumstances she wants (and she intends to take far more time once they are home and can spend a day or two lounging and bathing and fucking). Lenore embraces her gladly, one hand curling around Gideon's side and the other gently cupping the back of her head, drawing her into the kiss and sighing happily once she has it.

Despite the opportunities Lenore has, she actually hasn't taken a lover in a couple of years, and it's been longer than that since she had a lover who wasn't in some way politically advantageous. Gideon is useful, and taming her was a bit of a favor to Striga, but Lenore absolutely could have made this a bit more impersonal. She could have established Gideon's loyalty on a more transactional basis, earned her trust through the very straightforward we take care of you, you take care of us arrangement of any of their soldiers or servants. Lenore chose to bind Gideon to herself, leaving the transactional side of things to their periphery. She expects Gideon to obey the other queens, she intends Gideon to be paid and well-treated. But making Gideon her creature was a matter of choice.

It's true that Lenore has been lonely, and Gideon caught her amusement and attention. She wanted something this ferocious, this impassioned, to be bound fiercely and solely to her.

Kissing with sweet, grateful yearning, Lenore draws Gideon more fully atop her, shifting a little beneath her lover as her desire starts to build, skin tingling as blood rises to the surface, cheeks flushed, fangs lengthened.

She goes willingly where Lenore leads her. She moves to straddle her now, keeps her weight balanced on her forearms as though the vampire beneath her is some delicate, bird-boned thing she's endeavouring not to crush. She does this without breaking the contact of their lips, and what the kiss lacks in experience it makes up for in fiery ardency. Fuck knows she wants this, has thought about it with alarming frequency since the worst of her fury had bled out of her and allowed her to see how god-damned breath-taking Lenore is. And even then, with her beauty placed to one side...she's been kind to her. She could have had her executed, the obvious thing to do with a woman who has slaughtered a whole bunch of one's soldiers, but instead she'd given her clothes and food and a bed and words of appreciation. The promise of a purpose. The latter of which being something she's longed for so desperately, for such a very long time.

She pulls back only to draw breath, eyes a hot glitter in the dimness of the room as she looks down into Lenore's face. Her cheeks are as flushed as the vampire's, her heart a hammer against her ribs, yet still she holds her own weight, keeps just a fractional space between their bodies. This is the closest she's ever been to anyone, the sheer possibility both thrilling and frightening. Gideon swallows, thickly. Tries to steady herself, so that she'll sound like she knows what she's doing.

"Tell me what you like," her voice is a heated whisper, not as confident as she'd intended. Earnest though, with the dim light coruscating from the D-ring of her collar like a punctuation mark.

"Explore me," Lenore commands, or invites, letting her own hands roam lightly over Gideon's chest. One hand skims up from her side and the other trails down over her collarbone, converging on her breasts and cupping them in light hands, thumbs teasing over her nipples like she's plucking the strings of a harp. "I want your hands and mouth all over me. Inside of me. You're welcome to bite or leave marks, though they'll fade quickly. Nothing's off limits."

She already suspects that Gideon is ... inexperienced, to put it gently. How much experience could she possibly have? From what Lenore knows of Gideon's unpleasant former life, she doubts that any experience she might have had was anything enjoyable. So she leaves her instruction open for now, encouraging Gideon to learn by touch, to learn Lenore's body and how she responds.

Nothing's off-limits. It's a sentiment that startles her, leaves her dizzy with lust yet rendered strangely speechless with intimidation. Having a hot babe beneath her in a bed, breathless and asking to be touched all over-- it's the stuff of late-night fantasies, of dreams that had long felt beyond her reach. All this is made all the more maddening by the feel of Lenore's hands at her breasts, nipples hard and erect and flushed with pleasure as the soft pads of her owner's thumbs roll over them. She gasps, eyes hot, feeling alight with longing. The fear that she'll fuck this up and prove disappointing only adding further fuel to her fire.

"Okay. Okay..." she says, words whispered soft beneath her breath and more to herself than to Lenore, but still she dips low to kiss her again. Longer this time, deeper, her tongue licking slow into the vampire's mouth as she rests all her weight on one arm, slides her freed hand along the glorious curves of Lenore's body. Down to the dip of her waist, then up to shyly cup one breast, fingers slipping beneath the gauzy fabric of her negligée. Her skin feels supple and soft, slightly warm to the touch, not at all like the nightmarish monster she has been taught to expect.

"Fuck," she says, the weight of Lenore's breast resting against her palm, calloused fingers sliding to circle her nipple with far more care than Lenore had asked for, "fuck, this is actually happening."

Lenore laughs breathily at Gideon's charming shock, her awed vulgarity. "Oh no," she murmurs playfully. "What if you're dreaming?"

Shivering at the feeling of Gideon's hand against her breast, Lenore groans and arches up into the touch, lashes closing as she savors the throb of desire between her legs, the hot slick of her cunt.

"Better pinch you to make sure," Lenore offers, capturing each of Gideon's nipples between thumb and forefinger, clamping down just enough to make sure that the sensation of it shoots down Gideon's nerves. She releases a moment later, looking positively wicked as she grins up at her lover. "What do you think? Dreaming?"

There are things she wants to say. Things like don't fucking tease me like that because this sure as hell feels like dreaming. The way Lenore's body arches into her touch, the sounds she makes, the pretty flutter of her lashes; it renders her speechless besides a low and shapeless moan.

Until Lenore's fingers find her nipples, pinch tight enough to send bright shocks racing the length of her body, dancing maddeningly on a knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Gideon's eyes blow wide as she draws in a swift and ragged breath, shivers from nape to tailbone and back again, and it takes a moment for her to find her voice again.

"Nah. I guess I'm really here," she says it thickly, voice cracked open and raw around her lust as she looks down into the vampire's wicked little face, "but the jury's still out on you."

The hand at Lenore's breast grows rougher, squeezing slow before she takes her nipple and rolls it just a little hard between her fingers. She half-expects to be struck, or told to get the hell off, but her Mistress had said that she could leave marks and now her eyes are on Lenore's face. Waiting for a reaction.

Lenore yelps at the rougher grip, half a moan but with a little bit of a wince. Still, there's no criticism in it, not even a complaint. "Little rough," she murmurs, but that's only feedback, encouraging Gideon to keep learning.

Her fingers skim down Gideon's sides, nails lengthening a tiny bit in order to scrape but mostly keeping her touch light, barely-there enough to be ticklish.

"Am I just an illusion?" Lenore asks, voice breathy and almost hoarse. "Apt to fade into mist or vanish with the sun?" Both true, one a little more unfortunate than the other.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If you were Dracula, I'd be letting you take that bite

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject