#vampire!jily

Truthfully, you’d rather be three sheets to the wind right now, but it’s never a good idea to drink on the job. It had been hard enough to get your department editor to approve this assignment to begin with; you don’t need to go sullying it with anything that could call your credibility into question. 

The story is an unlikely one. Rumors have started swirling of what some are calling a cult, people who claim vampires are real and that they’re devoting themselves as willing sustenance to them so the immortals don’t need to find other victims. The police department was involved briefly, but any investigation fizzled out soon enough; the cult members were clearly fantastical, but so long as they weren’t hurting anybody, it wasn’t really the city’s business. You thought there might be something more there. 

Not vampires, obviously. But cults will always be interesting, and you were curious to see what the real blood and guts of this one looked like. Getting your editor to let you investigate took weeks, but finding out how to attend a meeting only took a few covert questions and a taxi ride. 

You have to admit, this whole thing has turned out to be more organized than you anticipated. You were expecting a midnight convocation in a cemetery, chanting, maybe some shrines. The reality was a potluck in a rented room of the YMCA, two organized logs for both volunteers and “vamps” to sign in, and a ride to your chosen sponsees’ home with a promise to check back in with the leadership by nine tomorrow morning. 

“See?” James smizes at Lily. “She likes my tea.” 

“Don’t get smug, she hasn’t tried it yet.” Lily takes a cup from the tray, passing it to you with a conspiratorial look. “You may want some cream in that, love.” 

“Thanks,” you murmur, picking up the pitcher. You watch the cream bloom and swirl, noticing in your periphery the looks James and Lily send each other. They seem at once intimately familiar and playfully coy with one another; it makes it difficult to tell how long they’ve been together, or if they’re only so ridiculously in love that it doesn’t matter. “So.” You clear your throat. “How often do you do this?” 

“This?” James tears his gaze from Lily to look at you. “Feeding?”

Your face warms. “Sorry, is it rude to ask?” 

“No.” He smiles, brown eyes crinkling sweetly. You take a second to look for fangs—specially sharpened teeth, prosthetics, even the plastic dime store things—but you can’t see any. The only thing supernatural about James’ smile is its disarming handsomeness. “No, sweetheart, you’re alright. We usually try for once a week. We can go longer, if we need to, but it’s not…” 

“It gets difficult,” Lily fills in for him. “Feeding once a week keeps you from wanting more when you shouldn’t, does that make sense?” 

You nod, though it doesn’t to you, not really. 

“Most others find someone to feed from every couple weeks or so.” James has taken a seat on the rug, ignoring the chair nearby. You notice the way he circles a hand around Lily’s ankle to rub his thumb over her skin and wonder if he’d rather sit on the floor than be any farther from her. “We do it more often because there’s two of us and one of you.” 

“So you always share?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Why?” 

“Feeding from someone can feel intimate,” says Lily. “We like to do it together, but we don’t have to.” You try to relax your expression when you notice her watching you carefully. “If there being two of us makes you uncomfortable, we can take you back. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

You shake your head, unwilling to be sent away. This may be your only chance to see what has everyone in the cult so enraptured. “I’m fine with it. Just asking.” 

“How’d you come to join?” James asks. 

“You know.” You shrug. “Friend of a friend. I was curious.” 

This last part, at least, is true. James considers you from behind thickly-framed glasses. You wonder how much he really believes all this; if he’s convinced himself the glasses are some human disguise he needs to keep up, or if in his version of the lore even vampires can have imperfect vision. 

“Curious about which part?” he asks. 

You aren’t sure how to act now. Too eager, and they might see right through you. Too casual, and they could think you don’t want to be involved. You go with the truth. “To see what all the excitement was about, I guess.” 

Lily chuckles. “I don’t know if we’ll live up to whatever your friend told you,” she says, “but we can show you what it’s like, if you feel ready.” 

You find yourself nodding without any forethought. There’s a spellbinding quality about her, about both of them, when their attention is on you. 

Vampire hypnosis, your brain supplies half-humorously. 

But there’s not an ounce of dissent in you as Lily lifts herself up from her spot on the sofa, pivoting to set a thigh down on either side of your lap. She settles her weight on top of you. 

“This okay?” she asks, arms rising behind her head. 

“Yeah,” you manage. Obviously distracted, watching her pull her hair through a hair tie she’s taken from her wrist. 

She smiles almost sheepishly. “Keeps it out of the way.” 

“Should I do mine, too?” 

“No, don’t worry about it.” She moves some hair away from your neck. The brush of her knuckles makes you shiver. “I’ll make sure there’s no mess. I’m going to go first, and then James can join if you’re okay with it after a little while, alright?” 

You feel strangely breathless. Probably just an effect of having someone like Lily this close. She smells like almonds. “Sure.” 

