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obstinatrixTitle: Your Silhouette When The Sunlight Dims
Pairing: Adrianne/Genevieve
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,000
Summary: In which Adrianne is a one-eyed, crossdressing lesbian vampire who plays the best damn jazz piano in New Orleans, and Genevieve is her kind of girl.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
architeuthis, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_j2_xmas. I totally failed to use any of your actual prompts, but this somehow came into my head after reading your 'likes' (among them monsters, interspecies porn, AUs, spec fiction, pulp tropes, biting, first times). Not sure you intended any of these things to culminate in anything like this, but there you are. My apologies. :)
Jazz had been young when Adrianne was, the first time. Now it was aged and smokey as good whiskey; now it dripped off her fingers like molasses off a sharp knife, rich in the cavernous darkness of the club. On the stage, the dancer in her red dress swayed with the movements of Adrianne's fingers, her hair a dark spill down the arch of her back. She was new, the dancer. Genevieve, though she didn't look French to Adrianne. But there were a lot of French names here.
The set wasn't planned. They never were. That was the benefit of playing at the same little hole-in-the-wall stripclub every night for fifteen years: the boss soon forgot about telling you what to do. Adrianne played as it came to her, and the dancer was hers to command, under her spell. Some of them, more used to dancing to mix tapes in seedier places where the lights glowed sodium pink, didn't know how to move like that, but this girl was good at it. Adrianne leaned back on her stool and watched through her eyelashes, feeling the low pull of appreciation in her gut. A brown-sugar trill in the bass, and Genevieve followed it effortlessly, dress slipping off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Quietly, but with the pervasive insistence of a low vibrato, the craving set in.
The strippers didn't go all the way here. It wasn't that type of club. Genevieve stripped to her panties (red) and the tassels sparkling at her nipples, and that was it, time for more booze and big band music from the record player. If people wanted a full-on show, there were plenty of other places to get that in this town. The charm of this bar was its burlesque 30s quaintness, and Adrianne knew she was a part of that too, the sharp-suited pianist with her trilby pulled down low over her eyes.
Well. Eye. She'd worn the patch so long now it was easy to forget it was there. She supposed other people didn't forget so easily.
Genevieve had certainly looked at it with interest when they'd met -- a long stare, and then a blink and a blush as she pulled away. That could have meant anything: fascination; appreciation; intrigue. Revulsion. Adrianne had gotten all this and more from dancers over the years, and Genevieve, with her porcelain-doll face and coal-black eyes, was difficult to read. Adrianne wondered if she knew; if her silver pupils had escaped Genevieve's notice in the gloom of the club. People could tell, usually; could sense it, especially people who'd caught Adrianne's attention the way this girl had, with her soft hair and long limbs and nacreous, warmed ivory skin. But she wasn't from around here. Maybe she glanced at Adrianne the way she did for other reasons. Maybe she was just into girls.
Adrianne's mouth quirked at the thought. Hey, at least it'd be something new.
She never stayed all night. That wasn't her remit, and though a night job was kind of a necessity for her, it was also kind of necessary to leave time to get some dinner, and to get a hit, which was sometimes, but not always, the same thing. The strippers did eight till midnight, on and off, and when Genevieve had quit the stage to a chorus of cheers, Adrianne pushed back her stool and popped her knuckles, yawning. The pit of her stomach was beginning to yawn, now, too. She wasn't sure she had the patience for a real hunt, something satisfying. There was always convenience store stuff, which, while categorically shitty by comparison, would do.
She was still debating when she slipped out into the alleyway, fumbling for a cigarette. She knew there were other people there -- the tingling at the back of her neck told her so before she even got the door open -- but she was distracted and a little tired and it wasn't till she turned and saw that face that she realised the other person was Genevieve.
"Oh," Adrianne said around the end of the cigarette. A thrill moved through her pleasantly, thick and dark and hot. "Hi. You lost?"
In her street clothes, Genevieve looked different. Adrianne wouldn't have pinned her for the leather-and-jeans sort, watching her all sinuous curves on the stage, but it looked good on her, her soft dark hair accentuating, by contrast, the defiant cut of her jaw and the wry arches of her eyebrows. She moved forward slightly, out of the darkness, and Adrianne saw the cigarette in her hand too, the end of it glowing redly; saw the quirk of her smile. Not the innocent Adrianne had expected, maybe.
