#perrmonde

She smiled to herself as she drew the curtains and flipped the wicker sign in the window from “Welcome” to “Please Call Again.” The last patrons of the day had paid and left, and she let her mind drift to the relaxing weekend that lay ahead of her. She hummed an improvised tune, and soon she was out the door and homeward bound.

The next morning Perry woke bright and early. Hot tea warmed her hands and lips. Just outside her kitchen window a slight wind rustled bright, papery leaves in the early light of the autumn sun, while low wispy clouds cast shadows on her lawn. Bright summer days had slowly given way to longer nights, and cooler evenings meant all the more reason to engage in one of her most favorite hobbies: baking.

Before she could start that, however, she knew that other work must come first. There was laundry to be started, shelves to be dusted, and perhaps most urgently, leaves to be raked and bagged. The first leaves had begun to fall, and it was only a matter of time before they’d be tumbling to the ground in droves. She sipped her tea. Across the street in her neighbor's yard, little eddies of wind twirled and tossed the leaves that had already made their descent. Branches shook slightly as another gust of wind breezed through them. She clicked her tongue. “Better to stay ahead of it,” she thought to herself, and prepared to get to work.

****

It wasn’t long before tidy, knee-high piles of leaves dotted Perry’s yard. Once the first few were formed, she set about bagging them with the efficient fastidiousness that pervaded everything she did. The morning’s work had left her lawn well-kept and free of leaves, and although she wasn’t overly obsessed with cleanliness per se, she did get a certain satisfaction out of the sense of orderliness the sight before her provided. After a quick nod to herself she set the neatly tied bags by the curb, deposited her tools in the shed, and skipped lightly up the back steps in the direction of her kitchen.

Within a few moments she had gathered her ingredients and collected the mixing bowls, parchment paper, measuring cups and tart tins necessary for what was, in her mind, the ultimate autumn confection. She placed her heavy cookbook on its stand and as she began to flip to the properly marked page, she was stopped by the movement that caught her eye in the front yard.

“No. No, no. No..,” she said to herself quietly. She squinted. “No,” she said again.

Perry rushed to the front door and swung it open with the fervor of someone determined to right a grievous wrong. She surveyed the scene before her, a sense of violation singing quietly in her chest and growing louder the longer she looked. Her eyes did not deceive her. What she’d thought she’d seen from the kitchen window was now starkly confirmed for her in the light of the distantly blazing sun.

Leaves. Hundreds of them. The leaves from her neighbor’s yard, the unkept, windswept yard of her newest neighbor, were blowing onto her lawn. She stared in disbelief for one more moment before she felt her legs carrying her across the street towards her neighbor’s front door.

“Civility, Lola,” she said to herself. “They’ve only just begun to get settled, and perhaps they’re unaware of the damage that can be done to a lawn by fallen leaves left for weeks.” She made a conscious effort to ignore the slight sense of resentment stemming from the fact that whoever had moved into this house had not only failed to acknowledge the plate of homemade welcome cookies she had left, but also had yet to return the plate she had delivered them on despite multiple notes left. Upon reaching the door she smiled before knocking, hoping to regain her composure so that her first face-to-face interaction with her neighbor was a friendly one.

She was about to knock again when through the glass she saw a shadow pass behind the door. It disappeared briefly before the door was abruptly opened.

“Can I help you?” said the woman who answered. Her dark hair contrasted sharply with her fair skin, and the impatient look in this woman’s eyes conveyed to Perry that she must be interrupting something.

“Lola Perry! I’m pleased to meet you.” Perry extended her hand and continued, smiling, “I’m your neighbor. I live just across the street.” Perry turned and motioned towards her house, and when she turned back to the woman in the doorway she was met with an expression she still couldn’t quite read.

Maybe it was the heavy black eyeliner, or the way the woman first crossed her arms and then leaned in the doorway, but she felt that the woman was looking at her like a rare, yet annoying, and not altogether very interesting bug.

“Okay,” the woman said.

“I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood and…well you see, it appears that your leaves are in my yard.” She tried to smile again. This was not going at all like she had hoped.

