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Looking back, Makoto isn’t sure how she allowed herself to be convinced to visit a bar — let alone one this filthy — with her final exams only a few short weeks away. Her stint as Student Council President taught her that outings like this are important to build the trust you need to succeed as a team, so she’s tolerating it — she just wishes building camaraderie didn’t require standing around on a floor so sticky that every step is accompanied by an audible squelch.
The other members of her study group seem thoroughly entertained by the venue’s billiards table, but Makoto, in a moment of circumspection, decides to keep her distance from the drunk people with large sticks. Instead, she orders her second drink of the night and settles in to watch the group at a distance as she sips at it. Mostly, it’s just something to do with her hands; something to offset the potent cloud of awkwardness that follows her around in settings like this.
Idly watching the game of billiards — judging by the players’ raucous cries, the last shot was either game-changingly good or transcendentally awful — she finds her attention drawn to a woman across the room.
She’s gorgeous. Her luscious blonde hair falls in soft waves around her, and her tight red dress highlights every curve. She’s tall, too, made criminally taller by a matching pair of heels. She’s alone, just like Makoto, and Makoto struggles to accept that piece of information when it so plainly conflicts with the reality in front of her: where are all of her friends and admirers? Why does it seem like Makoto is the only person who’s even noticed her?
Despite all reason, Makoto swears she can smell the woman’s perfume, even from across the bar: sweet and floral, with a sharp citrus edge. Sharp, like the smirk she’s shooting in Makoto’s direction, and— shit, she’s been caught staring.
She redirects her eyes down, remembers the drink in her hands, and downs it without a second thought. She forces herself to concentrate back on the increasingly rowdy billiards game, but finds her eyes drifting back to the figure off in the corner and realises, with horror, that she recognises her.
It’s Ann Takamaki, from the year below her in high school. She’s been ogling Takamaki.
She remembers finding herself drawn to Takamaki’s bubbly friendliness, but didn’t manage to reconcile that feeling as attraction until this exact moment. She tries to take another sip of her drink, and remembers too late that she already finished it.
Pretending that getting a mouthful of half-melted ice was, in fact, her intention, she chances another look in Takamaki’s direction. Inexplicably, she gives Makoto a beguiling look, lifts an eyebrow, and slips out of the front door, seeming confident that she’ll be followed. It’s a confidence that should be completely misplaced, but Makoto’s legs aren’t really her own when she — as nonchalantly as she can manage — grabs her jacket and hurries towards the exit after her.
The door shuts behind her, and she looks around for that head of blonde hair only to find that she’s vanished into thin air. She huffs, betraying a disappointment she would never have made plain if not for the faint buzz of alcohol and newfound solitude.
There’s a light chill in the air, but her whole body is buzzing with a warmth that makes her reluctant to put her jacket back on. The thought of heading back inside feels even more stifling. Left with no desirable options, she decides it’s past time for her to head home. Slinging her jacket over her shoulder, she starts the mercifully short walk to the nearest train station. She’ll send a text to her study group when she gets there, and plans on using the walk to think of a way to make it sound appropriately apologetic.
“Hey, Prez.”
Makoto whips around so fast she nearly loses her balance. When her vision refocuses, she spots Takamaki leaning against the wall of an alleyway, grinning ear-to-ear at Makoto’s embarrassing display.
“Takamaki,” she greets, aiming for neutral but landing on breathless.
Ann kicks off the wall and stalks towards her. Makoto isn’t sure if she wants to take a step back or if she wants to close the distance; she’s left rooted to the spot, paralysed by anticipation.
“Call me Ann,” she says, lightly tracing a hand down Makoto’s arm, from her triceps to her wrist. Makoto shivers under the attention. “That is, if you followed me for the reason I think you did,” Ann mutters, leaning ever closer.
She knows it’s a terrible idea — it feels like a terrible idea — but the part of her brain she has no control over is helplessly entranced and this feels like the best idea she’s ever had, actually. She nods, in one motion that’s as jerky as it is impossible to misinterpret.
Ann grins, exposing a flash of her sharp canines, and grabs Makoto’s hand. “Follow me, then,” she whispers, leading Makoto deeper into the alleyway, around the corner and out of view of all but the most prying of eyes.
It takes a few steps for Makoto to find her voice again. “You can call me Makoto,” she says, at a volume barely greater than a whisper, squeezing Ann’s hand a little harder.
Ann squeezes back, peeking over her shoulder. “You sure?” She asks, winking. “I can be more formal, if you’d like. Niijima-san. Miss Student Council President.”
Makoto would flush even darker, if she was capable of such a feat.