But then, the girl was a fucking stripper. Adrianne was a little old-fashioned in these things, she supposed. Change was hard -- hence the little retro bar.
"I'm not lost," Genevieve said. Dark brown voice that curled right down Adrianne's spine, even before Genevieve added, "I was waiting for you."
"For me?" A vein ran thin and blue up the line of Genevieve's throat, snaking up out of her collar to the underside of her jaw. Saliva pulsed under Adrianne's tongue, gums tingling, and she tore her eyes away from Genevieve's neck, praying her fangs would stay where they fucking belonged until she was good and ready for them. "Did you have a request, or something?"
She was playing coy now. It was obvious that Genevieve had wanted something other than to chit-chat about the set. The only problem was, Adrianne couldn't be sure how streetwise she really was -- hell, how streetwise you could even get up in Montana or wherever the hell she'd come from, where the vamp population was negligible.
"I was wondering," Genevieve said smoothly, "if you wanted to get some dinner?"
Anywhere else, that would have been direct enough. The way Genevieve was looking at her, under her lashes while she twirled a single piece of hair between thumb and forefinger, would have answered all Adrianne's questions a century ago: this girl knew what she liked, and she liked what she saw. But now it was still only half an answer, and much as Adrianne would have loved to take this girl up on her offer, whether or not she knew what she was letting herself in for, she'd been around the block long enough to know that wasn't smart or fair. Slowly -- fighting the heady rush of blood up the back of her throat, the shiver under her skin -- Adrianne reached out and stilled Genevieve's hand where it fiddled with her lock of dark hair. The chill of her fingers should be palpable enough, but just in case, she parted her lips a little, turning toward the streetlamp so the girl could see the shine on the fangs now cresting out of Adrianne's gums, above her human incisors.
"I could go for some dinner," Adrianne said carefully, "but I don't really do pizza these days." Anticipation swelled in the pit of her stomach, and the fangs settled into place with a sweetly satisfying snick. "You dig?"
This was it, always, the moment of truth. The girls weren't usually so damn direct, and so usually, Adrianne didn't get to be either, but the sensation was the same, the breathless swoop in her gut like missing a step going down. It seemed like an age before Genevieve's mouth curled, dirty little upward quirk at one corner, and Adrianne let her breath out through a grin right as the girl said, "I dig. I think I can make you a better offer." Whisper-quick, her hand slid from beneath Adrianne's, brushed the unguarded curve of her lower lip. "And I'm Gen, by the way. Genevieve's a nice girl."
"And to think," Adrianne said, "I was just gonna ask what a nice girl like you was doing in a place like this. But I guess I was mistaken."
"And if you were a dude, I'd call you a total misogynist too," Gen said, taking the hat off Adrianne's head and cramming it onto her own. "But since you're a hot chick, I guess I'll let it pass. You got a place we can go?"
Christ, girls like this didn't swing by often enough. "You bet," Adrianne said, and took her hand. "Come on." Without the hat, she knew, the glare of the streetlamp would be full in her one good eye, showing its telltale twist of silver, but it didn't really matter now. "I'm starving."
Adrianne had, for the past twenty-three years, lived in the lower two floors of a townhouse two streets away. It was a nice place in a shady street, so the floor that was ground level was usable in daytime except in blazing sunshine, and the basement part was more like a photographer's studio than a crypt. Adrianne was pretty damn proud of it, but Gen didn't seem too interested in the decor as she stumbled through the front door and grasped the lapels of Adrianne's jacket, hauling her close.
"Okay," she said, low, and the tone of her voice sang through Adrianne from her shoulders to the soles of her feet, pulsing between her thighs. "C'mon babe, I'm ready. Go to town."
She tipped her head, gathering up her dark hair in one hand and shoving it aside, and Adrianne's breath caught at the sight of her uncovered neck. Everywhere -- in the soft place below the bolt of her jaw; behind her ear; in the hollow between tendon and clavicle -- the shadows of sealed-up puncture marks could be discerned, some more clearly than others. Over the tendon in Gen's throat, Adrianne now saw, where the vein pounded most obviously, there was a blunted dark mark, as if from repeated abuse. This girl -- God...
"I need it," Gen said, insistent, and reached up to cup the back of Adrianne's head, urging her down. "Can't you read the label?"