The woman in front of Perry crinkled her nose, silently looking her up and down, then over Perry’s shoulder at the tidy house across the street. Tidy, that was, save for the leaves now blustering through her yard and against her hedges.

“Nope,” she said lowly. “I didn’t put those leaves in your yard.”

“No, of course not, it’s just, we all try to stay on top of the yard work here. It’s like they say, you can’t control the wind…” Perry laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “I know you’ve just moved in. You can borrow my tools if you’d like, until you get situated. Some people even hire a gardener if it suits them.”

The woman in the doorway shifted. “It’s a free country,” she shrugged. “No thanks.”

Perry opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could get a word out the front door slammed in her face. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to ask about her cookie plate.

****

Two weeks passed. The days grew colder and the leaves continued to fall. Thankfully the wind had died down, and Perry’s lawn had been spared from most of the errant leaves that did still occasionally blow free from her particularly broody neighbor’s yard.

She had resolved to retrieve her cookie plate. Autumn would come and go, and the leaves would disappear until spring, but some plates were more than just plates. The one she was missing at present was the one she had hand painted at the paint-your-own pottery store downtown. The one she had painted with LaFontaine, the winter before they had decided to spend a spring, and then a summer, studying an abnormal batrachian population in the West Indies. That was three years ago now, and she had heard from LaFontaine that their research was going very, very well.

Perry finished breakfast and crossed the street once more. She was half resigned to the idea of not getting the plate back any time soon, but despite small setbacks she wasn’t one to give up. Plus, she still had hope of getting her hands on some fresh blackberries, and her blackberry thumbprint cookies always look best on that plate.

Perry approached the door and hesitated briefly before knocking lightly. She waited a moment, and then rapped a bit more heavily. A familiar shadow passed behind the door, and shortly thereafter the door swung open. Perry braced herself for an unpleasant interaction.

“Hello, can I help you?” The woman standing in the doorway was striking, and seemed to fill the space around her with more presence than one person should possess.

“Hi. I’m Lola Perry! I’m your…you see, I live across the street.” Perry looked up at the stunning woman smiling before her. How very different she was from the woman who had opened the door two weeks prior.

“How lovely,” the woman said with what seemed like true sincerity. “Matska Bellmonde. I’m very pleased to meet you.” She wore a tasteful, well-fitted white dress and Perry couldn’t help but admire the unusual locket she wore around her neck.

“You’ll have to excuse my manners,” Matska said. “I’m still floor to ceiling with boxes in here, otherwise I would invite you in for some coffee or tea.”

“Oh, no offense taken.” Perry went on, after a beat. “Forgive me, but you, do you live here too? I met another woman here, perhaps two weeks ago.”

“My sister, Carmilla,” said Matska. “You may have met her when she was here for the delivery of the first shipment of boxes. I was not able to be here to receive them as I was detained, unexpectedly, by business.”

“I see. Well, welcome to the neighborhood!” said Perry. Then, looking only very briefly to the floor, she went on. “Listen, Matska,I wonder if I could trouble you to keep an eye out for a plate I loaned your sister?”

“Please, you can call me Mattie. And Carmilla…she borrowed a plate?”

“Well you see I, made her a plate of cookies to welcome her to the neighborhood. I thought she lived here and I was hoping to get the plate back. It’s green, with a white Christmas tree on it with gold accents.”

“Of course! I was wondering where that had come from. Imagine my surprise when I thought Carmilla was getting into the Christmas spirit! Please, give me just a moment.” Mattie laughed as she disappeared into the dining area, and when she returned, handed Perry her plate.

Mattie smiled, and then studied her briefly with a curious look. “You know darling, you look familiar. Have I seen you somewhere?”

“I think I’d remember that,” Perry said. A slight blush crept up her neck as Mattie continued gazing at her for a few more moments.

“Hmm… Well, thank you very much for the neighborhood welcome, and thank you on behalf of my sister for the cookies. Was there anything else you came for?” Mattie asked.

“There is one other thing, actually. If you don’t mind, I wonder if you could try to keep the leaves from your tree from blowing through the neighborhood. It sounds silly, I know, but they tend to end up in my yard and eventually kill my grass. I’d be grateful if perhaps you could bag them before the wind has a chance to blow them in my direction.” Perry looked at her and smiled hopefully.