“Don’t— don’t tease me,” Makoto mumbles, with any and all assertiveness sapped from her admonishment when Ann crowds her against the wall. Her jacket falls to the ground by her feet, completely forgotten.
“Aw, but that’s the best part!” Ann says, expertly striking a balance between cheerful and seductive. One of her legs nestles between Makoto’s, and her retort dies in her throat. It’s almost impossible to stop herself from grinding against it when the gentle pressure sends a pulse of heat through her. She’s frozen solid; so tense she can barely breathe.
Ann’s chest rests against her own, forcing Makoto’s back flat against the wall. Ann’s heels give her the slightest height advantage. Her face hovers closer, and Makoto can’t think anything beyond an astounded and borderline-hysteric yes, this is really happening, when Ann grabs her chin and tilts her head upwards — just slightly — to meet her eyes.
Ann is still for a long, almost painful moment, examining Makoto with a pleased expression and her huge, piercing-blue eyes. Ann’s warm breaths puff against her waiting lips. Makoto shudders under the strain of her heaving chest.
“Hi,” Makoto squeaks.
Ann’s lips twitch into a smug little smirk. “Hi, Makoto,” she murmurs, before sliding her grip to the side of Makoto’s jaw and finally — finally — closing the distance between their lips.
For a moment, she’s too stunned to do anything but let Ann kiss her. Her conscious mind does catch up eventually, though; the tension snaps a little belatedly, but with an intensity that resonates deep in her core. She surges forwards, hard and fast, and Ann has to lean back to avoid clacking their teeth together. Makoto tries to follow her, but she pins Makoto’s head flat against the wall with the hand on her jaw before she gets far.
“Look at you,” Ann coos, smiling against her mouth. Makoto tries to shut her up with another kiss, but she can’t find the leverage. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Stop talking and kiss me,” Makoto grumbles. She doesn’t care if it sounds demanding — she only cares that Ann’s mouth isn’t on hers.
Ann snickers, but obliges, capturing Makoto in an open-mouthed kiss. Makoto lets out a small moan, overcome with relief. Trapped between the unforgiving brick wall and Ann’s warmth, she clutches at Ann’s back, trying her best to deepen the kiss. One hand sits at the small of Ann’s back, steadying her; the other traces up the curve of her spine, between her shoulder blades, finally tangling itself in the thick, blonde waves at the nape of her neck.
In response, Ann bears down harder. She increases the pressure between Makoto’s legs; Makoto’s breath hitches, her jaw drops open, and the air in her lungs releases itself with an obscene noise that echoes in the dark alleyway when Ann fails to swallow it, instead taking the opportunity to pull away.
“Quiet,” Ann chides her, though judging by the look in her eyes she isn’t terribly broken up about Makoto’s indiscretion. “Unless you want to get caught?”
Another noise escapes the back of Makoto’s throat before she can stop it. It’s a mournful noise that surely makes her look pathetic — it sounds pathetic to her own ears — but she can’t muster up the humiliation she knows she ought to be feeling. Right now, the prospect of being caught doesn’t even phase her; there’s nothing to be caught doing if Ann’s going to keep pulling away like this.
“Why’d you stop?” Makoto asks, chest heaving, when Ann fails to do anything but keep pinning her to the wall with her heavy gaze and a hand at her shoulder. Ann keeps watching her, looking a little contemplative. Makoto loses the internal battle she’s been fighting to keep her hips still, and grinds against Ann’s leg in a desperate bid for any sort of stimulation. It only ends up frustrating her further: she can’t get much leverage when Ann’s refusing to cooperate.
“You really are something special,” Ann murmurs, sounding reverent. Makoto screws her eyes shut against the swell of emotion, but she’s spared from having to think too hard about her extreme reaction when Ann’s lips finally descend on her again.
She lets out a sharp gasp when Ann’s mouth lands not on her own, like she was expecting, but instead on the sensitive underside of her jaw. The gasp sharpens to a whine as Ann’s plush lips and hot breath trace an agonisingly slow path along the side of her jaw, all the way over to her ear.
Her grip tightens in Ann’s hair, doing everything she can to stay standing against the onslaught. “Ann,” she pants. “Ann, please—”
“Do you trust me?” Ann whispers without lifting her head. Her breath against the shell of Makoto’s ear makes her shiver.
“Yes,” Makoto whispers back, without hesitation, voice strained under her urgency.
“Good, then relax.” Ann insists. She nibbles at her earlobe, teeth catching lightly on one of the studs there. “Relax, and let me take care of you.”
Makoto’s body relaxes without her needing to tell it to; she slumps back against the wall with a sharp, ragged exhale.
