Downward to darkness, on extended wings

The tenderness on his face was short-lived and Gabriel’s smile twisted into something more sinister; his hand gripped her jaw, pushing the back of her head against the hard stone, “No? I suppose not. I should’ve known by the way you moaned in church that it’s not warmth that you enjoy,” he sneered, realizing something as he scoffs. “It’s the searing heat that you crave, fledgling, the pain he inflicts on you, the rush you feel in your cold, dead body– he’s good at that.” Gabriel’s other hand rested on her slender neck, smoothing down her collarbone and chest; Margaret was just as twisted, a child weaned with poison unlike their other toys before, and her delusion that she could keep herself safe from either one of them was so laughable that he grinned.

His mouth hovered to where her lips were, body tense with anticipation, when a voice, thick with sleep cut through.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Noah mumbled, he was barely awake, dark locks covering his face as he struggled to sit up. His limbs felt heavy, as though he had no control over himself and the vampire sighed as he slowly dragged himself out of the bed, taking the covers with him. 

Gabriel smirked as he watched his brother walk towards them, pulling away slightly though his grip remained on Margaret; he watched as if he was seeing something for the first time, disbelief and wonder painted on his face and when Noah was finally between the two of them, the younger male released his hold on the fledgling but not before giving her jaw a painful squeeze.

“No,” he responded, “we wouldn’t want that.” Gabriel’s eyes flickered from Noah’s half asleep form to the fledgling beside him and the younger brother couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth, nodding and glancing outside the window as he tried to contain himself. It was daytime, the sun was out and there was his brother, awake from his slumber. A part of him wanted to touch Noah’s face, just to make sure he was truly awake and that it wasn’t some delayed side effect from being undead but the situation was far too fantastical and amusing for him to possibly ruin it. 

“Noah,” Gabriel remarked curtly, the finality in his tone indicating that he was done and the boy left the room with a twinkle in his dark eyes. Noah remained still, his naked form was reminiscent of a marble statue with only the shaft between his legs and the slow flutter of dark lashes that indicated he was flesh-and-blood. 

“Don’t,” he began slowly, as if it pained him to speak, and he reached out to almost touch her cheek before settling on the back of her head, fingers curling around Margaret’s hair and pulling slightly. “Inconvenience me like that again.” Noah felt it, the tug in his chest that spread to his gut as his brother and fledgling convened. The vampire wanted to ignore it but realized that their proximity made it difficult and he soon found himself rousing from his sleep. He had never done that. Margaret’s string was taut and coiled around his heart that spread to the rest of the fibers of his body, as though he himself was being stretched thin; his brother gave him a different pull, one that starts from the bottom of his stomach and rises up to his throat. The siblings were bound by the same blood magic and he could taste the malice in his mouth courtesy of his younger brother. 

“Stay away from him.”

Margaret’s head pressed into the stone wall as Gabriel gripped her jaw, his fingers digging into the bone, threatening to leave bruises. She gasped sharply though her teeth at the pain, her eyes darkening as she looked up into his sneering face. It might have been surprising the sudden change, the moment of complete transformation, but Margaret could see the venom in his eyes, the lack of control in his emotions, the way he walked around like a snake, coiled, ready to strike. The smile on his face, and the constructed softness of his features had failed to fool her. She was playing with fire, dancing her fingers over a flickering flame, and now she was feeling the heat so close to burning her tender skin. The pain in her jaw radiated through her skull, but the woman couldn’t help the twitch in her lips at his words. “He is.” She stated, her cold gaze remaining steadfast as his hand moved down her body. She felt the sickening mixture of repulsion and a stubborn yearning to feel more. 

He drew closer, and Margaret’s fingers curled against the edge of the windowsill, digging into the cold stone. Her lips parted, perhaps to speak, when she felt Oliver stir to life within her chest like a forgotten heartbeat. His voice cut through the tension, and her gaze shifted to the shadows of the room where his pale form slowly lifted from the bed. She watched him move across the room, his movements languid even in such a state. The moon washed his skin in white light, and the woman had difficulty looking away, her attention entrapped until he drew close enough to stand between them. 

There was no question as to who held the power between Oliver and Gabriel, and Margaret winced as the younger brother squeezed her jaw before taking a step back. She blinked slowly, watching the amusement dawn on Gabriels face as the anger receded beneath the surface yet again. She hardly knew what seemed to surprise him, and the fledgling was left to only guess why he laughed as he looked at her, his eyes running over the features of her face as though it were something to be studied-- something complex that needed understanding. 

Noah. There it was again, the name she did not recognize that clearly belonged to her sire. Margaret bit her lip as she watched Gabriel retreat, walking backwards as he too watched her for few more seconds before turning to leave the room. The door fell shut with a thud, and her gaze was redirected. The question of his name was poised on her tongue, but she held it at bay, and instead let silence fill the space. He was first to speak, and Margaret felt her body tense as he reached forward. The small tug of her hair drew forth a sudden breath, and her eyes brightened at the command as irritation and attraction rivaled one another in the pit of her belly. 