“I would be more than happy to do that, Lola. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Mattie smiled a bright, genuine smile as she extended her hand.

Perry took it and said, “Thank you Mattie. It was a pleasure to meet you too.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Perry turned and trotted back to her house.

****

The next day, Perry prepared to head to the market for her usual Sunday haul. Dinner tonight would be a spinach quiche, but she was running low on eggs and had no spinach to speak of. She walked her bike along the side of her house, mentally going over her shopping list. As she turned the corner, she caught sight of Mattie working in her front yard across the street, almost completely covered from the sun under a wide-brimmed hat that seemed entirely too elegant for yard work. Mattie waved and smiled, and Perry found herself smiling broadly and waving back. She stood up a little straighter, and as she hopped on her bike she made a silent wish for there to be enough pears to make her signature pear tartlets.

When she returned, Mattie was out of sight and so were the leaves that had been in her yard. She was amazed to see that not a single leaf had made its way on to her lawn, and on Mattie’s lawn, no leaves remained. She parked her bike and carried her groceries inside, wondering at how a simple, kind gesture could make her so happy. She was straddling the line between thinking she was oversensitive versus acknowledging that her reaction was fair since it had been awhile since she remembered someone showing that much consideration when she heard a knock at the door.

When she answered it she saw Matska Belmonde standing at her doorstep, smiling at her from under a stylish black wide-brimmed hat.

“Good afternoon, Lola. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I brought you this.” Mattie held up an orange and black contraption with “HUSQVARNA” etched into the barrel. “It’s a leaf blower. I’ve seen you cleaning the leaves stuck to your rake and I thought you might like to borrow this sometimes. It is loud, but it is very effective.”

Perry stepped out on to her porch and took the leaf blower into her hands. “It's so…lightweight…” she said.

“Yes,” Mattie said, “and you can borrow it as often as you like as long as you tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Perry stiffened imperceptibly. Was there a catch after all to this woman’s kindness?

“Tell me what kind of delicious treat you made my sister.” Mattie said simply. “She doesn’t tend to share well and it does not appear that she left me any to try.” She grinned.

“Oh, you didn’t get to try any?” Perry said. “They were blackberry thumbprint cookies—”

“Stop,” Mattie said. “Those sound absolutely divine. I’m sorry I missed them.”

“Unfortunately I ran out of fresh blackberries weeks ago, but perhaps I could make you something else. After all you are my true new neighbor, and it wouldn’t be right for you not to get a welcome gift of your own. How do you feel about pears? I haven’t made my pear tartlets in almost three years now and I’d love for you to try them.”

“I’d like that very much,” said Mattie. She paused and stood for a moment, considering her next words carefully. “Lola, I am still unpacking a bit, but I wanted to know if perhaps you might like to join me for tea tomorrow?”

****

The following afternoon, Lola knocked on Mattie’s door at precisely 3:00 pm. In a basket by her side she held pear tartlets, scones, butter tarts and the jams she had canned in the summer. Mattie opened the door and led her to the dining area, where there sat a light spread of small, crustless sandwiches and various types of rare, quality teas. She sat down on the small chaise while Perry stood in wonder.

“Mattie, where did you find these?” she asked.

“I think I’ve figured out where I know you from, Lola. Carmilla, while she was here mentioned a small tea shop in town. She couldn’t stop talking about the pastries, quiches, and other foods they serve there. So simple, yet subtle and perfectly-executed. On the day she left, she insisted we stop there one last time. I had had to stay in the car to finish up a phone call, but I think I may have seen you there. If that is true, I thought you might appreciate the tea I’ve collected here and there as I’ve traveled. Is it true? Was it you?”

Perry looked at the jars of tea on the table. Oolong, rooibos, darjeeling, and many other black, white, and green tees sat displayed along with their labels and areas of origin.

“Yes, that’s my tea shop. I run it during the week, and take the weekends off. This collection is amazing, Mattie.”

“Wonderful!” Mattie clapped her hands together once. “I’m so happy you’re pleased by them. Perhaps, if there are more you’d like to try, you would also like to join me for dinner this evening?”

