Chapter Text
Caitlyn didn’t lead her to a coffin. Not yet, anyway. She led Vi to the door across from her bedroom and pushed it open with a sudden, surprising force. Vi paused momentarily in the doorway, still a little unsteady.
Caitlyn paused too, lifting her chin and tilting her head back, angling it at an incline to look back at Vi questioningly.
Well, whatever she was asking, Vi sure didn’t have the answer.
She could still feel her sharp gaze through the dim light, still hovering unsurely by the doorway. One shoulder rested on the frame, her legs feeling too light and too heavy all at once. She often felt that way when Caitlyn turned her gaze on her.
Always looking. Always there.
Vi’s skin prickled.
Caitlyn’s hand snaked up to turn on the light, nudging the switch with a mere flick of her wrist, long fingers flexing and unflexing. The room exploded with bright, white, and golden light. Vi’s skull pulsed, buzzing around the rounded edges of her cranium. She blinked harshly, once, then twice.
She stared up at Caitlyn’s blank face, letting her eyes adjust. Caitlyn stared back, her own eyes still narrowed. Vi swore she saw some sort of glint in them, the light flashing and reflecting against catlike eyes.
For a second, it was like the light was swallowed whole by her dilated pupils.
For a second, Vi swore she could see the red smeared against her mouth. The blood drying on her lips. Her tongue sliding over her bottom lip. The sharpened edge of pearly white teeth.
Her eyes adjusted. There was no red against Caitlyn’s pale skin. Not even a pink hue to her cheeks or a blemish upon her skin.
Flawless. Perfect.
Vi swallowed.
They didn’t break eye contact. Vi swallowed again, and Caitlyn shifted. Her gaze moved to the gash on the side of Vi’s head, the blood smeared against her temple, as red as her hair, then it went down. Down. It followed the bobbed rising and falling of her throat, her chest. Her—
Caitlyn let out a disinterested hum, as if dismissing it. “Sit,” she instructed.
Vi found herself wanting to listen, to obey, but her mind went blank. She blinked again. “What—”
Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed even further, the startling blue of her eyes almost completely swallowed by the darkness of her pupils, like the moon obscured on a foggy night. “Vi.”
“Cait?” She asked, still confused. Her head was still swimming.
A cold hand closed around her wrist, fingers firm and icy. They wrapped around her like a chain, or maybe a vine, yanking on like a leash. Vi found herself shivering.
Oh.
Vi let herself be led, pulling across the room and then pushed down. Caitlyn used her other hand, steadying it against Vi’s sternum. Then she pressed, forcing Vi backwards and down. Vi slid until the back of her knees hit the cool, hard edge of the bathtub. She let out a hiss, then relaxed, letting Caitlyn coax her into a slumped sitting position, legs bent out in front of her.
Caitlyn stood in front of her, one palm still pressed to her chest as if to keep her upright, long fingers sprayed against the cradle of her collarbone, the crux of her chest. One finger slid downwards, straight into the little dip of the bone, the tiny, accented crater of it. The cold quickly seeped through the fabric of Vi’s shirt.
A delicate, delicious shiver shot right up her spine, a startle of static electricity. A single strike of lightning.
“Violet,” Caitlyn said, voice rough and husky. Her breath tickled Vi’s ear. It was cold. “I told you to sit.”
Vi lifted her head, trying to meet her gaze. “‘Mm sorry,” she mumbled, slurring.
Her tongue felt like it was cotton, her throat prickling like sandpaper each time she swallowed. The uncomfortable flame of her cheeks, the heat between her legs, didn’t help much either. Still, Vi forced herself to straighten up, pressing her bottom fully to the tub’s edged surface. Something in her knee popped, and she winced again.
“Sorry,” she murmured, ducking her head instinctively. Strands of her hair, matted with sweat and a bit of blood, fell into her eyes, sticking to her forehead.
The shame coiled and uncoiled deep in her gut. She didn’t like to be seen like this, bloody and drunk. She usually just got herself home and went to bed, dealing with her headache and bruises come morning light. But, now, she was sitting in the bright bathroom light, being poked and prodded by a roommate. Being tended to.
Whatever that meant.
She had imagined this in a million different ways, a thousand little scenarios to fall asleep to, but not like this. Not drunk and dumbfounded, pressed against the tub. If anything, she had imagined someone being bent over something, not—
Vi didn’t suppress a shiver as Caitlyn’s palm came up to cup her cheek, her other hand gently brushing away wispy breaths of red-pink hair. Her touch was as cool as an autumn breeze, like mist over the water. Like a cold breath, the ghost of a thing.
