"I must have been," you agree. "I don't remember any of it. I don't suppose it matters much now, either, it's all done and over with." You bring an arm around so you can card through his hair, enjoying the closeness and calm, and the way your leg feels better than it has in a very long while. "Mmm... Oh, I say, d'you want a drink?" you ask. "Should have offered before. There's quite a number to chose from, they're very good." ((feel free for jethro to be worried or disapproving about erskin drinking so soon after his melt-down))
"I grabbed bottled juice from the hull -- oh, no, babe, don't go boozin' when you're still under the weather. Not to mention you gotta be dehydrated from your girlfriend suckin' your blood," you add darkly. You rummage in the grocery bag and get out a bottle to counter the one he's offering. "Ice tea. 'Kay?" ((gonna go boil my head swim a few laps now, bbl))
You smile at him and take the tea. "You're just fussing, now, it wouldn't do me any harm," you say, but you're pleased, your cheeks are a little warm. "And anyway s-she, er, she hasn't. Fed. I-in a while, I don't think..." Your hand drifts up and touches your throat, and— yes, everything's healed, isn't it, it's been long enough there isn't an open mark on you. But a few scars are still fresh enough to burn, under your fingers, to set you wanting, and you flush in an entirely different way as you jerk your fingers from your neck and busy yourself with the tea bottle. It's sweet and cold but it doesn't do much for the thought of your Lady's sharp smile. "Maybe later," you say softly, a little too embarrassed to meet Jethro's eyes. "Now that I'm feeling better."
You consider your words for quite a while before you answer. "It ain't the biting that bothers me," you say carefully. "It's how you ain't right in the head since she got into your dreams. You forget shit. You do shit like... like chargin' off inta the snow all on your ownsome when there weren't no emergency, just cuz she asked you to. We were. Erskin, we." Deep breath. You don't want this to be an emotional manipulation tactic, so you can not be sniffly when you say it. "You an' me was in the middle a our pale honeymoon kinda thing? We had plans. You were so into that. An then suddenly, bam, seeya Jethro, My Lady wants me. An' she don't think a sendin' you a flyer. An' you jus' walk til your fuckin' leg falls off, an' that ain't normal, Erskin." Well, you're not crying, and you didn't yell, but you're pretty sure your face looks like you got beaned in the mouth with a rotten lemon.
"Oh, Jethro, dearest," you say, distressed, and wrap your arms around him. "I'm sorry. I— I'm so sorry, moonlight, sweetness, I thought you'd... with the road trip, and all. I thought, I, I, I thought, when we were planning it, that we'd talk, that we'd talk it all over, that there'd be a good time for all of us to meet in, in, i-in better circumstances, that I wouldn't have been called so, so— so inconveniently. That we could take the prowler to her along the way and it would be, you know, it would be nice. It would have been. Better. I'm sorry." ((oh dang jethro has no idea how long erskin's been worked over for, has he?))
"It woulda been, yeah," you agree gruffly, but you can't refuse his apologies, not when they're so obviously sincere. You hug him back, and when you grumble, you grumble into his shoulder. "Baby, I don't like how she treats you. She ain't good to you like a red quad oughtta be. She l-locked you in a fuckin' basement." Whoops; okay, so sniffles are gonna be a thing whether you want them to or not. "Not even your kismesis ever locked you up or drugged your lusus!"
"I should like to see Kadros try," you snort. "I'd hand him his horns on a plate." You hold him for a while, rubbing his warm, solid back. You say, carefully, softly, "I've never lost it like that. We're going to need to talk about going out— about what I can't do, even if she'd like me to. But Jethro, love, I'm not— I wasn't— I bit her, I'd have killed her, I was out of my head. I'd have killed anyone in front of me. I think a cell and a set of soft cuffs are a damn sight more considerate than a bullet through the brainpan, she's— she does well by me, I wouldn't love her if she didn't. She saved me, she keeps on saving me. You two are on the same side, here."
"Saved you from what, Erskin?" you plead. "The crowd a grabby assholes she handed you over to in the first place? Have you seen the video? Pancho made me swear not to watch it cuz she knew I'd flip the fuck out. Bel din't listen and he did flip the fuck out an' she had to talk him down."