Perry took a seat on the lounge next to Mattie. She regarded her a moment, then with a smile said, “Yes, Mattie, thank you. I would love to.”

Cleaning blood out of mugs and glasses isn’t something you had ever thought of doing, but here you are, housing with three- no, four vampires.

Since Su- LaFontaine frankensteined JP into Will’s body, and Laura got turned you always have more blood packages in the fridge than groceries. It still makes you cringe whenever you look into it and there is just so much blood greeting you instead of fresh eggs, milk, and vegetables. Not that there is much on the fresh side anyway, since things with the Corvae group, the anglerfish and overall Silas are still not really solved.

You scrub forcefully at the insides of Laura’s TARDIS mug, trying to get all the red crusts out of the corners.

“If she wouldn’t let it stand around for days…” you mumble under your breath, looking over your shoulder for a second to check on the brownies that are baking in the oven. 

Waking up, cleaning, baking, cooking, more cleaning, sleeping, and in between dealing with everything that this hell mouth of a university throws at you. These mundane - for other people annoying - tasks keep you sane in all this craziness that are vampires, and mind controlling, and demigods. 

You sigh, grab a wine glass and spill the bit of remaining blood into the drain before you start with the cleaning routine of rinsing, applying antibacterial dish cleaner, scrubbing, and rinsing again - maybe you repeat this thrice for every item, but who is counting. If it weren’t for the bright green rubber gloves your skin would probably be falling from your bones already.

The kitchen is filled with the smell of baked goods and your cleaning utensils, a small blessing that can always make you smile. Until a scent of wild earth, a stormy night, and candle wax tickles your nose and makes you stop mid motion.

You didn’t even notice her entering the kitchen, and only see her when she’s opening the fridge to grab a bloody snack. Your fingers curl around the fragile body of the wine glass, and you try to focus on it and not the vampire leaning against the counter and pouring herself a drink in one of the freshly washed glasses. 

“Lola,” she acknowledges you, and with a strained smile you look up to greet Matska with a small nod. 

Matska takes a sip, her eyes still focused on you, running over your body, and a shiver travels with it over your skin wherever she decides to linger for a second longer.

You watch her licking her bloodstained lips, and you are sure the twist in your stomach stems from disgust - yes, that must be it.

You wrinkle your nose, and try to turn your head back to your task at hand, but your muscles don’t cooperate the way they should. Instead you feel your self turning more towards her, something that should really not be happening.  

That infuriating confident smile begins to spread on Matska’s lips, before she gulps down the rest of her drink, and before you can even react she is next to you, leaning into your personal space and works around your hands to rinse out the used glass.

You sense the warmth, and power radiating off her, and you shouldn’t want to get closer to her, but you feel yourself shift, just a little bit, and you turn your head and-

Matska steps aways, her smile now smug, but still inviting, and you bite your lip, before you finally shake off the thrall, or whatever unholy thing had a hold on you moments prior, and turn the water on again.

A low chuckle vibrates through the air, when Matska leaves the room, this time the sound of her heels signaling her path through the apartment.

The water runs and runs, but you don’t move, only your hold is tightening around the glass, fingers curling, your muscles tensing - the glass breaks.

“Perr? Everything okay?” LaFontaine stops in the doorway, their expression worried, always so worried about you.

“Yes,” your words come out high-pitched and sound fake even to your own ears, and you wave them off with your hands, little pieces of glass falling to the floor, “No, yes, maybe not everything. Just a little clumsiness on my part.”

Careful you pull off your gloves and dispose them in the trash, before you grab a dustpan and hand brush to clean up your mess.

LaFontaine takes a step into the room, before they decide otherwise and with a small pressed smile leave you alone again.

A sigh leaves your lips and you close your eyes for a moment, before you concentrate on the repetitive motion and sound of the brush against the floor.

You see Matska in your dreams.

At first it is just a falcon like bird - a striated caracara you know by now after a lot of research and a vivid description to LaFontaine - following and hovering over you, grazing your head and shoulder with its wings, while you walk through the night.

Those dreams are tinted with a calmness that your day to day activities lacked for a while now, and whenever you see your winged companion you wake with a smile on your lips.