Genevieve's free hand fumbled for the neck of her shirt, pulling it aside, and Adrianne saw, there below the line of her collarbone, something she'd never noticed from her place behind the piano, even with Genevieve bare and pale and proud. There, black on warmed-ivory skin, was inked a little old-fashioned note tag and, within it, the instruction: "DRINK ME."
Heat spiked in Adrianne like a fever, and her hand grasped at Genevieve's hair unconsciously, tugging too hard. "Fuck," she said, breathless, and leaned in.
It wasn't unusual for them to like it. Hell, they usually did, by the end, even if it was their first time and Adrianne'd coaxed them into it; but this -- she'd never had anything like this. Gen's head fell back, neck arching, the moment Adrianne's teeth grazed her skin; by the time they sank home, she was panting, clutching at Adrianne's shoulders, her hair.
"Yeah, God," Adrianne heard through the rising red mist of the feeding frenzy, and then Gen's thigh was rubbing against hers, Gen's ankle hooking around the back of her calf. Adrianne breathed through her nose, angled herself in closer so Gen was flat to the hallway wall, and then she was sucking harder, drinking her down, and Gen was moaning, keening, grasping for Adrianne's free hand and pressing it flat between the crux of her thighs. Even through denim, Adrianne could feel her heat. When she raised her head, mouth wet and full of warmth and her body rushing with vigour, Genevieve's eyes were wild and dark, her pale face flushed.
"Firecracker, huh?" Adrianne managed, and Gen half-laughed, then went for her zipper and got it undone; shoved jeans and panties together down to mid-thigh. Her hipbones crested up like spurs out of the dark triangle of her pubic hair, and the smell of her hit Adrianne immediately, like good damp earth. She didn't need any urging to return her hand to the warm place between Gen's legs, tracing the line of her two-fingered till she parted to the touch, Adrianne sinking into wetness.
Gen bit her lip, splayed her thighs a little further, pelvis tilting toward Adrianne's hand. "Could say that," she said, and her voice was more than a little strained. "Would you -- oh --"
"Like that?" Adrianne crooked two fingers inside of her, cleaving her easy as a knife through hot butter. Her thumb found the nub of Gen's clit, circled it, and a shiver ran up the back of Adrianne's own thighs at the way Gen clenched around her, muscles squeezing powerfully.
"Yeah," Gen said, and lifted her face blindly to Adrianne's, mouth pink and half-open. "Fuck, yeah. Fuck me. Kiss me."
They didn't always allow this, either, the kissing. Some old prejudice rooted in half-remembered myths and muddled-up AIDS paranoia; like you could catch vampirism like a cold. But Gen sucked on Adrianne's tongue, licked the blood from her teeth. When Adrianne, tentative, scraped at the inside of her lower lip, Gen only moaned, and Adrianne, breath catching, bit down reflexively, sucking. Around her fingers, Gen spasmed and clutched, and Adrianne pumped faster, rubbed harder, sucked till her head spun. A girl like Gen, wildcat-eager and biting Adrianne right back, would have been intoxicating even before, but with the new blood rushing to her heart, to her clit, Adrianne felt half-crazy, utterly drunk on her.
"Come on, babe," she panted against Gen's mouth, thumb working quicker as Gen broke the kiss on a breathless cry, half-inhaled. "Come on, God, Jesus Christ, you're fantastic --"
"Shit!" Gen's fingernails, filed and painted, sank home, breaking skin as she spasmed and jerked and came, muscles rippling around Adrianne's fingers till she felt they might break. There was blood pearling at the corners of her lips, and when she opened her eyes in the dim light of the hallway, they almost, for a half-second, looked silver. Adrianne heard herself groan before she knew she was doing it.
"Can you," she said, taking Gen by the wrist, but Gen was faster, wiping the back of one hand across her mouth as she went to her knees, steering Adrianne backward by the hips.
"Let me," Gen was saying, as she got Adrianne's pants open, pulled them down until they pooled at her ankles with her underwear still inside them. "Girls like you, the taste of you -- I gotta -- "
Gen's hands were small, but they were strong as they urged Adrianne's thighs open, pushed one knee up and back until she could shoulder in between, rubbing her face against Adrianne where she was wet. One blunt rub of smooth cheek against Adrianne's slit, and then Gen was licking her, spreading her with her thumbs until she could get her mouth around Adrianne's clit, and God, Adrianne had been on a knife-edge just from feeling Gen clamp around her, but now --
"Motherfucker!" She threw her head back hard against the plaster, clutching Gen's dark hair in fistfuls, and Gen only sucked her harder as she shuddered; fucked two fingers into Adrianne so she could clamp down around them as she came like she hadn't come in fucking years.