Caitlyn’s gaze raked over her again, taking in every sore, sorry, and drunken part of her. “Shush,” she said now. “Let me take care of you.”
You’re dripping.
Vi blinked again.
“Violet,” Caitlyn said now. Her hand came down now, resting on her hips. “Relax.”
Vi paused, letting herself go limp, her muscles going loose and soft. She let herself be moldable. Pliable. Like a roll of clay waiting to be sculpted by talented, capable hands. Like a ball of dough waiting to be rolled out by a baker’s soft, warmed palms.
This time, Caitlyn gave a satisfied sound, like a hum and a laugh all at once. “Good girl.”
Oh.
Vi shivered again, a tingle going down her spine, but then Caitlyn was leaning in again, bending over Vi’s huddled knees. One cold palm landed there, settling right over Vi’s kneecap. Vi held back the urge to shiver yet again. Fingers tapped over the bone, once, then twice, like a restless tap of nails against a desk, like an impatient professor. A cruel, sharp-nailed mistress.
Vi raised her eyebrows.
When that didn’t get a response, the hand formed a fist, rapping against Vi’s knee like she was knocking on a door, asking for permission to enter, to seek shelter between the space of her thighs, someone begging to come inside—
“Violet.”
Vi’s head jerked up. “Hmm?”
“Spread your legs,” Caitlyn prompted casually, as if asking for her to pass the salt.
Vi didn’t even think; she just did. She opened her legs, allowing Caitlyn to step between them. Caitlyn kneeled, practically cushioned between Vi’s thighs. Caitlyn only smiled, more of a smirk, and gave Vi’s knee a pat the way you would pat a dog on its head.
Good girl.
The muscles in Vi’s thighs clenched, tensing, but stayed open. Spread wide.
Caitlyn tilted her head to one side, studying the red stain on one side of Vi’s head. One hand came up, ghosting up the long, hard line of Vi’s jaw, across her cheek, then settling on the shaved side of her head, her prickly, overgrown buzz cut that was partly Jinx’s doing. Caitlyn’s dark hair fell over her shoulder, creating a sheer curtain that brushed Vi’s own shoulder. Blue and red. Red and blue.
Those two colors seemed to be her whole world lately. She dreamed in shades of blue. Of red. She wanted for them.
Blue. The dark shade of Caitlyn’s hair. The light, bright color of her intelligent eyes.
Deft fingertips began to tentatively dance over the area, delicate and light, tickling Vi’s scalp. Then they pressed right into the tiny laceration, where a fist had landed repeatedly, her skull bashed at and hair tugged at.
The guy had gone for her head as soon as he had enough sense to swing and fight back. Before she could recover, the man was reaching over and grabbing the thing closest to him: his half-empty glass left on the tabletop. He had hurled it at her, and she turned only to be met by it, the glass grazing her temple like a violent kiss. Her vision had flashed white, the pain flaring like a flower unfurling and baring itself to sunlight.
The glass had broken, shattering against flesh and bone, and crunched underfoot. Still half-blind, Vi had only swung again, her fist finding nose, brow, and blood, until the pair had been forcefully separated, wrenched apart by both the bouncer and the bartender from earlier, the one whom Vi had drunkenly rambled to.
I think my roommate’s a vampire.
She nearly snorted at the memory of it now. Of the memory of her mouth forming that word, the shape of it. The implication. The real thing. The taste of it on her tongue. The way her stomach twisted.
The way she didn’t hate it.
Vampire.
Vi had let herself be hauled off, only pausing to spit out a glob of blood, and was on her way, saying out her sore shoulders and aching knuckles. There were shards of glass under her boot, and her nose was slightly crooked, blood pouring from a split lip, but she barely felt it. The adrenaline was warm and fresh, pooling into her blood, into her very being.
Now, she sat hunched over on top of the bathtub. Now, her roommate stood over, hands roaming her body. Searching. Seeking. Her expression was completely composed as ever, almost cold. Unreadable. Infallible. It was unnerving and strange just how calm she was.
Everything about Caitlyn was strange, completely and certainly so. The way she moved. The way she looked. The way she looked at others. At Vi. The way she breathed and blinked, or lack thereof.
While stumbling home swaying, slightly drunk, fresh out of a bar brawl, Vi had expected a cold shoulder, or maybe just some pointed ignorance. Some yelling. Some cursing. A stern talking to. Hell, maybe even a boot to her back, a swift kick to the curb.