But it doesn’t take long for your dreams to shift, the more you have to be near her. You have seen Laura and Carmilla change into their giant cats multiple times by now, so you are at least a little bit accustomed to it, but this is something else.  

The bird circles over your head, a silent scream that still vibrates through every cell of your body leaving its beak, before the familiar blur of the shift envelops it. And after a few moments, the whole body of the bird growing, changing, and shedding its feathers, Matska stands in front of you; her dark complexion a beautiful contrast to the white formfitting dress she is wearing. Even in your dreams you’re not spared the sight of far too expensive designer clothes.

From that night on your dreams are haunted by caracara and vampire alike, silent companions on your path through the endless universes of the night. On silent wings or high heel clad feet, you’re never alone anymore, and in some twisted way you draw a sense of security out of it, that you even begin to relax around her throughout the day.

You watch them come back from a hunt, something you didn’t know they needed with all that packaged blood in the fridge. A picture of elegance and raw power, when you see them step out of the woods. Matska in the middle, her beige dress splattered with dark red on her upper body, Carmilla and Laura in their cat forms to her left and right.

They change back, and are into each other’s space the second they’re on two legs again. Carmilla wrapping her arm around Laura’s waist and Laura kissing her cheek - they are glowing with love and happiness, and you almost feel like a voyeur, even the most innocent thing seeming so intimate between them.

You concentrate on sweeping the staircase in front of the apartment again, your escape for now from whatever LaFontaine and JP are experimenting on somewhere inside the building.

Laura greets you, before she’s almost carried into the apartment by a smiling Carmilla, and you make a mental note to avoid the hallway and rooms around their bedroom for the next hours.

Matska steps up to you, not yet raising her feet to climb the stairs and watches you for a moment, with something wild and feral still gleaming in her eyes. She is beautiful, you can admit that, even with blood staining her clothes she looks ready to walk on the runways of Europe’s fashion shows.

“Lola.”

You stop in your sweeping motion as a shiver runs down your spine. It shouldn’t feel that good to hear your name rolling off her tongue. You set the broom aside.

“Would you accompany me for a walk?”

An insecure smile tugs at your lips. A walk sounds… normal, lovely even, especially now with the sun slowly setting and the sky painted in soft orange hues.

You nod, crossing your arms in front of your chest, and follow her as she starts into the direction of the crater.

It’s silent, the only sound disrupting it is the clicking of Matska’s heels, and by now you’re so accustomed to it that you smile at the sense of familiarity. Though there is still the reminder of Matska’s nature, if you want to call it that, splattered all over her front, and a smear of blood from the corner of her mouth down her chin. 

It should disturb you. You should be running in the opposite direction, or if not run, at least grab something sharp and pierce her not-beating heart. 

And still you couldn’t be more content right now.

You sigh, and your breath puffs out into a small cloud. It’s getting colder, winter just around the corner, but your sweater, for now, is enough to keep you warm.

“You should be wearing a coat.”

“It’s okay.” You send her a small, grateful smile, your breath hitching when you notice the intense look she gives you.

Matska just hums in agreement, before focussing on whatever path she’d chosen to take you on.

You don’t know how long you two walk next to each other in comfortable silence, your thoughts clear of all the catastrophes you all had endured for the last months, but when you notice Matska stopping you are in front of the apartment again. And somehow you feel like all of the weight that has been suffocating you for days, weeks even, is lifted from your shoulders.

A shuddering breath parts your lips, when you in- and exhale deeply, and suddenly Matska is closer, bursting your bubble of personal space. She waits a moment, only staring at you, gaze flitting between your eyes and your lips, and then she is kissing you.

Her lips are warm and soft, and when you gasp in surprise - and, when you’re honest with yourself, delight - she takes advantage, her tongue slowly gliding against yours. The taste of copper and wine invades your senses, and you should be horrified, because this is someone’s or something’s blood you are licking from her lips, you should shove her away from you, flee, but… You don’t want to.

A groan rumbles through your throat when Matska wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against her front, your hands resting on her shoulders to steady yourself. You smile when you hear the faintest of moans escaping her, and your hands stroke from her arms to her neck, enjoying the warmth of her bare skin that seems to burn your fingertips with every touch.

