Chapter Text
Every vampire romance is a story of obsession; and that, Lucy knows, is why people read them. That’s why she used to read them, as a mortal. And that is presumably why she still reads them now, although her habits around reading them have changed; as these days, it is an indulgence largely shared, in the lazy hours before her night begins in earnest. Sweet hours of laughter, play, and ease, atop her friend’s bed. Hours like these.
At the moment, Strix reads aloud while Lucy listens, playing with the lace trim on the sleeve of her nightgown.
“…Esmerelda still remembered what loving him felt like, when loving him didn’t hurt so much. A full mortal lifetime ago or more, when her own desire had not felt like betrayal. But the fact that it hurt did not stop her from loving him, or from desiring him; and against those two things, she had always been powerless.”
Upon reaching the end of the paragraph, Strix glances up at the windows, then sets the book down and gets up from the bed to poke her head behind the curtains. Then, she pulls them open.
“The wind’s picking up,” she observes, just as the sound of shivering branches reaches Lucy’s ears—information that Lucy takes in passively, admiring the woman at the window. The gentle twilight glow lends a touch of honey to her fair hair and skin, and there’s a casual stateliness, Lucy thinks, in the way that she stands there with panther-like poise, dressed in elegant leather leggings and a simple blouse, eyes accentuated with the feline swipes of kohl Lucy bestowed to them a little earlier.
She looks beautiful. And with no pressing errands to attend to, Lucy is in no rush to leave her. “Has anything new appeared in your closet of late?” she asks her on a whim.
Moments later, the two are on their way to Strix’ well-provisioned dressing chamber.
Perhaps every romance capable of gripping an audience is a story of obsession, but it is especially true of the ones starring vampires; for vampires are creatures defined by their obsessions. Certainly in the literature, and at least to an extent, in life. And there might be no better example of vampiric obsession than the lord of the Crimson Palace, himself. The entirety of his personal history, in as much as Lucy knows it, can quite easily, if perhaps superficially, be constructed from his grandiose and frequently overlapping obsessions: with power, and revenge. With her—an obsession well-evidenced, as it is, in the array of fine fabrics beneath Lucy’s fingertips.
But Strix’ own obsessions are quieter ones, moving like unseen currents below the river’s placid surface, in oppositional directions. She seems resistant to the sorts of obsessions that her lover, her great love embraces wholeheartedly—to the concept of them, even—though Lucy knows that her love, too, is obsessive in its own right. The sort of love she couldn’t leave behind, even though it was antithetical to so much else it seems she wanted in her life. The sort of love that brings them crashing together, sometimes like two dancers in a breathtaking feat of spontaneous choreography; and others, like the two sides of a fault line. And when the earth is torn asunder, what emerges from the schism is sublime: primal, and terrifying.
Lucy glances up from a luxurious brocade to find Strix lost in thought, staring into a fur-trimmed cloak as though she had forgotten what she was doing there. But she does seem to sense Lucy’s eyes upon her.
“What do you think it is, to love someone?” Strix asks.
“How should I know? I’ve never been in love.”
“Lucy! You mean you’re not in love with me?!”
“Should I be?”
“Of course you should! Everyone should be in love with me.”
“Well, as you know, I do have a weakness for vain women. And with luck, I should have plenty of time to fall in love with you.”
Strix cracks a beguiling smile, bringing her hand to the small of Lucy’s back, and pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She lingers there, while Lucy leans in to her touch. And when she finally withdraws, remaining close at her side, Lucy asks, “What do you think it is? Love… Or, don’t tell me that you’ve never been in love, either.”
Strix appears amused, at first; then, a little more sober. “I don’t know. I don’t think it means just one thing, necessarily. But it does sculpt how you think. What you want, how you choose… It’s almost embarrassing, you know, how hard it is to make other things matter. Because it always feel like it’s what matters the most, being in love. Like it’s the most important thing.”
She pauses, resting her hand upon a rich, sable collar. “And it’s like you have to fight to keep yourself, to keep it from swallowing you up. Swallowing you whole. But so desperately, you want it to exalt you.”
“You don’t feel that your love exalts you?”
Strix hesitates. “Sometimes, it does. Sometimes I feel as though it’s honed me, in a way. If that makes sense. Cut me open and found the essence of me, the most perfect form. Like he raises me up in his two arms, and there, I am beautiful, and devastating. But other times, it feels perverse. Like… if I could see myself in the mirror, I wouldn’t recognize myself…”
She gives Lucy a weak smile. “But perhaps that’s why I can’t.”