He’s like the sun, one can’t help but want to be near him, be part of the warmth and splendor no matter how deadly

It’s the searing heat that you crave, fledgling, the pain he inflicts on you, the rush you feel in your cold, dead body

Gabriel’s words played over in her head as Margaret reached up to comb back the hair that fell before his eyes. Her palm smoothed down the side of his face, resting upon his cheek as her thumb teased his bottom lip. She watched his black eyes as she shifted her hand to his jaw, ghosting her fingers down his neck, and over his collarbone, before running down the plane of his chest. Her nails scratched lightly over his abdomen, until finally she gripped his hip. Margaret’s free hand found his hipbone as well, and she tugged just slightly. 

“Make me.” 

You know I act Like it doesn’t hurt, no You know the fact You drag me in your dirt, oh Like it doesn’t hurt, no I’ve been around Your body upside down I’ve been around Your body upside down But I can’t touch you In any fuckin’ way I know you are So lovely it’s absurd Cause it doesn’t hurt I know you are Just like a wounded bird Like it doesn’t hurt

“Men, women, we’re all the same underneath” Gabriel responded casually, “Flesh and blood and craving for sex.” If she had meant to insult him, the younger brother took no offense, instead he slowly moved closer to her, stopping momentarily by the bed where Noah slept and he watched him slumber before turning to face Margaret. “Mortal or otherwise.”

“My brother has you fooled too,” he began as Gabriel returned his gaze on his sleeping brother. Noah looked at peace, he could see the allure of it, the warmth and softness that he lacked. Chaos was his backbone, it showed on his face and the scars on his back too deep to disappear completely– remnants of his father’s love –remind him of how different he was from his siblings.

A blessing and a curse.

With a few, long strides, he was by her side, Gabriel leaned against the wall and faced her. His body itched to reach out for Margaret, to let soft, silk strands of her hair slide through his fingers. It was his nature to want what he can’t have, and despite being witness to Noah’s fickleness and the numerous guarantees of his generosity, he had a strange feeling that his brother won’t relinquish her so easily.

“He has everyone fooled.” Gabriel’s voice was hushed and for a moment, his features softened to a delicate look of concern for the fledgling. “He’s like the sun, one can’t help but want to be near him, be part of the warmth and splendor no matter how deadly.” 

How many play things have been discarded out of their boredom? He was vicious, his lithe body full of rage and the transformation only amplified it as he slaughtered his way across Europe, but his brother, after listening to Ruth’s suggestions, changed his tactics. He moved in a calculating way; Noah did not shy away from using all means to inflict the most pain and in their brief existence as immortals, the older brother already knew that the mind and heart were most susceptible. 

“I don’t know what he intends to do with you now that the pope is gone, his companions tend to not last once he’s through with them,” divulged Gabriel as his hand found the edge of the blanket Margaret had wrapped around herself and he gently tugged it, “But I can keep you safe, if you let me.”

Margaret scoffed quietly and glanced towards the window. The breeze blew through the tree, rustling the leaves, and whisked the loose strands of hair around her face, tickling the fledging’s cheeks. She wanted to take a breath, a deep lungful of air that left her feeling alive and full, and for a moment, as the breeze picked up, shaking the branches with more fury, she mourned that sensation. Margaret kept her gaze on the world outside, glancing up to trace the haphazard pattern of the stars, and only turned her attention back to Gabriel when he spoke of Oliver. 

She said nothing, only watched the younger of the two from her perch on the windowsill, brown eyes studying him. Margaret was learning to hide her curiosity, but it still festered within her, clawing at her throat with questions of how, when, and why. She wanted to know more about Oliver, where he came from, how he was turned, who he had been before-- if there was a man before the one she knew now. But she also wanted to know more about Gabriel and how he fit into the chaotic masterpiece of their story. There was a different madness in the younger brother’s brighter eyes, an almost frightening, hungry look that begged for her attention. Gabriel continued to watch his brother sleep, Oliver’s form as still as death on the bed of tangled sheets and Margaret watched him, her eyes following the outline of his profile. 

Margaret’s gaze flickered to Oliver, and almost as if he could feel her focus shift, Gabriel seized the moment to catch her off guard, quickly diminishing the space between them. He stood close, leaning against the wall, and Margaret could sweet, young blood on him, and a lump rose in her throat. Her eyes were steady on him once more, and she did nothing to move away. 

A smile slowly spread across her lips, only barely reaching her eyes as she continued to stare, shifting to face him. The woman had yet to say a word, and she waited patiently for Gabriel to stop speaking before her voice rang out, clear and unbothered “Apart of the warmth and splendor?” she laughed quietly, “I have yet to feel any warmth or experience any splendor in his company.” Her words were only mostly true, and she had to resist the urge to glance towards his form on the bed, as she was reminded of the wet between her legs. 

Margaret let the blanket fall away to pool around her hips, leaving her chest, and abdomen bare. Her golden skin shone in the watery light of the moon as the breeze licked her skin. A strand of hair had fallen in front of her face, but Margaret left it as the smile faded from her lips.  

“I know what he intends to do with me,” she responded, her voice lowered, “I know exactly what he intends to do with me, and frankly, Gabriel, I find it amusing that you think you can protect me from him...” Her eyes roamed his sharp features, before settling on his lips, “There’s not a creature alive that can keep me safe. Apart from myself.”

The pad of her finger felt rough against his lips, the minuscule lines picked up by his heightened senses. Margaret had been undead for years yet traces of her mortality remain, like the ridges and swirls on her fingers; a couple of decades more and she would lose them, any scars, any imperfections and his fledgling would turn smooth as marble, flawless just as he was now. For a moment he wondered, if it was what made him desire her, the little illusions of being alive, a trick of the mind that even a supernatural creature like him was susceptible to. He caught her thumb in his mouth and playfully bit it, releasing it from his hold when their fingers interlaced.