That bit of resistance you thought you still had melts away, with every sweep of her tongue and nip to your bottom lip.

Soon she is kissing along your jaw, down to your neck, and begins to suck on your pulse point. Your hands now tangled in the long black tresses of her hair, one of hers tugging on your ponytail until you give her more room to lavish across your neck. 

It is then that you feel the barest hint of fangs against your skin, and just the thought of Matska biting, drinking you sends your pulse into overdrive, hammering hard against Matska’s now smiling lips.

With all the strength you can muster you push against her shoulders, and Matska is fast to comply and lets go of you in an instant.

You see the lengthened canines behind her parted lips, her tongue running over the sharp points. 

The reality of what just happened crashes in on you, and you feel like something settles on your chest to squeeze out every last breath. With a few frantic waves of your hand and a hysterical gurgling sound, you turn from her and run up the few steps into the apartment. 

You don’t bother to slam the door shut, you just let your feet carry you upstairs, until you are in your bedroom, stumbling through it into the bathroom, and fall to your knees to empty your stomach into the toilet.

She still visits your dreams, silent as ever, but now, at the end of every night, she leaves you with a kiss that follows and haunts you throughout the day.

Somehow you end up in a game-night with LaFontaine and JP, who had piled up every board game they could find in the apartment. 

It’s a nice distraction from everything that happened over the week. Fish-minions lashing out, the Corvae guys cutting down the already sparse food rations and trying to capture more than one group of students, and the Zeta’s protesting their lack of beer.

You’re halfway through the second round of Risiko when Carmilla stumbles into the room with a phonograph in her arms, and Laura with a box of records hot on her heels.

“Oh, sorry guys, I hope it’s no problem if we listen to some of Carm’s old records here.”

“No, it’s okay,” LaFontaine makes their move on the board, glancing in Laura’s direction, before focussing on the game again with a victorious grin spreading on their lips, “I think we’ll be done here soon anyway.” 

“Tell me again why we brought it down here, when we could have easily played some records in our bedroom, where-“

“Because here is more room for dancing, and you’d just distract me so I would hear nothing from the music.” Laura leans in to kiss Carmilla’s cheek.

“As if you’ve ever complained before, cupcake.”

You see Laura blush and avert your eyes when Carmilla pulls her closer by her hips, and Laura giggles, and you’re happy for them, that they still have each other in this madness.

There’s more giggling and a breathy “Carm,” before rustling and the first sounds of music fill the room, accompanied by the typical crackling of the phonograph.

When you concentrate on the board in front of you, you notice that LaFontaine has taken over every territory possible, with JP pouting next to you and asking for another round. But LaFontaine shakes their head. “I wanted to run a few more tests on the blood we borrowed from one of the Corvae guys, and I have to get in the Bio labs for that. But you should stay here, enjoy some down time.”

“No, I’ll accompany you, it’s not safe to walk across campus alone.”

They exchange a smile and a nod, and before you can even process what’s going on they packed the game and are out to do whatever it is they are always coming up with.

You sip on some hot chocolate, and watch as Laura goofs around, laughing, limbs flailing somewhat in the rhythm of the music, while Carmilla sits crosslegged next to the box and looks through the different records. But you notice how her eyes flit to Laura every few seconds, and a smile seems to tug at the corners of her mouth.

Sometimes you still can’t believe how much has happened to bring you all together like this, especially with all those supernatural things, that just shouldn’t be. But you can’t change the way it is now, and it’s better to just… go with it, as best as you can.

So you walk over to Carmilla, kneel next to her and begin to rummage through the records yourself. It is such an eclectic collection, when you see some artists and bands you have to bite on your tongue to keep the laughter inside. Because, really, you hadn’t pledged Carmilla for someone who would own a record of Abba - Waterloo. With signatures of all four of them sprawled across the cover.

Before you can even comment on it Carmilla snatches the record out of your hands and stuffs it, carefully, into the back of the box, making sure it’s in one of the plastic cases that hold the more precious ones, and growls a “You didn’t see a thing,” under her breath.

You grab the next record, Fleetwood Mac, and hold it out to Carmilla. “Could we, maybe…?”