"What? No, no, not that," you grimace. "We'll be talking about that. But— my head. My... my nerves, my day terrors. She came to me in dreams and showed me how to, how to walk through them, how to find a safe path. She's brought me through to this place, too, I needed somewhere to run, didn't I? And it's good here. I was broken all to pieces and she's, she loved me, anyway, she wanted to have me, anyway. To fix me up, put me to use... it, it's a bit backwards, isn't it, with the spectrum, and all, I shouldn't the one as needs all that, but with you and I, and, and her and I, it doesn't matter so much, does it? That, that I'm not— that I can't—be there for you like I should?" You nuzzle the side of his horn. "I wish you'd known me a sweep ago," you say. "Oh, but I was fearless, then. I could have fought the whole world, for you. All the galaxy."
"Erskin," you whisper, heartbroken, "that's not what I need you for. I love you the way you are. You din't hadda run away." Fingers curling into the blanket around his shoulders, you give up on not crying; that was bullshit anyhow. He's your moirail. You should be able to cry on him if you want to. Your lusus curls a little closer around the both of you, and scoops the still-unconscious Reggie closer with his vast paw.
"Oh, darling, dearest, please, love, shh, shhh, it's alright, everything's going to be fine, love, shh," you babble, wiping his tears away as they spill down his cheeks, stroking his blotchy, miserable face. "It's fine, love, I'm fine, it's really quite alright, everything's alright, shhh. You have me, love, you have me, it's alright. Shh."
"Promise me," you demand unsteadily. "You an' Bel said 'always' on camera an' put it on the internet, but you still left 'im when Cloris crooked her lil' finger. An' she don't like me even more, you know she did a impression of me in Lu's dreams to try an' make Lu hate me, it's only a matter a time til she's on your ass to ditch me. Promise you won't let 'er break us up."
"She knows I need you," you say, though a bit more confidently than you feel. "And even if she didn't I'd let her know. I won't leave you again. I shouldn't have left you at all, we should have stuck together, gone together, I'm so sorry. We're not done, and we, won't be done until— until you say so." You kiss his forehead.
You sigh happily. "Then I reckon we won't never be done." Burrowing under his chin, with your Paw's fur at your back, you feel safe for the first time in a long time. You take his hand, kiss the palm, close your eyes. "Let's take a nap," you propose. "She can do without you for a lil' while. We both need the snuggles."
"Absolutely, I'd like nothing more," you say, curling up around him. He fits so deliciously in your arms, heavy and solid and prickly-warm. "It's been a frightfully long night."
You tuck the blanket around you both, relax against him, safe, protected. "So pale for you," you murmur. Your lusus makes a grunty noise. When you don't respond, he pats at your hip as gently as he can, which is like getting whapped with a couch cushion. You pout at him. He noses the grocery bag. "Oh, yeah, sorry Paw." You unwrap a couple of steaks for him; he swallows them pretty much whole. "Keep watch," you tell him. "Wunf," he reassures you. You kiss your moirail's chin, snuggle against him, and close your eyes.