"Oh, yeah," Gen breathed, sitting back on her heels to watch as Adrianne fought for breath. Her fingers still moved lazily in and out of Adrianne's cunt, and she looked, rumpled and fucked-out and debauched on the floor of Adrianne's front hallway, like a saint in an Italian fresco, but one brought low. Girls didn't usually want to play twice with fire, but Adrianne had a feeling this one might be different.
She stilled Gen's hand gently, wrapping fingers around the fine bones of her wrist. They both knew she could have snapped them as soon as thinking, but when Gen caught Adrianne's eyes, she was smiling. It was good to know that everyone knew...everything...and could still smile.
"Hey," Adrianne said, and tugged until Genevieve stood. Her fingers glistened wetly and Adrianne drew them into her mouth unthinking, curled her tongue around them. The mercury flavour of herself was still a little unfamiliar. Obviously it was an acquired taste.
Gen raised her eyebrows, smiled. "Hey yourself."
Adrianne took a breath, deliberating, and then said, "If you wanted, you know...actual sustenance, I can order you a pizza. If you were interested in staying for dessert?"
Gen's smile turned pleased, enough that her eyes crinkled. "I never refuse dessert."
Yeah, Gen was... exactly Adrianne's kind of girl.
Pairing: Adrianne/Genevieve
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,000
Summary: In which Adrianne is a one-eyed, crossdressing lesbian vampire who plays the best damn jazz piano in New Orleans, and Genevieve is her kind of girl.
Notes: For
architeuthis, for spn_j2_xmas. I totally failed to use any of your actual prompts, but this somehow came into my head after reading your 'likes' (among them monsters, interspecies porn, AUs, spec fiction, pulp tropes, biting, first times). Not sure you intended any of these things to culminate in anything like this, but there you are. My apologies. :)Jazz had been young when Adrianne was, the first time. Now it was aged and smokey as good whiskey; now it dripped off her fingers like molasses off a sharp knife, rich in the cavernous darkness of the club. On the stage, the dancer in her red dress swayed with the movements of Adrianne's fingers, her hair a dark spill down the arch of her back. She was new, the dancer. Genevieve, though she didn't look French to Adrianne. But there were a lot of French names here.
The set wasn't planned. They never were. That was the benefit of playing at the same little hole-in-the-wall stripclub every night for fifteen years: the boss soon forgot about telling you what to do. Adrianne played as it came to her, and the dancer was hers to command, under her spell. Some of them, more used to dancing to mix tapes in seedier places where the lights glowed sodium pink, didn't know how to move like that, but this girl was good at it. Adrianne leaned back on her stool and watched through her eyelashes, feeling the low pull of appreciation in her gut. A brown-sugar trill in the bass, and Genevieve followed it effortlessly, dress slipping off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Quietly, but with the pervasive insistence of a low vibrato, the craving set in.
The strippers didn't go all the way here. It wasn't that type of club. Genevieve stripped to her panties (red) and the tassels sparkling at her nipples, and that was it, time for more booze and big band music from the record player. If people wanted a full-on show, there were plenty of other places to get that in this town. The charm of this bar was its burlesque 30s quaintness, and Adrianne knew she was a part of that too, the sharp-suited pianist with her trilby pulled down low over her eyes.
Well. Eye. She'd worn the patch so long now it was easy to forget it was there. She supposed other people didn't forget so easily.
Genevieve had certainly looked at it with interest when they'd met -- a long stare, and then a blink and a blush as she pulled away. That could have meant anything: fascination; appreciation; intrigue. Revulsion. Adrianne had gotten all this and more from dancers over the years, and Genevieve, with her porcelain-doll face and coal-black eyes, was difficult to read. Adrianne wondered if she knew; if her silver pupils had escaped Genevieve's notice in the gloom of the club. People could tell, usually; could sense it, especially people who'd caught Adrianne's attention the way this girl had, with her soft hair and long limbs and nacreous, warmed ivory skin. But she wasn't from around here. Maybe she glanced at Adrianne the way she did for other reasons. Maybe she was just into girls.
