cold blooded lover

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There was nothing sweeter in all the world than Amara’s voice, crying out her name, saying she loved her. It made her feel breathless, stirring her own desire. She shifted again, kissing down the taut muscles of Amara’s abdomen, tracing the crease of her hips to the inside of her thighs. Lifting her head for a moment, she panted, “Amara… Amara, je t’aime," in a pitched whisper, her heart so full she didn’t know how her chest could hold it. Then she dipped her lips to the sensitive bud at the top of Amara’s sex, that font of pleasure she had first discovered with her, pouring all her passion into making her feel as good as Brigitte believed she was. She sucked it eagerly into her mouth with a groan of pleasure, pausing to flick her tongue over it. When she felt Amara getting close, she crawled back up her body, leaving distracted kisses along the way until she met sweet lips again, their bodies moving together so perfectly in this dance they knew so well. She held Amara tight as she came, burrowing into her neck and letting her fangs sink ever so gently into tender skin. She lapped up sweet blood, not to satisfy any hunger, but to taste the bliss that she could feel in their bond, moaning in ecstasy at the taste. She kissed the wound sweetly as it healed, nuzzling contentedly into Amara’s neck, still smiling, unable to wipe the grin from her face. "Mon amour, ma soeur, ma colombe douce, mon éternité," she murmured, leaving lingering kisses between each name.

It was an overwhelming exploration of sex this time around. Not just physical, but delving deep into every emotional element of it. Every ounce of spirituality Amara would never admit she possessed was right here, tied in a messy bow around their silent hearts. She didn't believe in any god. She didn't believe in heaven or reincarnation, but she believed in this. She believed in some other realm where their spirits floated like sunlit clouds on a breeze. And theirs -- hers and her lover's -- were tangled in this moment. In this eternity. "Brigitte," she cried again, thighs trembling around her sister's ears as the blonde lapped at her slit now. The inner muscles of her sex clenched hard around Brigitte's fingers and the little Latina was completely powerless against the sounds falling from her lips. They were loud and completely unrestrained, freed into the night like the love she was too afraid to speak of. Up and up she was carried until at last, Amara was falling with a yell, her entire body vibrating like a plucked string of one of her sister's beautiful instruments. And Amara sang for her. In the aftermath, she shivered, clung to her lover with whatever strength was left in her sated muscles. Breathless, wordless, she conveyed every emotion she could through kisses, her lips fervent against Brigitte's stained ones. Her own blood lingered on these lips, this tongue she so adored. A powerful surge of electricity that continued to race through her, from Brigitte's fingers -- still tucked sweetly inside her -- to her neck, where her skin still tingled from her lover's bite. "Mine," she husked at last, sighing into her sister's mouth. "Tu es à moi..."

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Brigitte savored every little reaction, the way Amara gasped, the feel of fingers sliding into her hair, the way her arms tightened around her, the press of her body as she arched into her. She loved drawing them from her, and she wasted no time responding to Amara’s breathless pleas. She slipped a hand between them to tease over already wet folds before slipping two fingers inside her lover. She kissed her way back to sweet lips before drifting lower, back down her neck, past her collarbone to slim shoulders, and between soft breasts. Gentle lips circled around one before closing around it, her tongue swirling over the nipple as it stiffened. Brigitte kissed her way to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as she increased the pace. She could feel slick walls gripping her fingers, and she moaned into Amara’s breast, murmuring half-words in French, gasping as she filled her again and again. 

As Brigitte's hand settled between her legs, it was like suddenly being able to breathe. Like her lips had been sewn shut for days, like her body hadn't been functioning properly since the last time she'd been here. Fingers slipped deep inside her -- reached her soul, her very spirit -- and it was like seeing for the first time in years. She'd been stumbling around in the dark for so long now, but Brigitte was her light. Her fingertips curled, nails digging into fair skin with such passion as she cried out her lover's name into the night. Despite the chill that rested in Brigitte's body for eternity, she felt warm. Her satin lips felt heated against her skin, her breath against Amara's breast urging life into her heart. If the little Latina could cry, she would, right here, for her sister. For the love that erupted between their connected hearts. Her bare feet pressed hard into the mattress, hips canting desperately up against Brigitte's hand, begging for more. "Je t'aime!" she cried raggedly, the words followed by a gasping sound of pleasure as her lover's mouth covered her other nipple. "God, Brigitte," she panted, colors bursting behind her eyelids.