“Alright. Thank you.” Her bright green eyes skim you over. Every second she waits feels stretched into infinity, your heart thumping against your throat. “If it ever gets to be too much, just say something. We can stop or take a break whenever you like.” 

“Okay,” you breathe. Lily nods, bending toward you, and you blurt, “Is it going to hurt?” 

You’re not genuinely worried about vampire fangs, but—shit—what are they going to do to you? Does this ritual involve some sort of bloodletting? Is she hiding a pin behind your back that she’s going to prick your neck with?

Lily backs away so you can see her face again. Her expression is gentle, almost unbearably kind. On the floor, James has taken hold of your wrist and is rubbing soothing circles into it with his thumb. 

“Just for a second,” Lily tells you. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” 

It’s not much reassurance, except it is, coming from her. This is the strangest experience you’ve ever had. Your heart thrashes wildly, and still you say, “Okay,” and tip your head to the side. 

Lily cups the side of your face as she bends closer again, closing her lips over your skin. 

It’s nice. It’s kissing. You almost want to laugh, half delirious from relief and the familiar pleasure of it. Is this what it really is—a whole vampire cult, organized meetings and severely given warnings and we can stop whenever you want—it’s all some sort of sex thing? The first scrape of Lily’s teeth has a smile breaking out over your face, and you hear James chuckle at the sight of it. He must think you’re getting into it. Really, you’re just surprised by the gentleness of it. Lily is an excellent kisser, but you were bracing yourself for pain, not—

Oh. 

“Oh,” you say aloud, caught offguard by the dizzy feeling that takes you when Lily’s fangs break your skin. It’s a head rush, but the best head rush you’ve ever felt, glittery and freeing and intoxicating. Everything that binds you together seems to give out, and you’re putty in her hands, but she’s handling you oh so carefully, and it’s just like she said, it hardly hurts, and fuck. 

Fuck. This is real. Lily is a vampire. They’re both vampires. 

“Doing alright, lovely?” James asks you. His thumb is still rubbing your wrist. 

You shouldn’t be doing alright. You should be reeling, and you are, a bit, but it’s like—it’s as if your brain can’t latch onto a whole thought. You’re floating, and every worry you have simply slips away from you as you go further downstream. 

Your response to James is little more than a thready hum. You think he responds, but you can’t hold onto it. 

You have the sense to swallow a moan when you remember the device in your pocket, still recording, still picking up every sound around you. Lily’s quiet sucking noises, James’ whispered praise, the shushing of the velvet cushion when Lily shifts on top of you, pressing closer. She moans, and the sound makes your blood pound, thinking about your editor listening to it later. 

“James.” Her voice rises like a plea. You don’t know what she wants, but you want to give it to her. You’re desperate to be everything she needs. 

“What, love?” James asks indulgently. 

Lily makes a low sound against your throat. “She tastes so good.” 

It sends a rush of pride through you. You’re drunk on it, hot and cold in different places and altogether blissfully overwhelmed. 

“I can tell.” He says your name, asking politely for your attention. You didn’t realize he knew it. You’d introduced yourselves earlier, of course, but that feels like a lifetime ago now. You manage to open your eyes, finding James watching you patiently. “Do you feel alright to have me start?” 

For a moment, you don’t remember what he means. All you know is you want him—both of them—to do whatever they need to you, so you’re nodding before your brain catches up. 

“I’ll start slowly,” he says anyway. “We’ll be able to tell when it’s too much, but if you start to feel nervous, you can still say so and we’ll stop.” 

“Okay.” You’re nearly weeping, pain and pleasure a staticy jumble in your head. “Okay, okay, please.” 

“We’ve got you,” James promises, and bends his head. 

His mouth finds the same spot his thumb has been devoting itself to. He begins as promised, as Lily had, soft, impossibly sweet kisses on the inside of your wrist. You make a truly mortifying sound then, tape recorder forgotten in your anticipation, and Lily hushes you with a touch to your cheek. When James bites you, you go limp against their sofa. Part of the used, spent, beloved fabric of it. 

What follows is a blurry dream of skin and teeth and tongues. Your lips parted in reverence, sometimes graced with a passing kiss, your loose limbs maneuvered with heart-throbbing care. At some point Lily and James switch positions. You end up in his lap, her lying stomach-down on the sofa to put her mouth to your wrist. Maybe blood tastes different from different arteries; maybe this is their way of kissing, lapping up each other’s saliva from marks on your body; you don’t care. You make a home for yourself in the smell of James’ hair and the lovely softness of the world around you until it’s over, and both partners are licking your wounds to seal them. 

“Sorry.” Lily sounds shyer than she has since you met. There’s a pretty blush in the apples of her cheeks. (Your blood? It suits her better, you think.) “I went a bit too fast at first, got carried away. How are you feeling?” 