It was futile to think about such things he decided, to give meaning to something that he himself didn’t understand, theirs was an attraction bound by blood, because he was her sire and she, his fledgling. She was a death warrant, one that he’d unknowingly signed when he turned her,and the longer he kept her by his side, the more she transformed into something inescapable.

“Darling don’t you know?” Noah answered with a lazy smile, “we’re already in hell,” and the vampire lowered his head to swipe at the closing wound on her skin before locking lips with Margaret once more.

It was dawn, more than a century passed and Noah was yet to master the sleeping spell that plagued the undead and the immortal had no intention of fighting it.The three had arrived at night and Ruth welcomed her brothers but kept a wary eye on Margaret. Venice was wrapped in a blanket of serenity in that short, magical moment between light and dark, and a glorious haze of colors unravels the city in its splendor with the rising of the sun. Those who did not look through rose colored glasses would disagree and point out that the merchant city was nothing more than a glorified line of houses by the sewage, however one saw it, it was undeniable that the city thrived.

Noah shifted in his sleep, he was too deep in slumber to notice the bed empty during those hours and had his fledgling wanted, Margaret could easily drive the curious dagger in his chest had he not kept it away from her. Gabriel, through the aid of various herbs and concoctions managed to stay awake, his close and often times comfortable relationship with the witches was tolerated for their usefulness. Ruth, like a self appointed queen slept in a large chamber, surrounded by fledglings. Given her crusade to rescue their kind and the need to learn from the very limited scriptures and texts about their kind, she too had learned to hone her senses even when asleep. The siblings believed themselves to be royalty in their own kind and their invulnerability affected them differently.

Gabriel walked about the halls of the ornate villa, located in the farthest part of the city, the place doubled as a high end brothel– a way for the brood to feed uninterrupted while earning gold –and with a mischievous smile he peeked through curtains to find passed out mortals, their hearts beating just a little harder than usual, to keep up with the loss of blood. He stopped by his older brother’s room, and, knowing that Noah would be asleep, he pushed open the door, pleasantly surprised to find the fledgling awake. 

Keeping his distance, the younger brother lingered by the vanity and toyed with the various make-up and jewelry on display, before turning to face her. “We never got to talk,” he began, “And I’m curious as to why my brother kept you as a boy, when clearly,” and Gabriel’s eyes swept through her form leisurely before meeting her gaze, “you’re not. Not with the way you had your legs spread from where I stood. Not with the way you moaned.” A devious smile crept on the vampire’s lips as he recalled the night at the basilica, he had wanted to confront Noah for leaving him out of what was supposedly their game but was instead presented with a delectable reveal of secret. He had his suspicions, Alexander looked too beautiful, too delicate, and yet she looked the age of when boys were at the peak of their youth.

“Is it a thing between you and Noah? Does he like you dressed as a boy?”

Darling don’t you know? We’re already in hell

A slow, knowing smile pulled at the corner of her lips as her sire dipped his head to press his mouth against the closing wound on her chest. Her head dipped back for a moment, messy hair tickling her neck as she peered up at the moon and candle lit frescos. The enlightened faces of angels stared back, and when Oliver pulled away to kiss her again, Margaret marveled at how wondrous hell could be.   

Venice stank. That was the first thing Margaret noticed as they neared the city limits. The smell of the sea was carried on the same breeze, and the mixture of sewage, and salt water gave the merchant town an identity of its own. But Margaret could ignore the smell, especially as they entered the city, and the roads of moon reflecting canals came into view, and leaning, brilliant homes rose up out of the water to create a world like she had never seen. Eerie Gondolas gently rocked, exotic to the young vampires eyes, and she glanced at each empty boat they passed, wishing she could jump from the carriage to explore their new surroundings. 

They were soon out of the city proper though, headed towards the outskirts of town where the expansive villas laid claim to large plots of land. Neither brother had said much more than that they were meeting the third and final sibling, a sister, Ruth. Margaret knew by now that there was little use is probing for more answers, and it allowed her imagination to run wild about the woman. What she hadn’t expected, and what threw her off for a few long moments, was for Ruth to look so... tender. She had soft features, almost as if her youth had never quite faded away. The woman was pretty, and delicate looking if not for her eyes, and it was there that Margaret saw her resemblance to both Oliver and Lukas-- there was something sitting below the surface, something that made Margaret tense. 

She was quite through much of the family reunion, allowing her presence to go unnoticed as she replayed the events of Rome over in her head, reliving the emotion and sensations. It all felt like a dream now. A nightmarish and beautiful dream that she could not quite grasp. Even as the sun began to rise and each of them separated to their respective rooms to sleep through the breaking dawn, did Margaret lie awake, staring at the crack in the ceiling, and watching the pope turn to ash in her minds eye, before remembering those angels staring down at her as Oliver’s tongue brought her to rapture. 