“Just like that,” Ann encourages, planting a lingering kiss on the side of her neck. “Just breathe.”
Every heaving breath is rewarded with another heated kiss. Makoto slowly feels herself relax from her frenzied boil back to a sustainable simmer, until she can breathe without feeling like she’s going to faint. By the time Ann’s lips make it to the base of her neck, just above her collarbone, Makoto’s grip in Ann’s hair has loosened considerably. She’s gone boneless against her, having surrendered completely.
Ann’s teeth tease at her skin, and Makoto shivers with want. She can’t figure out exactly what it is her body wants, but she holds Ann close so she won’t stop giving it to her. She feels the curve of Ann’s smile against her skin, then a sharp pain as she bites down hard.
Her teeth sink into the side of Makoto’s neck, and Makoto feels more awake than she has since she spotted Ann in the bar; she’s so startled she can’t manage a yelp, let alone a scream.
She wants to thrash her head to get away, but Ann’s bite is unrelenting, and Makoto’s survival instincts tell her that struggling too hard will result in Ann ripping out a chunk of flesh. All of a sudden, in sharp clarity, she understands exactly what’s happening — she’s about to get drained by a vampire. By a vampire she went to high school with. She’s about to die.
Then, just as quickly, it stops mattering. Her fear is subsumed entirely by a blinding wave of pleasure; her vision swims; her consciousness reduces to nothing but the two points in her neck — more pressure than pain — and the warm body pressed flush against hers. Her knees buckle, and she falls hard against Ann’s knee, sending another shockwave through her core.
The combination of sensations is too much for her. Her jaw drops open in a tortured, drawn-out moan and she can’t hear it but knows it’s loud. In a flash, Ann’s hand clamps over her mouth, silencing her.
She can barely breathe, but she doesn’t care. She sucks in rapid breaths through her nose, staring unseeing and unblinking up at the night sky, panting against Ann’s palm. Her limbs feel electric, simultaneously standing at attention and drained of all energy, writhing as the tension tries to discharge. It’s an addictive feeling — she can’t think of anywhere she’d rather be than at its mercy.
After what could’ve been a few seconds or a few decades, Ann’s fangs retract from her skin. Makoto’s so lost in warm fuzziness that she’s surprised she notices.
Her conscious mind slowly trickles back, her thoughts begin to regain cogent form, and she becomes aware of a low, pleased hum reverberating against her neck, alongside a wet, repetitive pressure. It’s a little bizarre, sure, but not a bad feeling.
Makoto tries to look down at Ann, to investigate, but the angle is too severe. If she tries to pull her shoulders away from the wall to get a better look, she’s certain she’ll fall. “What’re you doing?” She slurs.
“Uh?” Ann licks a long stripe up her neck, then giggles, bewildered and disbelieving. “I’m sealing the wound? Before you bleed out?”
Makoto blinks a few times, until the brick wall opposite her comes back into focus. “You’re not killing me?”
“Um, no. I wasn’t planning on it.” Makoto feels Ann’s lips curve into a wide grin. “Unless you want me to?”
“Ha. Very— very funny.”
Ann scoffs. “I can’t believe you have the energy to be sarcastic. I’ve heard the venom feels pretty great — I bet you’d agree, right?”
Ann immediately buries her head back in Makoto’s neck, sparing her from a look that would stare right inside her soul. Makoto opens her mouth to retort, but closes it quickly with a choked-off noise in the back of her throat. Ann’s right — it felt amazing. It still feels amazing. It occurs to her that she’s letting a vampire lick every last drop of blood from the side of her neck, instead of sprinting in the opposite direction. Which is something she probably should be doing.
Makoto’s neck is starting to grow oversensitive from the attention. Ann’s next lick draws out a sharp gasp and a full-body shiver. Her grip tightens in Ann’s hair. Ann chuckles, but takes mercy on her. One last time, she drags the flat of her tongue from her collarbone up to the underside of her jaw, and detaches.
“Ah,” Ann moans, breathy and overcome. She pulls back, giving Makoto a glimpse of her bright blue eyes swallowed by hungry pupils, and the red sheen of her mouth. “You taste amazing, by the way,” she says, licking a drop of red from her fangs. “There’s a bit of alcohol in you, too. Not so much that you’re unpalatable — more like a cocktail.”
Makoto’s tongue feels heavy and stupid; her smile feels wobbly and delirious. “Like a Bloody Mary?”
Ann laughs, grabbing Makoto’s face to steady her. Her smile looks equal parts amused and impressed. “Sure,” she says, “let’s go with that.” And then swoops back in to kiss her.