Adrianne's mouth quirked at the thought. Hey, at least it'd be something new.
She never stayed all night. That wasn't her remit, and though a night job was kind of a necessity for her, it was also kind of necessary to leave time to get some dinner, and to get a hit, which was sometimes, but not always, the same thing. The strippers did eight till midnight, on and off, and when Genevieve had quit the stage to a chorus of cheers, Adrianne pushed back her stool and popped her knuckles, yawning. The pit of her stomach was beginning to yawn, now, too. She wasn't sure she had the patience for a real hunt, something satisfying. There was always convenience store stuff, which, while categorically shitty by comparison, would do.
She was still debating when she slipped out into the alleyway, fumbling for a cigarette. She knew there were other people there -- the tingling at the back of her neck told her so before she even got the door open -- but she was distracted and a little tired and it wasn't till she turned and saw that face that she realised the other person was Genevieve.
"Oh," Adrianne said around the end of the cigarette. A thrill moved through her pleasantly, thick and dark and hot. "Hi. You lost?"
In her street clothes, Genevieve looked different. Adrianne wouldn't have pinned her for the leather-and-jeans sort, watching her all sinuous curves on the stage, but it looked good on her, her soft dark hair accentuating, by contrast, the defiant cut of her jaw and the wry arches of her eyebrows. She moved forward slightly, out of the darkness, and Adrianne saw the cigarette in her hand too, the end of it glowing redly; saw the quirk of her smile. Not the innocent Adrianne had expected, maybe.
But then, the girl was a fucking stripper. Adrianne was a little old-fashioned in these things, she supposed. Change was hard -- hence the little retro bar.
"I'm not lost," Genevieve said. Dark brown voice that curled right down Adrianne's spine, even before Genevieve added, "I was waiting for you."
"For me?" A vein ran thin and blue up the line of Genevieve's throat, snaking up out of her collar to the underside of her jaw. Saliva pulsed under Adrianne's tongue, gums tingling, and she tore her eyes away from Genevieve's neck, praying her fangs would stay where they fucking belonged until she was good and ready for them. "Did you have a request, or something?"
She was playing coy now. It was obvious that Genevieve had wanted something other than to chit-chat about the set. The only problem was, Adrianne couldn't be sure how streetwise she really was -- hell, how streetwise you could even get up in Montana or wherever the hell she'd come from, where the vamp population was negligible.
"I was wondering," Genevieve said smoothly, "if you wanted to get some dinner?"
Anywhere else, that would have been direct enough. The way Genevieve was looking at her, under her lashes while she twirled a single piece of hair between thumb and forefinger, would have answered all Adrianne's questions a century ago: this girl knew what she liked, and she liked what she saw. But now it was still only half an answer, and much as Adrianne would have loved to take this girl up on her offer, whether or not she knew what she was letting herself in for, she'd been around the block long enough to know that wasn't smart or fair. Slowly -- fighting the heady rush of blood up the back of her throat, the shiver under her skin -- Adrianne reached out and stilled Genevieve's hand where it fiddled with her lock of dark hair. The chill of her fingers should be palpable enough, but just in case, she parted her lips a little, turning toward the streetlamp so the girl could see the shine on the fangs now cresting out of Adrianne's gums, above her human incisors.
"I could go for some dinner," Adrianne said carefully, "but I don't really do pizza these days." Anticipation swelled in the pit of her stomach, and the fangs settled into place with a sweetly satisfying snick. "You dig?"
This was it, always, the moment of truth. The girls weren't usually so damn direct, and so usually, Adrianne didn't get to be either, but the sensation was the same, the breathless swoop in her gut like missing a step going down. It seemed like an age before Genevieve's mouth curled, dirty little upward quirk at one corner, and Adrianne let her breath out through a grin right as the girl said, "I dig. I think I can make you a better offer." Whisper-quick, her hand slid from beneath Adrianne's, brushed the unguarded curve of her lower lip. "And I'm Gen, by the way. Genevieve's a nice girl."
"And to think," Adrianne said, "I was just gonna ask what a nice girl like you was doing in a place like this. But I guess I was mistaken."