You doze warmly with Jethro for a time, until you're too— too hungry to sleep, the warmth in your chest distinctly redder than pale, your heart pressing itself against your ribs and all the scars on your throat and wrists starting to sing. You can't sleep like this. You extricate yourself carefully from the pile of bear and blanket and make your way to the block you’ve been sharing with Cloris. The door’s been closed, and you tap on it, hesitantly, with your knuckles. There is a long pause, long enough that you start to wonder if your Lady is sleeping, or perhaps avoiding you entirely, but then you hear her say, “Come in,” and ease the door open to poke your head inside. She is not in her cupe. Instead, she’s curled up in a patch of sunlight on a deep red chaise lounge. You’ve seen her do this before and joked once or twice that she looked like some queenly purrbeast, but right now she doesn’t look pampered or pleased at all. She lifts her eyes to meet yours, and she looks very tired. “Hello, darling. I trust all is well?” You don’t quite know how to answer that, so you duck your head and shrug your shoulders. “I, well— well enough. I just wanted to see you, my Lady.” “And your moirail doesn’t mind?” The lilt in her voice makes you wince, but there’s no trace of hostility on her face. You shrug again. “I shouldn’t think so,” you say unhappily. “I waited until he's asleep. I don’t want more fighting, my Lady, I’m— I’m tired of it. I think we’re all tired.” Sighing, she rubs her eyes without any thought for her makeup and gestures you closer. “Yes. Come here, dearheart.” You make your way to her side, perch cautiously on the part of the lounge in shadow. She’s radiant in the sunlight, brilliant from within and without. You want her very badly, and that desire mixes poorly with your apprehension, and your anger, and your sadness. You touch the back of her shining hand. “I do love you,” you say softly. “We need to talk about— about how we’re to get on, and all, but I love you.” Her brows furrow upward at your touch and she shuts her eyes. When she opens them, she looks at your hand. “I know,” she whispers. “I understand if you--you don’t trust me, I do. I’ve been horrid. But as long as I have you, nothing can part us.” She meets your eyes, her voice small. “Right?” You curl your fingers into hers. “Absolutely, my Lady. Never doubt that. But we... we should... we need to...” you grimace. You don’t want to be going into all this, forging further into subjects and events you’d be more than happy to forget forever, but— Jethro. And all. And you want this to work. “I’ve never been so— this past while, what happened— when I— when I lost myself. I told you what I needed, I told you, and you didn’t listen. And I didn’t come back for ages and ages and, and I, I, I hurt you, I hurt my moirail. I’m not well, my Lady, and I can’t become so just because you’d like me to be. Or, or... you’d like to pretend, that I am. We can't keep on like this.” You watch as Cloris slides up the fabric of her dress and looks at the gauze bandaging her lovely thigh. It looks to have healed well in your, in your absence, and it doesn’t look as though it’s causing her any pain. She frowns at it resentfully, as if everything was the wound’s fault rather than yours, and smooths her skirt back down. “I know that now,” she says quietly. “And I think I realize, now, how important your moirail is for keeping you with us.” You can practically see her biting back various other nasty things she would love to call him. She even makes herself smile, for your sake, even if it’s a sad, fragile one that you’d like nothing more than to kiss away. “But we all have our flaws, don’t we? Darling, I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just want you to be mine, I want to give you what you need, and with, with him here, I feel as though I’m being replaced in your heart.” She chuckles, and it’s the most miserable sound you’ve heard from her yet, even moreso than when she was clinging to you and crying. “You’re such a lovely boy, and I don’t think you know that truly.” One of her hands drifts up and strokes your cheek. “Nobody would blame me for being just a little bit jealous.” You swallow, caught off guard by the delicate softness of her fingertips, the heat they raise against your skin.. “Well, then. I. Th—that is. I, I mean to say, no, stars no, we’re not, w-we’re— he’s not— you’ve my heart, Lady. Be assured. I’d want no one more. He’s another portion of my soul e-en-entirely—ahh—” her soft fingers have found your throat. She smiles, the first genuine one you’ve seen all day, as she runs a thumb over a burning bitten spot. “Is this mine?” That hand runs down your chest, your stomach, and you go still and breathless as she cups your inner thigh, right over the artery there. “Is this…?” “Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, oh, yes, please—” you grip her shoulders, shivering, as she teases you, tracing lines along your legs with a prickling claw as your bulge stirs and swells, only to be thoroughly ignored. “Lady.” “It’s been a little while, hasn’t it, my pretty boy?” she murmurs thoughtfully, toying with the zipper of your shorts but not quite pulling it down. Her eyes meet yours. “Are you aching?” You’re panting for her already, and it’s easy to go back on your elbows, to spread your legs, to bare your throat. “Y-yes, Lady, I’m yours, I need you, n-need you to have me, it’s been— it’s— too long, please.” She grins at you like she’d love nothing more than to crawl on top of you and take you then and there--but she only goes so far as to press fingers to your nook and rub just enough to make you whine and squirm. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere a bit less sunny for your sake, mm?” “Here’s good,” you assure her, trying to get her hand to— to anything, but she just laughs and removes it instead, then stands and smooths down her skirts, grinning at you mischievously, and strolls off. You scramble to your feet and trot eagerly after. The block she takes you to is well appointed with plush couches and lounges, a view of the gardens curtained over with a gauzy fabric that makes the whole block glow rosy pink, and you’re fairly certain you’ve been taken here, before. You watch hungrily as she turns her back to you and slips her dress over her head in one smooth movement, a ripple of green silk and shining pale limbs. She wanders over to hang it on a coatrack, and for a few long moments you’re caught up in the shape of her calves, the arch of her spine, her strong shoulders. Then she turns to look at you and you are nearly beside yourself with relief as she pins you against a door and kisses you hard, her hands unbuttoning your shorts by feel. She purrs into your mouth like you’re a delicacy she can’t get enough of, and you wrap your arms around her and let her kiss you breathless. It isn’t until she’s worked fingers up into you that you have to gasp, “Stop, stop—” your leg aching fiercely enough no amount of pleasure from nearby can get you to ignore it. “Stop.” Cloris parts from your lips and removes her fingers immediately, her eyes stricken. “What’s the matter?” “No, I just, I, I need to— sit, it hurts,” you pant. “Leg’s no good.” She makes a little pitying sound and slips an arm around you. “Oh, sweetheart, here, let me help--” You sigh in relief as she leans your weight against her and helps you over to a lounging platform. It’s a nice one, with lots of pillows and a big puffy dark green coverlet. She kneels and pulls your shorts off the rest of the way, stroking the imprints the fabric left in your skin. “Is that better?” “Mmm,” you agree, and arch against the softness, pleased to see how hungrily she looks at you, how she licks her lips when you hook your good ankle around the back of her knee and urge her forward. She burns against the dimness of this room and when she cups her hands to your hips you burn, too. “I want your— want your fangs, Lady, please, want you to have me,” you tell her, stroking her sides, her lovely shoulders. “All of me’s yours, everything, j-just, just have me.” "Oh darling," she breathes against your leg. "I do need you--" But she doesn't give you her teeth, at least not right away. She takes your bulge in her mouth instead, making little sympathetic noises in response to your moans, lavishing you with slow, thorough attention, tormenting you with her lips and tongue until you're making sharp cries with each breath--and when she parts from you and rakes her teeth down your thigh you almost sob in gratitude. Only for you to throw your head back and wail as she starts in on your nook, thrusting her tongue into you again and again as she pins your bulge with two fingers. You're grinding against her even as you beg shamelessly for her teeth, and she only clutches you closer and moans like every sound you make is torturing her too. “I’m yours, I’m yours, Lady, all of me, blood and bone a-and everything, all of it, down to my soul I’m yours, Lady, Lady, y-you’re my queen, my moons and stars, my everything, you own me, you know you do so just please— please, please, t-take me, bite me, please, it’s yours, it’s all yours, f-fuck, fuck, just, I, I, I need you, fuck, Cloris, your mouth, your teeth, drink me down, swallow me whole, everything I am is yours I just, I just need, I n-need you to have me, Lady, fuck, PLEASE—” And all the while your darling shudders and whines like you’re the one driving her insane. At that last wailed please, she finally parts from you and turns her head, and it’s such a small thing, but as her lips part against your thigh you keen like she’s already bitten you. “Promise me you’ll never leave,” she murmurs. “Never,” you moan, “I swear I’m yours, always, always, forever—” “Tell me no one will take you from me.” “God, yes, no one could, I’m yours, yours only.” You scream and come abruptly as her teeth pierce your flesh, and at the same moment she takes one of your hands and squeezes it tight. She doesn’t let go, as the giddy thrill of pain is washed out of you by an overwhelming wave of peace and wellness that lays you out flat and clean and empty and it’s so good, it’s exactly what you needed. You watch her drink eagerly from the deep bite, your blood spilling from her lips as she parts, every now and then to leave shallower, stinging bites all along your inner thigh. It has you sighing, just faintly, each sweet little peircing, each shot of smooth tranquility she presses into you. You don’t realize she’s been weeping until she draws away and smiles at you. You smile back, hazily, and trace the jade line of a tear with numb fingers. You feel as if nothing could ever trouble you again, and you love her so much you'd gladly die from it. “Yours,” you murmur, utterly content, and close your eyes to drift against her, her hands and her lips and her lovely fangs.