Turning her head, Margaret used the faint light of the raising sun to watch Oliver’s face as he slept beside her, lost in slumber. He looked like his sister now, with his features so peaceful. With a sigh, the woman climbed carefully from beside him, pulling one of the blankets along with her. Wrapping it around her form, Margaret stepped across the cool tile floor to find a perch on the windowsill, watching the shadows slowly change as the sun made its presence known in the east. The sound of the door opening might have startled her if the events of the past few weeks hadn’t changed her, and instead she continued to gaze out of the window a moment longer before glancing away to peer at the visitor. 

Perhaps as good looking as his brother, but not nearly as alluring, Lukas stood near the vanity, allowing for some distance between the two. Margaret had settled on her opinion of the man upon their first meeting, and though the itch of curiosity persisted, she watched him with a warranted wariness and distaste. Of course he had been there, of course he had watched from the shadows, or for all Margaret would have noticed, the foremost pew. 

“Clearly,” she repeated, a smile of her own touching the fledgling’s lips, “It took you seeing was lies between my legs to know, and yet you say clearly... We had you fooled. We had everybody fooled.” Margaret laughed quietly, glancing at Oliver. Noah. Lukas had called him Noah. She decided not to comment on it, and turned her brown eyes back to the brother. Cocking her head, Margaret wet her lips. 

“I don’t think it matters much to him how I’m dressed. That’s not what he’s interested in,” She shook the hair quickly from her eyes, “But I do remember you offering up your cock to the young, handsome Alexander. Perhaps you preferred me dressed as a boy.”

Strong hands wrapped around her hips, his fingers dug deep into her bones and Noah watched as Margaret unraveled before him. He wanted to remember everything, he wouldn’t dare close his eyes; she was liquid gold, her taste on his mouth was ambrosia and Margaret was divine yet unholy– she was his goddess. He would let her use him again and again, to capture that strange high from just watching his fledgling, his worshiped creation, and how he derived pleasure from her.

Noah felt her relax and his hold on Margaret tightened; his hands supported her weight while he continued to stimulate the pearl-like flesh between her folds with his thumb before finally moving her to settle on his stomach. His mouth glistened and his chin wet, and with a smile, Noah sat up to reach her mouth so he could kiss her. The shift caused her to slide down and he untangled his fingers from her hair so he could guide her up to ride him, lifting Margaret by her forearms as he entered her.

Just as everything was beforehand, their movements were languorous, Obsidian eyes remained on Margaret as Noah rolled his hips, pushing up and unsheathing halfway, and he leaned in and his parted lips reconnected with hers once more. The night was silent save for their ragged breaths, the city was still digesting its miracle and the bishops and clergies have long stopped arguing, having finally decided on who to replace the deceased Giovanni di Lorenzo de’ Medici. 

With each thrust Noah grew closer to his release, his mouth rested on the blade of her shoulder, trailing erratic kisses on Margaret’s skin, moving up the base of her neck before returning to her lips. He picked up the pace, his hands finding a home on her hips from the countless times he’s held on to Margaret as his pupils dilated in pleasure– he was wide eyed and his mouth parted as though to say something, instead, he bit down the flesh of her breast, crimson blood pouring forth just as he peaked. A shiver ran down his body and Noah wrapped his arms around her small frame as he steadied himself, his mouth still latched on to Margaret as he continued to drink and prolonging his bliss.

His hands pressed into her, holding the woman against him with ease as he drew out her blissful peak. Her eyes were shut tight, her lips parted as her cry disappeared into silence. Margaret’s grip in his hair tightened, her legs quivering as her hips jerked in the aftershock. Pleasure crackled like white hot electricity, running through her bones with a ferocity that left her feeling dazed. When her eyes had opened, coming back into focus on Oliver she found him gazing at her with a strange look of satisfied wonder, and it sent a wave of warmth crashing over her as goosebumps riddled her skin. She would never understand how he could make her feel hot and cold all at once, and yet the way his black eyes settled on her, with their unnerving depth, evoked both. 

He shifted her, and Margaret only caught his smile for a moment before Oliver was fitting his mouth against hers. She captured his lips hungrily, and used their newfound position to slide teasingly against him as the younger vampire caught his lip and tugged. Her hand had found his jaw, cupping his face as she finally felt him press against her, pressing deeper with every passing moment. If there was anything to steal her breath away it was the way in which he rolled his hips, stretching and filling her with a smooth, devastating tempo. His lips against her own, the taste of herself on his tongue, as he moved in and out with an unhurried rhythm-- as though each of them wanted to savor every sensation, every movement. 

Leaning against him, Margaret broke the kiss as his chest pressed against her own, and her arms looped around his neck. She matched his pace, grinding against him as she tossed her hair from her eyes. She wanted to watch his face, see the jump in his jaw, and the part of his lips as they ached to find her own again. She wanted to remember every detail, committing it to memory as they worshipped one another on God’s alter. Margaret knew there would not come a day when he was not a god in her eyes, a dark, vengeful, chaotic god perhaps, but a god she would press her lips against and exalt all the same

His mouth followed a trail across the expanse of her skin, leaving a path of simmering heat across her shoulder, and up her neck until he found her mouth once more. She was beginning to memorize the trace of his lips against her own, and the woman relented her open mouth with ease, desperate for more. He moved faster, and Margaret matched, feeling with a sudden surge that she was near the peak once again, racing towards it along with Oliver. His grip tightened enough to produce a moan of both pleasure and pain from the woman as she felt him harden inside her, his thrusts growing more needy with every passing second. His fangs pierced her skin in the same moment he reached his peak, filling her with a sudden warmth, and Margaret fell into ecstasy only a moment after him. His name left her lips with a volume that reached the ceiling and ricocheted off the walls. She slowed her movements, but she continued to roll her hips against him as she tightened around him, feeling his cock spasm inside her. Oliver continued to drink from her, and the unrivaled sensation sent waves of pleasure and the unique sharp pain spreading through her. He held her close, and Margaret buried her face in his hair, catching her breath as finally the sensation began to ebb away. 