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Brigitte's eagerness was something the little Latina certainly didn't mind. The two of them were good at making love, capable of being tender and affectionate even in the most aggressive or impatient of times. Her legs extended as her sister drew the panties from her hips. Her own hands reaching with a need for flesh as the blonde grew more and more naked. Then they were close, they were kissing, her lips fervent against Brigitte's as their bodies pressed tight together. Though oxygen hadn't been a necessity for centuries, Amara let her breath catch in her throat, next extended in an elegant line as her lover's kisses decorated it so sweetly. "M'amour," she slurred, drunk on the warmth that flooded their bond as sisters. Small fingers pushed tenderly into golden tresses, holding her lover close as Brigitte's lips fell across her skin. And when familiar hips rolled forward into her, Amara gasped, her body arching gracefully, bowing against the mattress to press herself closer to her sister. "S'il vous plaît, ma seour..."

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The sounds that fell from Amara’s lips weren’t words, but she could hear the desire, the love in them. They’d never needed words, anyway. They had always been best at speaking with their bodies, with glances, and through their bond. She could feel it now, fully, the way it should be. It was such a relief, but more than that, she could feel something new, or at least, something she’d never noticed before. Love. Not just the soft, warm notes she’d always heard and loved. Now it was joined by the bold, rich tones of something deeper. And it felt better than she ever could have imagined. Brigitte brought their lips together again and again, making up for lost time. The kisses deepened, slowing as her hands drifted downward, caressing over cool shoulders and hips. Up the backs of delicate knees and tan thighs, to the hem of Amara’s dress. She lifted the silky material over dark hair before pressing their lips together again.

She ignored the fact that others had enjoyed her sister's body in the recent months. Forgot that someone else possessed a part of this beautiful woman's heart. It was easier to live in ignorance and right now, Amara just wanted to belong to someone. Fully, completely. Brigitte was hers. Her sister, her lover, her best friend. Her lips parted for their kisses, eagerly accepting a deeper encounter as her fingers twined into golden curls, held her sweet lover closer. Missing Brigitte was like missing the sun, a warmth on her eternally chilled skin, unlike any other. Slender arms raised in automatic obedience, allowing the blonde to lift her dress from her body. Amara didn't want it anymore. The garment had been picked up somewhere along the Mississippi, a token of her fear, of her cowardice. She preferred her skin to any luxurious satin, because Brigitte knew it perfectly. Could navigate every curve and crevice like a land that had long since been memorized. Her own fingers tugged at the hem of her sister's shirt, pulling it up in one long motion before it fell away to the floor, like the layers of Amara's psyche. No one saw this side of her. Just Brigitte, and now Kyla. But even then... nothing could ever quite compare to this. To them. With her lips pulling the blonde along, Amara guided them backwards to the bed. Her knees collapsed and she sat delicately at the edge of the mattress, immediately leaning in to nuzzle sweetly at Brigitte's abdomen, the tip of her nose brushing over her adorable bellybutton before her lips found satin skin again.

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Love. In love. Amara was in love with her. She hadn’t said it in so many words, but that didn’t matter right now. She had been waiting for so long for this, that a part of her had begun to despair that she really would end up waiting forever. But now, her most precious dream, her fairy tale had come true at last, and it made her feel as if her very heart could sing, as if her feelings could burst through, bypassing finicky words and languages and tangled meanings, and flow straight to Amara’s, pure and unfiltered. Words could come later. For now, all she wanted was to bask in the joy of loving and being loved by her. Whisper love with her fingertips and drink it with her lips. Breathe it in with every breath. To hold onto it and never let go.

Coming back to the manor had been such a difficult decision to make. Right up there with choosing to sire Kyla herself, instead of simply leaving Jayne to do it. There was a part of her that knew they all would have been better for it. Jayne was an expert maker -- knew how to love her childer selflessly, so unlike Amara. But staying away was just as hard, and this was why. Slender arms wrapped tight around her sister's neck and the little Latina murmured nonsense against Brigitte's lips. Wherever she wanted to go, Amara would follow in this moment.

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