Whatever she expected, it certainly wasn’t this.
Now, Vi hissed, trying to move away.
Caitlyn only pursed her lips and shook her head, as if scolding a child. One hand still glued to Vi’s jaw, she kept Vi’s chin up, angling it towards her. There was an almost amused expression on her face, eyes still narrowed, and the faintest tug at the corner of her lips. A pulse. Apull.
“Sensitive,” Caitlyn remarked, both a question and a statement. An observation. “Are we?”
Caitlyn pulled her hand away, and Vi turned her head just in time to catch a glimpse of red against white, her own blood coated on Caitlyn’s fingertip, the one that had skimmed over the wound. There was red gathered under her nail like dirt, harsh and gritty.
Though she didn’t seem to mind. She never did.
Or has some weird sort of kink? Vi had mumbled, already halfway to drunken bliss, numbness from alcohol. Some shit like it.
Vi gulped. It was growing rather painful to do so.
One of Caitlyn’s hands wandered, moving backwards. They slithered, snaking around to the back of her head, down to her neck. Vi now felt the stickiness there, dried remnants of foul-smelling liquor or whatever that dick had been drinking and hauled at her. It had gathered there at the nape of her neck, at the base of her skull, crusted and dried in patches.
Caitlyn gave another dissatisfied hum. Instantly, Vi bit her lip, feeling ill at ease. Feeling like she had done something wrong.
A part of her shied away at the mere thought of it—of disappointing Caitlyn, of letting her down, of making her ashamed. And a part of her perked up its head when Caitlyn looked at her, at simply standing near her. A part of her preened at Caitlyn’s touch: a press against her wrist, a swipe against her jaw, the caress of her cheek, toned thigh against toned thigh, and a warm mouth wrapped around her finger.
A part of her purred at the sensation of Caitlyn’s mouth on her, any part of her really. A lick, a swipe of the tongue. Puckered or pursed lips pressed to one pulse point. A kiss, even with a hint of teeth. A suck or perhaps a swallow. A nip. A bite.
Caitlyn suddenly pulled away, and Vi bit her lip swiftly, muffling the whimper she nearly released, mourning the loss of contact—the firm pressure of cold palms and the tangle of long fingers threading through her hair, the tickling at her scalp. The warmth bubbling over in her lower belly.
Without the brush of Caitlyn’s hand, Vi felt herself slump forward ever so slightly, her spine curving. Her head drooped and her chin dipped. She felt like a puppet with its strings suddenly snapped, dangling lifelessly. Like she was standing on the edge of a steep slope, balancing precariously.
She was half aware of Caitlyn still watching, her own chin held as straight and steady as ever. She fixed Vi with a level stare, though there was a touch of amusement to it. Mirth.
“You need a shower,” Caitlyn said simply, hands falling at her hips before going back further. She wiped them across the back of her slacks, palms swiping against the seams of the pockets. Her nose wrinkled before her next words. “You’re a mess.”
Vi audibly snorted. She used one hand to wipe at her upper lip. There was blood drying there, as well as the faded fizz of her first drink. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Caitlyn quirked a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You’re covered in blood, Violet.”
You would sure know, Vi thought half-heartedly.
Vi chuckled, still wiping at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “And something tells me you’re, like, into that.”
To which Caitlyn didn’t reply.
But Vi saw it. The small signs, the signals. The delicate flare of her nostrils. The tilt of her head, a slight incline to show interest. An intense interest. An instinctive interest.
Vi noticed the huff Caitlyn released, a simple puff of air with the purse of her lips and that pinch between her brows. She noted the way her gaze sharpened, lingering on the smear of red against Vi’s mouth. The way her pupils kept changing, warping and distorting, both wide as saucers and narrow as a pin.
Narrowing. Tracking. Focusing.
Vi wondered what her mouth would feel like pressed to Caitlyn’s pursed lips. Would it be soft and supple or hard? Sticky or wet? Cracked or dry? Warm or cold? Full and firm?
Would Caitlyn bite her lip and lap up the blood like some staved, bloodthirsty beast, some creature from tales of old?
Caitlyn moved again, snatching back Vi’s attention. She shifted, hands holding neatly, fingers sliding together, and resting flat against her abdomen. She stood a few feet away from Vi, as if purposefully putting distance between them. She leaned against the sink while Vi was slouched over the bathtub.
Vi hadn’t even noticed her go, hadn’t noticed the sudden separation, and felt a new and strange tug in her chest. In her heart.