Lucy reaches out to touch her cheek, allowing her words the space to settle before she politely moves on to examine the contents of a dresser, thinking it best not to dwell in the ache of the moment too long. She cannot help but wonder, though, what it must feel like to love someone that way. To be loved that way—exhilarating, and smothering, all at once.
Strix, too, returns her attention to her clothes. Then, a minute later, Lucy pulls a corset from the open drawer before her, and holds it out for Strix to see.
“Oh, look at this!”
Designed with a slightly plunging neckline, both sides of the sturdy coutil are lined with sumptuous black silk charmeuse—for visual appeal, as well as comfort on bare skin. A beautiful, and expertly crafted piece of lingerie.
Her companion’s eyes widen at it, then narrow. “Hells, I would never wear that...”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t care about making my waist look minuscule enough to suffer for it all night.”
“I’d be willing to bet he didn’t get it for you because he wanted your waistline to look smaller,” Lucy says with a giggle. “So, you wouldn’t have to wear it all night, necessarily…”
Strix gives her a flat look. Then, her eyes return to the garment in question. “It is nice,” she admits.
“If you want to try it on, I can help you,” Lucy tells her slyly. “They can be a little tricky—especially for a first-timer.”
“Oh… why not?”
The two women exchange conspiratorial smiles. Strix begins to strip off her clothing while Lucy unfastens the clasps running down the front of the corset, stealing glances at sinuous muscle and jiggling flesh, escaping containment. Then, naked but for her simple, rather scant silk underwear, Strix stands facing her with a smirk, casually preening. “Arms up,” Lucy instructs her, slipping the open corset around her back.
A fluttering warmth spreads within her as her hands meet at the fullest part of the other woman’s breasts, the backs of her fingers just grazing a pert, rosy nipple. Her lips twitch; a cool breath dances on her cheek.
One by one, moving downward, she fastens the front closures. Then, she steps back. “Now, to tighten the laces. Come!”
Taking Strix by the hand, Lucy leads her out of the dressing room and to the side of her bed. “Will you bend over for me, milady?” she asks her comical servant girl voice—an established bit between them.
Strix raises her eyebrows, then turns around and places her hands on the mattress. “Now I’m scared,” she giggles, as Lucy braces a foot against the bed frame, gripping the laces tight with both hands.
“Breathe out.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Lucy waits for the bottom of her friend's exhalation; then gives the corset's laces a sharp, ruthless tug.
“Shit!” Strix yelps, arm shooting out to grasp the bedpost for support. “What in the hells?! Are you trying to kill me?!”
“But milady,” Lucy sing-songs, trembling with laughter. “You’re already dead! And you don’t really need to breathe.”
“But I like breathing, damn you!” Strix pants. “Gods, please, make it looser!”
Lucy snickers, giving the laces a bit of slack. “There. Better?”
Strix takes a breath, filling her lungs with as much air as she can, before she answers, “It’s… tolerable.” Then, standing upright, she turns back around, perching her hands at her hips. “How do I look?”
Lucy’s eyes fall unabashedly to the other woman’s breasts, propped up nearly to the point of spilling out of the corset. Following the elegant lines of the boning, they move downward, sweeping over her neatly nipped-in waistline, to the exaggerated outward swell of her hips. Then, they return to her face.
Per usual, Strix seems to bask in her admiring gaze, openly inviting it. Lucy says, “I think my lord will be quite pleased.”
“Of course he will. But what do you think?”
“I think you look ravishing.”
“Ravishing, hmm?” Strix grin, tonguing the back of a fang, while Lucy’s own coy smile grows.
“How does it feel?”
“How does it feel…” Strix echoes her words sensuously, hanging on each one in a husky, smoldering tone. She reaches for Lucy’s hands, and places them snug at the sides of waist. “Why don't you tell me?”
Lucy feels her way down the garment, then back up, until her fingertips hover at the border bare skin. “Lovely… Very sleek, just like you.”
Her companion's breasts tremble slightly. Then she grabs onto Lucy’s hips, pulling her close. “You wretch,” she teases softly at her ear. And while Lucy titters, Strix begins to gather the hem of her shift up into a bunch atop her ass, her other hand worming its way down in between their bodies. When it dips into her panties, Lucy gasps.
“Hmmm,” Strix hums, finding her slick. “You know, I think you like torturing me…”
“Maybe a little.”
“A little? You’re lucky I being tortured by pretty girls.”
“I am lucky, aren’t I?” Lucy bites her lip, at the gentle brush of fingertips over her clit. Then she asks, “Are you going to torture me back, milady?”
“I could…” Strix’ fingers take up small, taunting circles, as she purrs, “But I think that I would rather make you come.”