"And if you were a dude, I'd call you a total misogynist too," Gen said, taking the hat off Adrianne's head and cramming it onto her own. "But since you're a hot chick, I guess I'll let it pass. You got a place we can go?"
Christ, girls like this didn't swing by often enough. "You bet," Adrianne said, and took her hand. "Come on." Without the hat, she knew, the glare of the streetlamp would be full in her one good eye, showing its telltale twist of silver, but it didn't really matter now. "I'm starving."
Adrianne had, for the past twenty-three years, lived in the lower two floors of a townhouse two streets away. It was a nice place in a shady street, so the floor that was ground level was usable in daytime except in blazing sunshine, and the basement part was more like a photographer's studio than a crypt. Adrianne was pretty damn proud of it, but Gen didn't seem too interested in the decor as she stumbled through the front door and grasped the lapels of Adrianne's jacket, hauling her close.
"Okay," she said, low, and the tone of her voice sang through Adrianne from her shoulders to the soles of her feet, pulsing between her thighs. "C'mon babe, I'm ready. Go to town."
She tipped her head, gathering up her dark hair in one hand and shoving it aside, and Adrianne's breath caught at the sight of her uncovered neck. Everywhere -- in the soft place below the bolt of her jaw; behind her ear; in the hollow between tendon and clavicle -- the shadows of sealed-up puncture marks could be discerned, some more clearly than others. Over the tendon in Gen's throat, Adrianne now saw, where the vein pounded most obviously, there was a blunted dark mark, as if from repeated abuse. This girl -- God...
"I need it," Gen said, insistent, and reached up to cup the back of Adrianne's head, urging her down. "Can't you read the label?"
Genevieve's free hand fumbled for the neck of her shirt, pulling it aside, and Adrianne saw, there below the line of her collarbone, something she'd never noticed from her place behind the piano, even with Genevieve bare and pale and proud. There, black on warmed-ivory skin, was inked a little old-fashioned note tag and, within it, the instruction: "DRINK ME."
Heat spiked in Adrianne like a fever, and her hand grasped at Genevieve's hair unconsciously, tugging too hard. "Fuck," she said, breathless, and leaned in.
It wasn't unusual for them to like it. Hell, they usually did, by the end, even if it was their first time and Adrianne'd coaxed them into it; but this -- she'd never had anything like this. Gen's head fell back, neck arching, the moment Adrianne's teeth grazed her skin; by the time they sank home, she was panting, clutching at Adrianne's shoulders, her hair.
"Yeah, God," Adrianne heard through the rising red mist of the feeding frenzy, and then Gen's thigh was rubbing against hers, Gen's ankle hooking around the back of her calf. Adrianne breathed through her nose, angled herself in closer so Gen was flat to the hallway wall, and then she was sucking harder, drinking her down, and Gen was moaning, keening, grasping for Adrianne's free hand and pressing it flat between the crux of her thighs. Even through denim, Adrianne could feel her heat. When she raised her head, mouth wet and full of warmth and her body rushing with vigour, Genevieve's eyes were wild and dark, her pale face flushed.
"Firecracker, huh?" Adrianne managed, and Gen half-laughed, then went for her zipper and got it undone; shoved jeans and panties together down to mid-thigh. Her hipbones crested up like spurs out of the dark triangle of her pubic hair, and the smell of her hit Adrianne immediately, like good damp earth. She didn't need any urging to return her hand to the warm place between Gen's legs, tracing the line of her two-fingered till she parted to the touch, Adrianne sinking into wetness.
Gen bit her lip, splayed her thighs a little further, pelvis tilting toward Adrianne's hand. "Could say that," she said, and her voice was more than a little strained. "Would you -- oh --"
"Like that?" Adrianne crooked two fingers inside of her, cleaving her easy as a knife through hot butter. Her thumb found the nub of Gen's clit, circled it, and a shiver ran up the back of Adrianne's own thighs at the way Gen clenched around her, muscles squeezing powerfully.
"Yeah," Gen said, and lifted her face blindly to Adrianne's, mouth pink and half-open. "Fuck, yeah. Fuck me. Kiss me."