Pulling him away from her breast, Margaret kissed him once more, a slow sloppy kiss that left her lips covered in blood. She remained atop him, finally pulling away to gaze into his eyes. 

A sigh escaped his lips as Noah was finally rid of his clothes, the older vampire was comfortable in his nakedness, even in the presence of revered saints and divinity itself– they themselves were immortals, though unholy. Delicate fingers wrapped around his hardened length and Margaret began an agonizingly slow rhythm, he had his mouth pressed against her crown as he felt her teeth graze his skin, wanting her to draw blood in that moment.

Two black pools threatened to devour anyone who stared into them long enough the way Noah’s eyes were dilated in pleasure, slacked jaw and breath hitched, his hands dug into Margaret’s hips as he involuntarily jerked forward, desperate for more than just a maddening preview. Finally, mercy came in the form of a command and Noah was more than eager to follow.

He lied on his back on what was nothing more than a marble counter, the altar, devoid of its anointed paraphernalia was no better than a table. Noah had a glorious view of the fresco, of heaven and god himself and the angels looking down on them, heathens, fallen ones whose powers were more concrete than their religion. He was quick to reach for Margaret, settling her on top of him as he continued to offer prayers from his mouth to hers before moving down to peak of her breasts, sucking on each tip. His hands moved from her face to her neck, caressing her skin as they slid down to her arms and thighs, she was golden, the light of a thousand candles illuminating her skin and Margaret never looked more divine. He’d touch her many times before yet the way his fingers trailed through were reminiscent of a man on a pilgrimage to discover her secrets.

Margaret felt wet against his stomach and Noah’s body pulsated with desire. He placed both hands on her hips as he laid back down and he pushed her forward, lifting her up until his mouth was nestled between her thighs. A warm breath escaped him as she left her suspended, an inch away from his lips and the heat from her entrance was enticing. With a swipe of his tongue, Noah lapped at her folds before lowering her down, his cock protesting at the prolonged torture as he urged Margaret to move her hips against him.

The church was the home of God, His holy space, and place of praise and reverence, but he was not there now; they had driven him out. With every breath, every fading bruise left by the grip of his fingers on her hip, every moan, every swipe of his tongue, graze of her teeth, and heated press of their lips pushed Him out as the lust of their tryst expanded to fill the cathedral. It was their home now, their place of praise and reverence, and entirely unholy. 

He obeyed her command, and it thrilled Margaret to the bone. She was in control only as far as her desire for him would allow, and as he looked up at her with black eyes that threatened to devour her whole, the woman realized that control was slipping through her fingers like sand. His mouth trailed over her flesh in an adoration only they could comprehend, and as his mouth found her breasts Margaret pressed her hips against him, and buried her face in his hair. Her breathing raced to match the pace her heart would have beat as the sensitive skin was teased with his tongue, each rosy peak getting attention that made the fire at her core flare to an inferno. His hands moved over her body, and again his name fell from her lips in a praise of her own. They were worshipping each other, and Margaret knew then that she would be the whole of his congregation if he asked. 

Oliver pulled her forward as he laid back against the marble, and a small noise of surprise was gasped from Margaret’s lips. He lifted her body from his own with ease to settle her thighs on either side of his head. The older vampire’s breath was warm as it brushed against her core, prompting a moan from his fledgling. And as his tongue swept against her, every muscle in her body tensed from the sensation, her head hung down to watch the man below her. Chestnut hair framed her face as Margaret’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment. His hands gripped her hips, pressing against the bone as her thighs trembled. She moved her body with a smooth rolling rhythm against his face as the sound of her pleasure poured past her lips with abandon. Each movement over his mouth sent a shock from her core shooting across her synapses; Margaret’s hand found her breast to knead the flesh and her other found his hair as she grew closer to the promise of euphoria. 

There was a certain haziness in the way Margaret looked at him, as though she was in a dream, and she smiled and moved languidly, untangling her leg from his shoulder as her hand reached down below his waist. A low moan escaped him as his body responded to the slightest touch, and Noah swallowed what’s left of her taste on his tongue as he shifted to get closer. 

Kiss me, she commanded and he welcomed her mouth with an unseen tenderness, Noah reeled back the hunger he felt, the building pressure from lack of release as he tilted his head to give each other better access. His hands smoothed down her back, caressing her bare skin and following the curve of her waist, he placed a hand at the back of her neck to deepen the kiss.

Not enough time was spent on kissing between their numerous trysts and Noah was pleasantly surprised by the sensation, of how it left him both fulfilled and hungry for more. His grip tightened on her hip, digging into her bone before his hand continued to roam her thigh, smoothing over the expanse of Margaret’s skin as he gave in to an unknown need to be connected to her. 

It was easy to get lost in her, and Noah reached for Margaret’s hand, interlacing their fingers as Noah continued to send fervent prayers straight to her lips. “Please,” he breathed in between kisses and the older vampire pressed his hips against hers in a wordless plea for what he needed.

