Tonight's vigil bothered Élise deeply. She fed, but only because Louis denied her him -- His taste, his scent, ever so faint but addicting. It was all she craved.
She walked the same path she walked every night, after every visit with death. In through the back door, up the main foyer's grand staircase, make a right turn, then left, and right into the last door at the end of the hall -- And he would be there, Louis, sitting in the same chair he always sat in, reading or just simply staring at the fire he would light. As he did tonight.
She walked into his study quietly, lingering in what shadows the flames left for her. Her eyes never meeting his figure, she could already hear him, everything he did, each shallow breath and swallow as he sat there, waiting for her to break the silence. She refused, keeping her distance and silence, and he knew why.
"You're still hungry." His accent cut clean through the quiet. He didn't look behind him yet, where she stood only a few feet away.
Élise stood there, frozen, as she acted interested in the books he had on the shelf. Her breath caught in her throat as she finally looked over at him -- It hit her all at once, faint, but unmistakable. Not fresh blood, nothing else, just him.
She didn't deny what he had said, about her craving for more. She just watched him for a moment.
"I am fine," She finally muttered out.
A faint chuckle came from Louis, low, almost humorless, and then, with a quiet deliberation that betrayed him more than any word could, Louis let his wrist fall over the arm of the chair.
Not offered, not withdrawn.
She watched him, her eyes dancing between his wrist and the fire he was also watching. Her thoughts suddenly came to a halt when she focused on it -- His wrist, barely revealed by the fine lacing of his coat. The pale skin, highlighted by the blue veins.
She paused, her teeth digging into her lips without thought, and without thought she was moving through the room, towards him. She stopped when she reached his chair, one of her hands resting on the edge of the velvet chair.
He still refused to look up at her, even when she knelt down in front of him, grabbing his forearm with her bare, delicate hands. She brushed the lace out of her way before she leaned in before his voice caught her attention again.
She swallowed a moment, as if that alone would steady her. Her grip loosened rather than tighten.
Careful. She forced herself to be careful.
Her touch softened against him, almost reverent now, as though she were handling something fragile rather than something that could undo her entirely. She leaned in finally, her lips brushing against his skin.
The soft kiss caught Louis off guard, earning a shiver from him before she bared her teeth, and closed her eyes, almost like a twisted prayer.
The warmth, metallic taste flooded her mouth as she sucked gently on his wrist. She faltered when he flinched at first, her eyes flickering up to his.
Louis had gone rigid beneath her touch, not pulling away, no, that would have been simpler. Every inch of him had tensed, as if he were bracing against something far greater than the small, careful pressure of her mouth against his skin.
His breath caught quietly, but unmistakable. “Don’t..” The word slipped out before he could understand it.
She hesitated, just for a moment, her lips still pressed to his wrist, her grip loosening as if she might withdraw entirely.
That moment of restraint was all it took.
Louis exhaled, sharp and uneven, his other hand tightening, slightly, against the arm of the chair before, without quite meaning to, it moved -- Not to push her away, but to her. His fingers found the side of her face, not rough, not commanding. Just there, resting, as though he needed to confirm she was real… or ensure she wouldn't leave.
“Continue,” he murmured lowly. Not permission, something closer to surrender.
She obeyed, but her gentleness did not hold, not entirely. Her grip tightened again, slowly this time, her mouth pressing closer, deeper, drawn not just by hunger now, but by the way he had said it. The way his hand remained against her, not guiding, not stopping. Keeping.
Louis’ head tipped back slightly against the chair, his eyes falling shut at last, the last of his restraint slipping, not in action, but in what he allowed.
His eyes had just fallen shut when she slowed, then stilled. They flickered open again, looking down at her gentle eyes watching him. He flinched when she retracted her teeth from his wrist, blood threatened to spill from the wound, almost immediately.
Élise didn't retreat fully though, she lingered close -- Watching the blood build before she couldn't stop herself from licking at the wound she created, sucking gently at the bite mark. Her eyes heavy with the need for more, more of him, not just his blood, but his taste.
She began to trail her lips over the very veins she drank from, then across his palm, the trace of iron lingering on her tongue. She hummed when she reached the tip of his ring finger, her tongue memorizing the feel of his skin, smooth as paper, as her lips wrapped around his finger.
Her eyes memorizing his every reaction to her touch, how he threw his head back, ever so slightly, in pleasure.
She slowed again, mot from restraint this time, from recognition -- It wasn’t just her. The realization settled quietly, somewhere deeper than thought, as her lips loosened around his finger.
Louis exhaled, unsteady now, his hand shifting against her cheek once more, not to stop her, or guide, but to remain, and to answer. His eyes opened, at last, finding her, not questioning, not resisting -- Just there, with her.
Élise held his gaze for a moment longer before she finally leaned into his touch. Something that lingered, and neither of them moved. His hand remained where it had settled, her touch still resting against his forearm, the space between them altered in a way that did not demand words.
The fire crackled softly beside them, unnoticed and lost within their shared realm.