They didn't always allow this, either, the kissing. Some old prejudice rooted in half-remembered myths and muddled-up AIDS paranoia; like you could catch vampirism like a cold. But Gen sucked on Adrianne's tongue, licked the blood from her teeth. When Adrianne, tentative, scraped at the inside of her lower lip, Gen only moaned, and Adrianne, breath catching, bit down reflexively, sucking. Around her fingers, Gen spasmed and clutched, and Adrianne pumped faster, rubbed harder, sucked till her head spun. A girl like Gen, wildcat-eager and biting Adrianne right back, would have been intoxicating even before, but with the new blood rushing to her heart, to her clit, Adrianne felt half-crazy, utterly drunk on her.
"Come on, babe," she panted against Gen's mouth, thumb working quicker as Gen broke the kiss on a breathless cry, half-inhaled. "Come on, God, Jesus Christ, you're fantastic --"
"Shit!" Gen's fingernails, filed and painted, sank home, breaking skin as she spasmed and jerked and came, muscles rippling around Adrianne's fingers till she felt they might break. There was blood pearling at the corners of her lips, and when she opened her eyes in the dim light of the hallway, they almost, for a half-second, looked silver. Adrianne heard herself groan before she knew she was doing it.
"Can you," she said, taking Gen by the wrist, but Gen was faster, wiping the back of one hand across her mouth as she went to her knees, steering Adrianne backward by the hips.
"Let me," Gen was saying, as she got Adrianne's pants open, pulled them down until they pooled at her ankles with her underwear still inside them. "Girls like you, the taste of you -- I gotta -- "
Gen's hands were small, but they were strong as they urged Adrianne's thighs open, pushed one knee up and back until she could shoulder in between, rubbing her face against Adrianne where she was wet. One blunt rub of smooth cheek against Adrianne's slit, and then Gen was licking her, spreading her with her thumbs until she could get her mouth around Adrianne's clit, and God, Adrianne had been on a knife-edge just from feeling Gen clamp around her, but now --
"Motherfucker!" She threw her head back hard against the plaster, clutching Gen's dark hair in fistfuls, and Gen only sucked her harder as she shuddered; fucked two fingers into Adrianne so she could clamp down around them as she came like she hadn't come in fucking years.
"Oh, yeah," Gen breathed, sitting back on her heels to watch as Adrianne fought for breath. Her fingers still moved lazily in and out of Adrianne's cunt, and she looked, rumpled and fucked-out and debauched on the floor of Adrianne's front hallway, like a saint in an Italian fresco, but one brought low. Girls didn't usually want to play twice with fire, but Adrianne had a feeling this one might be different.
She stilled Gen's hand gently, wrapping fingers around the fine bones of her wrist. They both knew she could have snapped them as soon as thinking, but when Gen caught Adrianne's eyes, she was smiling. It was good to know that everyone knew...everything...and could still smile.
"Hey," Adrianne said, and tugged until Genevieve stood. Her fingers glistened wetly and Adrianne drew them into her mouth unthinking, curled her tongue around them. The mercury flavour of herself was still a little unfamiliar. Obviously it was an acquired taste.
Gen raised her eyebrows, smiled. "Hey yourself."
Adrianne took a breath, deliberating, and then said, "If you wanted, you know...actual sustenance, I can order you a pizza. If you were interested in staying for dessert?"
Gen's smile turned pleased, enough that her eyes crinkled. "I never refuse dessert."
Yeah, Gen was... exactly Adrianne's kind of girl.
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Date: 2012-12-28 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 01:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-28 10:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 01:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-28 02:35 pm (UTC)Thanks for this! :-)
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Date: 2013-01-02 10:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-28 07:29 pm (UTC)You are wonderful.
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Date: 2013-01-02 10:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-02 10:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-01 06:58 pm (UTC)I don't know if you were aware of my love of women in drag when you wrote this, but: HOME RUN. Now that you bring it up, I honestly don't know why the real Adrianne Palicki wears anything other than suits, trilbys and eyepatches. She is bzzt spang redo from start hot, but I also love her little hints of social uncertainty and that she's proud of her apartment. Genevieve's combination of self-aware sass and desperation is fascinating; I really like her, but also worry about her a bit. XD I'm also enchanted by the setting. I want to know eeeeeevvverything, but what I do know is just the right amount to whet my worldbuilding appetite and contextualize the delicious porn.
Thank you SO much for this. It is awesome, and you are awesome.
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Date: 2013-01-02 10:32 am (UTC)Thank you so much!