Makoto wraps both arms around her neck, pulling her in as close as possible, tasting nothing but the overpowering metallic tang of her own blood.
She knows she’s just narrowly avoided death, but nothing about this truly feels real. She’s still a little floaty. At least she knows why, now — it must be the venom still coursing through her. Even as the thought occurs to her, it’s not distressing knowledge. It’s just… knowledge.
Ann makes a move to pull back, but Makoto tightens her grip. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it out loud, Ann’s stoked the fire in her and she’s not quite sure she’s ready to let this end yet. Ann makes an approving little hum, and catches Makoto’s bottom lip between her teeth. She breaks their kiss, leveraging the threat of the twin points of her fangs.
“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Ann says, sounding extremely pleased with herself. “Sorry about that — the venom will wear off soon, I promise. Although” — one of her hands wanders, lightly cupping the side of her breast, and Makoto’s brain goes on an indefinite vacation — “you helped me with my hunger; surely I can return the favour?” Her hand slides lower, resting on the sensitive skin of her waist. “Especially considering that this is sorta my fault. It’s only fair, right?”
Makoto’s jaw has gone slack. This is stupid. She’s barely in control of her own brain anymore, but even though the haze it’s screaming at her that going further than this in a public space with a vampire is an irreconcilably stupid idea.
Ann’s eyes search her face; wary, but with an underlying smug confidence. This time, her confidence is fully earned — Makoto knows there’s no amount of reason that could possibly make her say no to this. She’s long overdue for something impulsive and reckless.
“Please,” Makoto pants, her breaths coming fast and heavy with what she isn’t sure is anticipation, or if the parts of her brain capable of fear are finally coming back online.
Again, Ann redirects her attention with a palm cupping her cheek. Her smile is laced with an infectious self-assurance and sincerity. “Hey,” she coos. “You’ve been so good for me, I want you to feel good, too. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen. Okay? No need to be nervous.”
Ann’s gaze is heavy and piercing, and it makes her argument a hell of a lot more convincing than it should be. Makoto takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she whispers, and even manages a small smile as she does.
Ann leans in, and Makoto lets the bruising kiss distract her from her lingering nerves as she unbuttons Makoto’s pants and slides one dexterous hand past her waistband and into her underwear. Experimentally, she drags one finger between her labia, and leaves it there as a teasing pressure.
“Wow,” Ann breathes. “You’re really ready for this — honey, you’re soaked.” There’s a layer of teasing condescension in it, and if it’s intended to work her up further, it’s certainly working. Makoto whimpers — half in embarrassment, half in response to Ann shifting her wrist and brushing her palm against her clit.
Ann grins, wide and sharp. Slowly, but in one inexorable movement, she pushes a finger as far as it’ll go inside her. Makoto’s abdomen seizes in a bone-deep pleasure; she catches Ann’s shoulders in a death-grip in a feverish attempt to keep herself upright, and narrowly manages to keep a moan lodged in the back of her throat.
“Feeling good?” Ann whispers, and if Makoto were anywhere close to being in her right mind she’d scoff. Instead, she whines — trying to muffle it in the curve of Ann’s neck — and pushes against the palm of Ann’s hand with an uncoordinated jerk of her hips.
“I’m assuming that’s a ‘yes,’” Ann says, drawing her hand back. Makoto clenches hard around her finger as it tries to withdraw, knuckles going white in a fruitless attempt to keep Ann close. She whines forlornly, but isn’t left waiting for long: Ann pushes in a second finger alongside the first, and Makoto knocks her head back against the wall with the effort of wrangling her moan back to a ragged gasp before it escapes into the open air.
“It was so easy for me to enthrall you,” Ann says, pumping her fingers in a rhythm that’s slow, but still fast enough to be distracting. “I knew you wanted me before I even got in your head. And, once I was there, you didn’t need any convincing at all, did you? ”
Makoto drops her head against Ann’s shoulder and whines.
Ann giggles. “No, you didn’t. You just needed my help to calm down a little. Enough to let your heart do what it wanted.” Ann’s wrist shifts, enough for her to slide a third finger inside her. Makoto’s vision goes white; her jaw drops open; her head thrashes, but her hips freeze still. “My venom’s good for calming. But that want? That was all you, Makoto. Most people run away from the vampire once it bites them, y’know.”
“I’m not—” Makoto cuts off with a gasp when her hips twitch forwards without her volition and the unrelenting stretch sends lightning bolts zipping up her spine. “I’m not— most people,” she pants.
Ann hums. “You sure aren’t,” she whispers in a tone Makoto doesn’t have the mental fortitude to decipher. Especially not when she readjusts her hand to rub her thumb against Makoto’s clit. It’s a wonder she stays standing, after that.