She could taste herself on his lips, and her moan was swallowed by the kiss as Margaret’s eyes fell shut to the sensation. It wasn’t the hungry, impatient, rough connection they usually shared for brief moments amongst the frenzied movement of their bodies, but instead they pressed forward with a flash of affection. Oliver’s touch blazed a trail over her spine, the feeling sinking beneath her skin to warm whatever was left within her. His hands. His hands. His hands. They etched a map across her skin that only he could navigate; it was not that she had never been touched before, but it was in no way the same, and Margaret savored every the way he left her feeling undiscovered. His pilgrimage continued, running over her waist to grip with maddening force at her hip, sending her body forward seeking pressure. His hand on her thigh threatened the need to gasp for air, but Oliver deepened the kiss, and Margaret forgot everything that wasn’t his tongue swiping against her own. 

She wanted him close, closer than would ever be possible, and it felt as though her heart stuttered at the strange feeling. His fingers wove between her own, and brown eyes fluttered open to look at the man against her as their heads tilted to follow the easy rhythm of their lips. 

Please. 

His pleasure was in her power, and the decision to be merciful, to give in to his breathless plea was instantaneous, due in part to her own need as he pressed against her. Nimble fingers loosened his pants as her mouth remained against his, unwilling to break their kiss. It wasn’t until she leaned back to help lift his shirt away from his torso and over his head that they parted, and it was only moments before her lips found his skin again. She moved from his neck, down along the wide slope of his shoulder in a slow, purposeful manner as her hand found his cock. Margaret couldn’t help the thrill that sped through her bones at the low sounds that vibrated from his chest when her hand moved against him. She moved her lips across his chest, tickling his skin with her breath as her teeth nipped the flesh just below his throat. Her other hand skimmed up his arm, and further still to thread into his dark hair, pulling him closer that he was nearly on top of her. 

She continued to grip his cock, drawing her hand in slow, smooth motions. Her body screamed for more, for him, and Margaret shifted closer to the edge of the alter, and slid him against the wet folds at her core. Her lips stopped against his collarbone, and her fingers tugged at his hair as the woman cursed. Pressing forward she continued to move her hips, sliding against him, another whimper passing her lips. 

Strong hands pushed her legs further apart, letting Margaret rest her heels on the top of the marble surface. He led her down, kept her spread open as Noah probed with his tongue, his name thick with lust from her lips and he savored the way her body writhed. There was power to be had, to have that control over someone’s pleasure and the thought of tormenting Margaret with it briefly crossed his mind before remembering his place. He was there to worship her, even if it was his name she moaned, sounding like prayers in the empty church. 

Noah focused on the nub of flesh, flicking it with tongue before catching it with his lips as he gave way to slip his fingers inside her opening. One by one he pushed them in, going deeper with each digit and maintaining a rhythm. He had the most spectacular view from where he was latched by his mouth–from the slope of her stomach to the arch of her back, rising to the peak of her breasts and Margaret’s slender neck stretched elegantly as she threw her head back in ecstasy. He could see her eyes wandering to the glorious fresco but Noah need not to see it, not when he had her sprawled for him, his own work of art. 

Dark eyes roamed hungrily on her form, adding fuel to the strain below his waist; Noah was in much need of relief and his free hand smoothed over her thigh down to her ankle, adjusting her leg just a little before he dared to touch himself, palming over his trousers as he groaned. It wasn’t enough, and swiping his tongue to lick her wetness when he momentarily pulled out, added to his torture that he was half-tempted to loosen his pants before ultimately deciding to return his grip on her ankle.

It was a test of faith, much like the nights he saw his father wounding himself with lashes on his back, Noah’s deprivation was his penitence and devotion to Margaret. He placed her leg on his shoulder, the bend of her knee anchoring him to keep a close proximity as his wrist flicked and moved, pumping in and out of her and pausing just a little to pull three fingers out so he could tease the sensitive bit of flesh with his thumb.

“Tell me what to do,” he pressed his mouth against her calf, “tell me how to please you.” 

Never had she felt such divine pleasure course through her veins-- rushing, hot and fast as though she could feel the blood pumping from her heart to the tips of her toes and fingers. Was a god a god without those to remind them of their power, beauty, and influence? Gods and goddesses of old were given sacrifices, celebrated in festivals and parties, were written, spoken, sung, and danced about-- were exalted because they were worshipped and praised. Margaret need nothing but Oliver’s tongue between her legs, his grip on her thigh, and his eyes on her breathless naked form to be reminded of her power, beauty, and influence. He was the only worshipper she needed. 

The candles reached the art above her in a weak puddle of warm light; the flickering flames cast shadows that seemed to move the figures above her. Their eyes looked down at her writhing atop the white alter with a strange glow. They were exquisite in their judgemental state of both adoration, and reproach, and Margaret, who sighed as Oliver’s hand slid down the flesh of her leg, stared back at them with an equal glow, watching them dance in the shadows with both adoration, and reproach. His finger slid over her opening before pressing into her, and Margaret cursed towards the ceiling. He added more, finding a rhythm and filling her with each movement that the woman fell back, resting her against the cool marble for only a moment before arching away from the stone. His lips continued to assault the bundle of nerves while he moved his fingers with expertise, and Margaret found herself hurtling towards blinding release.