Carmilla shrugs her shoulders. “Sure, why not.” And changes the records, Laura yelping in protest when the music suddenly stops.

A smile spreads on your lips, and warmth begins to settle all over you when the familiar sounds of Albatross begin to fill the room. It reminds you of home. Of your mother dancing with your father in the living room, while you sat close to the fireplace and watched them, until they snatched you up with laughter and giggles and danced with you in their middle.

Laura steps closer and extends her hand towards Carmilla, who huffs, far too dramatic for the adoring gaze she has focussed on Laura, before she takes the offered hand and gets to her feet. And soon they are swaying in the middle of the room, arms gently holding each other and foreheads touching.

You are so engrossed in your memories and watching the gentle moves of Laura and Carmilla, you don’t even notice that someone stands beside you until they clear their throat, and you bring yourself out of your stupor with a little shake of your head.

When you turn your attention to the person next to you, you’re greeted by the sight of a pair of feet clad in black high heels, bare calves, and a red dress that stops mid-thigh. Matska has very appealing legs, you decide, your gaze traveling over smooth skin, until you notice how you’re ogling her, and snap your eyes up to see a smug grin on her dark red lips.

Words don’t seem to be necessary between the two of you, because she just extends her hand, a silent invitation, and raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you to refuse.

You could. You should just walk out of the room, and make it clear that you don’t want this, don’t want her. But your head is overpowered by the raw urge that pushed you over and over into Matska’s direction for weeks now, so with only a bit of hesitation you grab her hand and get pulled to your feet.

In an instant you feel the fingertips of her right hand on the small of your back, while the left cradles your own in a delicate hold. Your free fingers curl around her bare biceps, and for a second you wonder if she owns any dresses with sleeves, but since she doesn’t seem to experience temperature like you do, why would she bother.

It’s just swaying to the soft sounds of music, not even really dancing, but you are nervous like it’s your first high school dance all over again. Especially with Matska looking like she does, gorgeous and just breathtaking, and you’re in one of your most comfortable turtlenecks and sweatpants.

You feel yourself blush. 

“Something the matter, darling?”

You are startled by her voice, right next to your ear, and your breath hitches when you feel her lips move against your skin with every spoken word. Your grip tightens on her arm.

“I can hear your heartbeat, I can almost taste it.”

You almost want to offer your neck, your whole body vibrating with every touch, every rumble of her voice, but Laura breaks the moment between you two.

“Hey! No snacking on my friends!”

Carmilla chuckles, and when you look over you can see an amused smile on her lips, because of course she isn’t as oblivious as Laura.

“Relax.” Matska’s hold around your waist tightens, and you think you can feel every dip and curve of her body against yours. “I only take what is offered to me willingly. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Oh.” Laura’s eyes jump back and forth between Matska and you, until they widen and her jaw seems to go slack for a second. “Oh.”

“Aren’t you a fast one, creampuff.”

“Hey! I knew that your sister, but- I thought, Perr- Argh, stop laughing you stupid vampire!” Laura drags a still laughing Carmilla out of the room, and you can hear Laura’s voice until a door thuds shut on the second floor.

“Alone, at last.” Matska breathes out a sigh, her chest moving with a slow exhale. 

“Yeah.” And you ban all thoughts of should, and shouldn’t, and what if out of your mind when you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her closer to crash your lips together.

It only takes Matska a second to react, and when she does you’re lifted by strong arms and backed up against the next wall, her tongue licking into your mouth, teasing you with barely there touches that make you groan in frustration. Your legs are around her waist, and before you know it you’re pushed onto your bed - this damn vampire speed - and Matska covers your body with her own.

“I’m not really one for cuddling.” Your voice is hoarse, and you are covered in bruises and bite marks. The sweat is cooling on your body, and you should probably head for a shower soon.

“Me neither, darling, no worries.” Matska stretches, looking like a goddess, and you feel your fingers twitch to touch her again, or at least trace all the marks you left on her.

You’re lying on your side, pressing your heated cheek into the cool pillow, and prepare yourself for her parting, just like in your dreams, with a kiss. 

But instead she rolls over, until she’s facing you and one arm wraps around your waist. Your nose nudges the base of her throat.

“Just for a second until I find the motivation to move.”