Ann’s lips are a hot pressure against her carotid pulse point. “Are you close, sweetheart?” She mutters against her skin.
Makoto nods feverishly; even with her eyes screwed shut she feels her chin knocking against the top of Ann’s head. It doesn’t seem to discourage her: she leaves a trail of kisses down the hollow of her throat, as Makoto grinds — thoughtlessly, desperately, and without rhythm — against the pad of her thumb.
Ann’s mouth hovering above her collarbone should probably be sufficient to warn her of what’s about to happen, but Makoto’s not exactly in the right frame of mind for deductive reasoning. Ann’s fangs sink into her flesh, right next to the old bite mark. The shock of pain laces the pleasure with a certain sharpness; it’s nearly unbearable, but her pelvis drops hard against Ann’s hand anyway, chasing it.
The mounting pressure bursts spectacularly — the heady rush of venom hits her brain at the same time as her orgasm, and she has to bite down hard on her own lip to keep herself quiet. She can’t keep it up for very long, though — she can’t get enough air with her mouth closed.
Black dots join the stars in her vision, and when she opens her mouth to breathe, haggard moans fall from it with every heaving exhale. Her hips jerk erratically, and even though Ann’s distracted drinking from her, she keeps moving her hand to help Makoto through the aftershocks.
Just as she’s starting to worry how long she can stay standing, supported only by Ann’s hand and a useless pair of legs that are rapidly losing feeling, Ann retracts her fangs and starts lapping at the wound: sealing it, Makoto reminds herself, before she can convince herself to do something as stupid as pull her in for a kiss.
She’s not sure how long she stands there, blinking back stars and letting the wall take her full weight, when Ann pulls back with a pleased moan. “Ha, sorry,” she says, then pulls away from the crook of her neck and blithely pops three fingers in her mouth to lick them clean, leaving Makoto so stunned that she barely hears what Ann says after she’s finished. “I couldn’t help myself. That endorphin rush tastes way better than any dessert I ever ate as a human.”
It takes a long moment for the words to sink in, but the superficially innocuous statement has Makoto frowning. There’s a discrepancy somewhere here — something to do with Ann having been human — but she’s not certain she’s going to be able to articulate it. “It doesn’t make any sense,” she finds herself muttering.
“Huh? What doesn’t make sense?”
Makoto blinks rapidly, trying to focus on the face in front of her. “I saw you,” she says. “I saw you at Shujin.”
Ann giggles, clearly confused. “Yeah? I saw you there, too. What’s the problem?”
“No, I mean…” Makoto butts the back of her head against the wall, like how you might smack the side of a malfunctioning computer. “During the day. In the sun.”
“Oh! Yeah, I’m kinda new at this whole vampire thing,” she admits. “I didn’t get turned until after high school — it’s only been a couple years. Thank god for online classes, am I right?”
“Ah,” Makoto says. “Mmm.” With that burning question answered, she’d very much like to go to sleep, now. Before she’s made any conscious decision on the matter, her eyes slip shut and her head supports itself on the nearest source of warmth.
Ann wraps one hand around her back to support her. “Hey,” she coos, threading her free hand through Makoto’s hair. She politely doesn’t comment on the humiliating whimper that follows. “Are you gonna need help getting home?”
Ugh. Home. Exams. Responsibilities.
She forces her eyes open wide, hoping that vision will follow quickly. She breaks away in a brief burst of lucidity. “No, I’ll—”
She stumbles on her first steps, and Ann catches her with what feels like — what certainly is — supernatural speed.
“Whoa—!” Ann gasps. Then, when they’re both steady: “Um, so— my place is pretty close by, if you wanna recover there for a bit. I keep juice boxes there, just— y’know. In case.” She drops her voice to a murmur as she continues, “Booze plus venom plus low blood volume plus an orgasm is probably a pretty brutal combo. Sorry about that.”
“’S nice,” Makoto slurs, letting Ann button up her pants — shit, she’d forgotten about that — and haul her arm over her shoulders so they can walk in step.
“Well, in that case,” Ann says, laughing, “I take back my apology. I’ll get you back safe, Makoto. ”
Makoto hums, luxuriating in the feeling of being taken care of. It’s nice. Nice enough that she leans harder into Ann’s hold, grabs her face with her free hand — fingers cold from the night air and probably also from blood loss — and inelegantly swoops in to kiss her on the mouth. Ann giggles and lets her. Not for long, though. It’s pretty sloppy.
“C’mon,” Ann says, her voice soft and fuzzy. “Before someone comes investigating. We weren’t exactly quiet.”