He pulled away, and a whimper fell from her lips on a heavy breath. His thumb moved effortlessly over her, and the woman hardly understood the words coming from his mouth. The younger vampire pressed against him, moving her hips in small, needy movements. Finally his words settled over her, and an arching smile appeared on her lips. Pulling her leg from his grasp, Margaret sat up, and shifted towards the edge of the alter. Her arm gracefully moved to loop around his neck, while her free hand smoothed towards his straining need. Pressing her fingers, and then her palm against him, his fledgling shifted her eyes from his glistening lips to meet his onyx eyes. She paused for a moment there, before answering his question. 

At her consent, Noah stood up and lifted Margaret, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. Taking long strides, he kept his eyesight on the curve of her lips, deliberately averting his gaze in keeping with his role of a humble worshiper– he wasn’t worthy to lay his eyes on such divinity –though his struggle to press his mouth against hers was very much real. It was exhilarating, playing such a game with his fledgling, and he wholeheartedly embraced his role for the night. 

Noah carefully placed her atop the marble altar, pulling the thin cotton gown that she wore over her head as he continued pressing kisses on anywhere but her lips. Gold spilled on Margaret’s skin, reflections of countless candles and the decadent design of the hallowed place mirrored in her eyes; Margaret was as exquisite as frescoes and pale statues watching over them, with her delicate limbs and hair wild like the nymphs chased by fawns and mythical gods, the older vampire took her glorious nakedness in awe and adoration.

Whatever anger he had felt towards his fledgling in the weeks before had diminished, and as Noah settled himself between her open legs, pressing his lips against the inside of Margaret’s thigh and moving closer to her core, he knew then that he had been foolish in denying himself of his brown-eyed goddess. He missed Margaret, it was an undeniable truth as his tongue dipped inside, swiping upwards to catch the bundle of nerves the size of a small pearl. 

From the shadows, amidst the flicker of lights was a lone figure, whose equally dark eyes looked on with curiosity and hunger as the pair remained oblivious that someone other than the lifeless works of art watched over them.

Margaret gasped as he lifted her, following his gentle demand to wrap her legs around his waist. Her arms looped around the slope of his neck as she kept her gaze on him, allowing herself to admire the older vampire’s features. He was dark in nearly every way, and just as night invigorated her, filling the woman with a buzz of exciting power and hunger, so did the black of his eyes. Oliver was everything she shouldn’t crave: turmoil, violence, lust, blasphemy-- the purest strain of desire and every inch of her burned with need. His eyes were trained on her lips, and her gaze had drifted down to his, and yet the stayed achingly far apart, and her tongue darted out to sooth the yearning. 

The marble alter was cold against her bare legs, but heat spread across her skin with every wandering placement of his lips. Margaret sat naked, lit by the flickering gold of whispering candles as she drew quickened breaths that she did not need. His touch was unhurried, and careful, moving with the attention of a devout worshipper. Rough, hungry pleasure was replaced with praise, and the weeks of hatred and avoidance were washed away as Oliver drew closer to the apex of her thighs. Margaret leaned back, propping her weight onto her hands as she watched him move higher between her thighs. Her fingers pressed into the smooth, cool stone and when his tongue finally found her core, dipping inside, the woman let out a cry. Spreading her legs further apart, she watched Oliver as her moans lifted, and reverberated throughout the sacred space. 

She was lost in the feeling of his tongue against her, that the woman was completely unaware of the revelation of their lies. Lukas watched from the shadows as Margaret’s head tipped back, and her finger’s curled into her palms, pressing half moon marks into the soft flesh. Her hips jerked unintentionally, and Oliver’s name slipped from her lips. 

The distance was damning, Margaret pushed him away and it left him swallowing for air that he did not need as Noah watched with wild eyes while she stood achingly far from him. She was within arm’s reach and he fingers twitched as he stopped himself from grabbing her long enough to listen.

You haven’t been the slightest of interested in weeks, Oliver. You don’t get to just pick and choose when you’ll have me.”

His mouth opened in an attempt to respond; she had been difficult, her misdemeanor irritating and with his close brush with death top with her abominable habit of feeding from the dead were enough to sustain the disdain, but Noah scoffed instead, and smiled a crooked smile that was both amusement and disbelief as Margaret approached.

“I’m a goddess not your whore, Oliver.”

Noah slowly fell to his knees, dark eyes never leaving her face, before lowering his head while keeping his gaze trained on the polished marble floors. And like the countless devouts kneeling their way in penitence and faith, the older vampire closed the remaining distance between them kneeling, with his palms open until he reached her feet. 

He was careful with this movements, Noah slowly lifted the hem of her cotton gown, raising her foot to let it rest on his shoulder. His hand trailed up her leg, dark eyes still averted as he pressed his mouth against the slow reveal of her skin, with every slow puling of her skirt. 

His father told him to worship with his body, to show his devotion with his actions as his lips proclaimed his faith, Noah heed the man’s advice and the blood drinker continued his pilgrimage with his mouth, a careful trail up the slope of her smooth leg to catch where his fingers rested to caress her thigh, lingering so close to her core. 

“Let me worship you then,” he spoke, speaking the words against her skin and Noah finally looked up to meet her gaze, while his fingers lightly teased her opening, nothing but feathered touches as he waited for her permission.