“Good,” you breathe. You let your head list forward, surprised when you slip a few inches down James’ front. 

“Careful, you’re alright.” He pulls you back up. James is so strong. You’d noticed the bulk of his arms before, but—is this a human strength? You feel there’s so much you don’t know. James folds your head into his neck, rubbing your back and kissing your temple with unexpected warmth. “It might take you a few minutes to get your legs back under you. It’s normal, don’t worry.” 

“Bet you say that to all your meals,” you say, words smearing together. 

The sound of his laughter mingling with Lily’s might be your new favorite. “We do, actually,” Lily admits. “Some parts of this are fairly routine. I’ve never had anyone that tastes like you do, though.” 

“Really?” You turn your head to see her, genuinely curious. 

Lily doesn’t strike you as someone prone to empty flattery, but if you’d had any doubts about her truthfulness her expression dispels them. She looks blissed out, the green of her irises nearly eclipsed by pupil and lips as red as if she’s been nibbling them raw, but her brows are drawn together in puzzlement. 

“Yeah,” she says, as though this is a mystery she too would like to get to the bottom of. “James?”

“For me, too,” he confirms. He’s still running his hand up and down your back, a grounding pressure. “What’s that about, you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Lily murmurs. As you come back to grips with yourself, you find yourself watching them again. Maybe it’s your default setting, the journalist in you, but you can’t help taking note of the way they act around each other. The way James constantly has a hand extended toward Lily, untroubled when she doesn’t always take it; the way she seems to solve problems for the both of them; the wordless looks they exchange which you want desperately to be able to decipher. 

“How long have you been doing this?” you ask.

“A while,” Lily answers cryptically. Something in her expression makes you wonder if perhaps she’d be willing to tell you more with time. With trust earned. “Do you think you might come back? Will we see you next week?” 

“Yes,” you say without hesitating. 

James shepherds you over to the couch. He starts pulling blankets from wherever he can find them, draping them over you, his lovely mouth puckered with worry. Once he gets to three you pull the top one off. 

“I’m not really that sick,” you promise him. 

“Angel, I don’t know how you’re still managing to stand up and walk around.” He sits down with an exhale. Soft brown eyes rove your face like it’s the last time he may ever see it. “You sound awful.” 

Your lips tug. “I’m guessing it’s been a while since you’ve had a cold.” 

“A while, yeah. It’s hard to recall, but I think dying may have been less painful.” 

“So, if you can’t get sick, does drinking my blood when I’m sick affect you?” 

James hesitates, his head tilting curiously. “I don’t know. Why?” 

“Any chance you can suck the sick out of me?” 

“I think the practice of bloodletting was discontinued some time ago,” says Lily as she comes in with three mugs of tea. James reaches for one before she can spill. 

“Everything comes back around, right?” you joke. 

You’re the proud recipient of one of Lily’s loving eye rolls. “This one’s yours,” she says, passing you a mug. “Extra honey.” 

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

You blow the steam off your mug while she considers you. It still makes you shy when she cups your face in her hand, but Lily’s gaze is purposeful, unwavering. “You’re not warm,” she notes, touch trailing down until her fingers brush your throat. The marks from your last visit with them are still rimmed by fading bruises. “Is it all just here, or are you feeling it anywhere else?” 

You shrug. “I’m not really congested or anything. Just, you know when you’re sick and…” You hesitate, realizing they may not still know, if neither of them have been ill in centuries. James chuckles like he can read your thoughts. “...everything sort of aches.” 

Lily hums. You feel it like a physical thing, a pleasant thrum running over your skin and sinking into your bones. “Where?” she asks.

“I don’t know, like…” You roll your shoulders, feeling the crackly tension in your joints. You sort of wish you could be crushed beneath a bulldozer. “My back, and my neck…” 

“We could try to help,” James offers. 

You look over. “Hm?” 

He sets down his tea. “Why don’t you lie down,” he says, standing to make room. “It’s worth a try to work some of that out, yeah?” 

“Oh.” You blink. “James, you don’t have to—” 

“Shh, let me just see. Come on.” 

He gives your ankle a tug, and you oblige him, shuffling around on your elbows until you’re lying on your stomach. James settles over you, the weight of his knees denting the cushion on either side of your hips. Bulldozer, James; same thing. 

You hear Lily settle into the chair beside you as James’ hands make a few heavy passes over your shoulders. When he sets them down and leans a bit of his weight onto you, you sigh. 

“Yeah?” he asks, a smile in his voice. “That help?” 

“Thank you,” you mumble. 

He rubs circles into the spot before moving on. “Don’t mention it, pretty girl. We like being here for you.” The next bit of pressure brings a gratifying crack. “You don’t have to keep hiding from us when you don’t feel your best. It’s nice to look after the people you care about, you know?” 

