sensations sweet

Vampires had a predictable hunger. Without a mirror to look at, they fed their vanity by studying how they appeared through another person’s eyes. Just two seconds ago, Kiyori was under the notion that they were immune to such egotism, but perhaps it was only because they rarely made the effort to make themselves something worth looking at. Genuine annoyance writes a frown into their expression, and Kiyori allows it, just to give their portrayal a touch of realism. They bought a coat for this. Wore their favourite earring. And you’re not even going to tell me I look nice? Asshole.

The truth needs to slip out soon. Kiyori can feel themselves burning from impatience. It’s too excruciating to play this creature: more hearth than house fire; starved animal that never bares its teeth. Their grip on their  feigned passive composure slips, so Kiyori hooks their arm around Nesim’s. Makes their voice flat. “I’m thirsty.” It might help the performance to tilt their head into the crook of Nesim’s neck, but even the needy character they’re playing might set themselves on fire from how pathetic that would look. “Jigoku’s probably crowded at this hour. And I’d rather not run into any coworkers.” Irritating, irritating small talk.

Fires only starve for something to burn. But maybe Kiyori should look hungrier when they look into Nesim’s eyes. Because demure and patient is getting slow results, and anyway, it’s those eyes that have exactly what Kiyori needs — that Beetle-bred gift for terror. Kiyori daydreamed about it sometimes, their fire feasting on that fear, filling itself up until it burst, its gluttonous light spilling across the whole sunless city, big and blinding and beautiful, devouring everything.

This scene could use some of that burning. Kiyori lifts their gaze up at Nesim. Swipes a thumb across the bone of Nesim’s jaw. Touch gentle for a fleeting moment, until Kiyori’s grip tightens to yank Nesim’s face down, forcing their eyes to meet. The feigned glint of innocence dies out. In its place, a leer: dark, needy, blurring the line between hunger and hatred.

“Besides.” Nails dig into jawbone. They leans in. Lip graze skin as Kiyori breathes a low whisper close to the shell of Nesim’s ear. “I want to be alone with you.”

@skiyori​ Oh, okay. Okay, all right. Okay. This is. Wow. Okay. Nice. The soft, whining sound that comes from their throat is not particularly sexy but they cannot help it. It’s been a very long time since someone treated Nes like this. They’ve missed it dearly, the heady space caught between coveted and devoured. It’s another little piece of themself that they shut away to  become someone else. But Kiyori ruins it. They make Nes look into their eyes. It’s not their fault right?, they probably don’t know. It’s only for a second but a second is enough. Nes sees something. Hidden in the dark place behind the nerve mirror. An image. They’re not sure to whom it belongs, Kiyori or them. An apple with a worm in it. Pristine on the surface but rotten just below. They have to tense the muscles in their abdomen to keep from shivering. You are Adem, they remind themself. Ruthless. Blank. So smooth and featureless that nothing can catch hold, not even fear. The image is only information. Data.

And anyway, doom and rot kills the mood. Why would they spend any time dwelling on that when Kiyori’s mouth is warm against their ear?? How do they subtly tell Kiyori to do everything to them? Like, everything. There are so many things that Nes wants. New wants. Old wants. Forgotten wants. Future wants. They feel bottomless all of a sudden. Hollow, like their skin is just brittle paper stretched over nothing at all. “I am so empty,” they whisper to the air just past Kiyori’s shoulder. Oh. That’s definitely not an Adem Kaya thing to see. They’re not even sure if it’s a Nes thing to say. Is-Is that them speaking? Peeking out from behind the curtain like a clumsy stage hand? Put that shit right the fuck away. An existential threeway fuckpile is not the ideal strategy for getting Kiyori to spit in their mouth later. And they want that, they realize. They want to be more than a little degraded. 

The air is heavy with the acrid stink of salt and metal, sweat and blood. Vampires are so packed in that it’s hard to get a good view of the proceeding violence without risking getting crushed. Nes immediately decides that they’d rather be getting fabulously drunk anyway. They’re sure that Nara and Divina will be just fine without seeing Adem’s impassive face somewhere in the crowd.