He smiled-- that slow, amused curve of his lips that had the potential to drive her mad. Margaret didn’t have time to decide whether she wanted to kiss, or spurn him before Oliver was falling to his knees in front of her. His eyes, dark and hungry in such a way that made her breath catch, never left her own as she watched him kneel like a devout member of her congregation. He drew closer, and the woman did not move away, but gazed in amazement at the sight before her. His palms, pale and pooling with moonlight were held out in reverence as he moved, and she wet her lips when he came to a stop at her feet. 

She did not stop him when he reached forward to lift her foot onto his shoulder, spreading her legs, and causing her lips to part. Her hands felt unsure, and she let them hang at her side as she waited for the feel of his next touch. His hand moved in a gradual, and purposeful crusade up her leg, gently lifting the hem of her skirt, and tickling her skin as it slid further upwards. Despite the fact that she was watching every one of Oliver’s movements, a gasp escaped her as his lips connected with her skin, trailing just behind his hand. Margaret’s eyes fluttered shut, and her lips pressed together as her hand shot forward to weave her fingers into his hair. 

The young blood drinker bit down upon her lip to keep from crying out as his smooth touch, and the press of his mouth moved closer and closer to her core. He had reached the sensitive flesh of her upper thigh, and paused, prompting the woman to look down upon his heated gaze, dark as midnight yet burning straight through her. His words sent a bolt through her, and the teasing slip of his fingers against her opening drew a breathy moan from her throat. 

“You selfish son of a bitch,”

Noah cracked a smile at the remark as they danced around the tension that built between them, they had been fighting for weeks, one that ended with a stab wound and deprivation of all kinds. He was pleased with the results, even if it exposed them to those who had knowledge of the supernatural and Gabriel watching from the sidelines. 

“And what about you? Why haven’t you created your own congregation to follow you blindly?”

“Who says I haven’t?” He challenged but the rest of his retort was caught in his throat when Margaret reached out to trace her fingers along his body where she plunged his own knife and almost killed him. 

His fledgling moved past him, and Noah found himself following her with his gaze; the vampire was reminded of last night, when he brought her the dress and the struggle to fight his urges, the feeling of her skin, soft, under the pads of what he deemed to be calloused hands. Margaret continued to talk though he was well on his way towards her.

“Are you not my god now?”

He stood in front of her now, head bent down to focus on the smaller woman’s face and Noah noticed how there seemed to be a perpetual hint of mischievousness hiding in the corner of her lips, it was almost as though she was constantly mocking him, and yet, he was strangely drawn to it, to her. Placing a hand on her corseted waist, Noah puled her body against him, and his obsidian eyes finally moved from her lips to meet her gaze.

“I’m not asking you to worship me,” Noah responded in an equally quiet tone as his tongue darted along his bottom lip to soothe it, “You’re bound to me, that’s all.” 

It would seem that he meant to say something else entirely, something tender, heartfelt, honest, but the vampire caught himself in time and chose to lean in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that tasted of longing, and before it could reveal other things, his lips have since moved down the column of her neck and his fingers tugging at the strings of  her corset.

Her eyes remained on the statue of Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior as he looked down upon her from the cross. It seemed as though his blank marble stare was boring into her-- judging her sins and the woman she had become. Margaret was no stranger to suffering, and the look of agony on his face had been felt in her bones throughout the last few weeks. The man who had inflicted the torture and carefully crafted the performance Rome had just seen drew closer and closer, and like a moth to a flame, unaware or perhaps unafraid that it may be burned if it grew too near, Margaret turned from the image of divinity and towards he who represented everything unholy. 

She felt like a helpless fool from the way her body itched for his touch, and when his hand landed on her waist, pressing firmly against her, all she could imagine was the way it felt when his fingers dug into her bare flesh. Margaret allowed herself to be pulled against him, her hands moving to grasp the material of his shirt. The tension coursed between them like currents of sparking, unpredictable electricity, and the woman caught her lip as his words settled over her.

You’re bound to me, that’s all

She despised him, had convinced herself she would kill him given the proper chance, yet those words sent a shiver down her spine, and Margaret pressed impossibly closer. His mouth met hers for the first time in weeks, and with a surge of yearning, the woman was made aware of how much she had missed the taste of his lips and the swipe of his tongue. Her fingers curled tightly into his shirt, and a sigh escaped her lungs. Oliver’s kiss moved across her jaw, and down her neck as his hand loosened her corset. Brown eyes had fallen shut as though to focus solely on the sensation of his wet lips against her throat, kissing and biting her breath away. 

The corset had been untied and discarded, leaving the dress beneath to sit loosely against her form. She released his shirt to slide her hand down to his hip, teasing the waist of his pants, and brushing against him before moving to unbutton his vest. She was almost lost in him, in the feeling of his lips, and hands, and the power that ran between them, but with a sudden douse of clarity, Margaret opened her eyes, and pushed herself away. 

Her hair, too short to style, hung loosely around her face, and the white dress she remained in shone bright in the filtered moonlight. 

“No,” She said, putting more distance between them as she stepped further away. “You haven’t been the slightest of interested in weeks, Oliver. You don’t get to just pick and choose when you’ll have me.” She paused, glancing at Jesus once more as silence captured the space for a moment. The basilica was large, and a draft coursed through it, pressing the loose garment against her body to detail what lay beneath.