“You need to shower,” Caitlyn repeated, more to herself than to Vi. “Get the blood off.”
Vi blinked. “Okay…?”
It turned into more of a question at the end as she watched Caitlyn turn and open the cupboard behind her, the one Vi never used. She knew it held extra towels and linens, but Vi had brought her own towels, worn ones in varying shades of red and orange. They were a bit old now, as she had bought them in a set shortly after moving into her first apartment. So had no reason to rummage through Cait’s drawers.
So she tilted her head and tried to look over Caitlyn’s shoulders when she leaned over and opened the cabinet doors. All she saw was white, stacks of clean, neatly folded towels in different sizes, and a few smaller ones in black meant to clean makeup off the face. Caitlyn instantly took the nearest one off the top of the middle stack and shut the door as quickly as she had opened it.
She draped it across her other arm, letting it slowly unfurl and fully unfold. Vi saw it was pure white and fuzzy. It looked soft and warm and expensive. There was a bit of color in one corner, initials done up in navy, a color Cait often wore.
C.K.
Vi nearly snorted. Caitlyn had the letters of her first and last name embroidered on the towel she wiped her ass with.
Speaking of her ass, Vi’s gaze dropped as Caitlyn snapped the cabinet shut, following the shape of her waist, the narrow of it tapering down, down, tucked nearly into fitted slacks, the curve of her hipbone, the poke and flare of it, the long lines of her legs—
The door shut with a loud thud.
Vi nearly jumped. Caitlyn turned and was suddenly pressing the towel into her, one hand against her chest, fingers indenting against her collarbone. Vi blinked again, confused.
“I don’t need—”
“You can barely stand,” Caitlyn replied sharply. “I’m not leaving you to slip in the shower and crack your head open.”
Vi grunted dismissively, not able to argue with that.
Crack your head open, Vi thought of her words again. Splatters of blood against cracked white tile, drops of it swirling down the drain. What? Would she get on her knees and lick up the blood?
Vi frowned and tried not to think about Caitlyn on her knees.
When she looked up, meeting her heated gaze, something in Caitlyn’s dark, hungry look parted. Something softened. “Let me help you, Violet.”
Usually, the sound of her name, her full name, on another’s mouth, made her wince, or made her bristle. But the shape of it, the sound of it, on Caitlyn’s mouth, in her round, accented tone, made Vi lean in.
Well, it sure had the opposite effect.
So Vi found herself nodding.
Caitlyn just smiled and let her hand linger, pressed right over Vi’s heart. Vi wondered if she could feel how fast it was beating, or how hard her chest was heaving, ribs nearly straining, trying not to show Cait how worked up she was from one single touch, a brush of fingertips or the press of a palm.
Caitlyn smiled, almost a smirk, and Vi almost smiled back, the alcohol still pleasantly burning her nose and buzzing her brain just right. She didn’t want to break the contact, the intensity of it, the intimacy and the impact of it. The intoxication. So she kept looking, staring loftily up at Cait, as if waiting. As if expecting.
She briefly wondered if she could get lost in the blue of her eyes. If she could drown.
Vi bristled slightly, and Caitlyn swallowed. It was long and deep, more of a gulp. Vi had never seen her gulp before. It transfixed her, the mere sight of it. The bob of her throat, the rise and fall, the quick swipe of her tongue over her bottom lip, and a ghost of a glimpse of white teeth. Sharp teeth.
Vi was looking at Caitlyn. Caitlyn wasn’t looking at Vi. She was staring at the spot above her mouth, the soft indent above her upper lip. At the crusted blood still drying there, waiting to be washed off.
Caitlyn made no move to do so. Her hand, the one holding the towel, stayed firmly pressed against Vi, against her wild, racing heart. She just stared at the small, simple stain, studying, calculating, the one she did when Vi had cut her finger in the kitchen.
When Caitlyn did move, Vi nearly gasped. She made a low, muffled sound in the back of her throat. Still, she didn’t hesitate.
Caitlyn’s icy hand slipped lower, down, down, skimming past her chest and prodding softly against her lower ribs, over the hard planes of her stomach and abs tired from labored breaths. Right above the fire that had been burning in Vi ever since she had first seen Cait in the doorway, the hand that had helped start it and stoke it and keep it going.
It was burning now. Burning.
And Vi shivered again at the sensation of it. Hand against fabric, close to skin. Heat against heat—
Then Caitlyn opened her mouth. It formed a small, perfect o, only uttering two words. An order. A command.
“Strip, Violet.”
Vi’s heart nearly stopped right then and there.