“I’m sorry.” You don’t try to deny it, though selfishly you’re glad you don’t have to look at either of them while you say it. “It just doesn’t feel right, sometimes. You’re always taking care of me. I haven’t done anything to earn it.” 

It’s the sort of confession that hangs heavy in the air. It can’t be a surprise to either of them, but for a few moments your partners are stunned speechless. 

“Darling,” Lily breathes, “you don’t have to earn it. But even if you—it’s never transactional, and it’s never going to be, but you’ve been taking care of us since the night we met.” Her hand settles on your head. It’s a gentle touch, followed by a kiss. “Let us have a turn.” 

You’re silent. Your throat hurts enough without all this tenderness. Now your eyes burn too, and you feel properly pitiful. 

After a few moments, James scrubs between your shoulder blades. “Yeah,” he says lightly, “stop denying us our turn. No wonder you’re so sore, keeping all that pent up in here.” He pushes on your lower back. “Try to remember, angel, you’re only human. This feeble body can only take so much. You could stand to be kinder to it.” 

You choke out a laugh. “I’ll remember that.” 

“Okay,” you mumble. You don’t know if you mean for it to be agreement or assurance.

“There, good girl. Do you have her?” You try to focus in case James is asking you, but then he moves on without your answer. “I’ll get some water.” 

Though you open your mouth to protest that you don’t need anything, he’s gone before you can form it on your tongue. Lily shuffles up the bed. She brushes a strand of hair from your face. 

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” she asks, something wretchedly soft wrapped around the endearment. It makes nausea rise again in your throat. 

“I might be sick,” you worry. 

“Okay, it’s alright.” Lily turns from you, calling to James in the hallway to ask for a bucket. Her knuckles stroke delicately across your temple, a continuous, lulling sensation. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Her brow purses. “You’re fine, love. It’s not your fault.” 

“Did I…pass out?” 

“Yes.” Her soothing touch doesn’t waver. You close your eyes against it, against the balm of her presence and the caring you haven’t earned. 

“I’m sorry,” you say again. 

You don’t look for Lily’s reaction, but she seems to think it’s pointless trying to argue with you again. Her lips lay themselves down at your hairline, soft shushing sounds falling from between them. 

“Here’s a bucket if you still need one, lovely.” Something presses against your hip, and you open your eyes to see James bending over you. He gifts you a smile; you wonder at how after only a few weeks you can know him well enough to tell it’s not heartfelt. “Can you drink some water for us?” 

You take the cup from his hands, too weary to feel insulted at how both he and Lily hover while you lift it. You pull the bucket closer, too, sure that any minute the poison in you is going to come spilling violently out. 

James sits on the bed while you drink. He has a small first aid kit in his lap, but when he reaches up to move the hair from your neck Lily stops him. 

“Give her a moment,” she says. James drops his hand with a contrite look. To you, Lily adds, “Don’t drink too quickly, okay? Small sips.” 

You wipe your mouth when you’re done. You feel better, more steady even though you’re only halfway upright. You shake your head at them. “I’m so sorry. I should go.” 

“No, what have you got to be sorry for?” James shushes you. He put his glasses back on before leaving the room, so his eyes look large and heartbreakingly sincere magnified by the lenses. “You need to stay here for a while.” 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

“Do you still feel sick?” Lily asks you. 

You take a moment, surprised to find that you don’t. Your nausea has waned while you weren’t paying attention. “Not really.” 

“Good.” James gives another small, flickering smile. “Well, the bucket’s here if you decide you need it. Can I have a look at your neck?” 

You tilt your head obligingly. He brushes your hair aside. 

“Did you both get enough?” you ask. “I could keep going in a minute.” 

“Oh, lovely.” Lily’s tone holds a fond exasperation you’ve heard before, though only directed at James until now. She kisses your shoulder. “We’ll be alright.” 

“Yeah, I reckon you’re done for the day,” James teases. He dabs at your neck with something stinging. “I just wasn’t expecting it when your head started to fall back, and I’m afraid I put a little rip in you. Sorry, sweet girl.” 

“Oh. It’s okay,” you say, eager to absolve him. “I’m sorry I passed out.” 

Lily’s amused breath skitters down your arm. “You’re fine,” she tells you, more firmly now. “Did you have much water today?” 

You hesitate, trying to remember. You’ve been so wrapped up in trying to rectify your mistakes that you haven’t spared time for much else lately. “Some,” you hedge. 

The look Lily gives you says she sees right through it. “Did you sleep well last night?” 

You’d been up late researching a story that might replace theirs. 

A trickle of nausea returns as you realize the mess you’ve made for James and Lily by showing up here again. You aren’t any good to them even as a bloodbag. “I’m sorry,” you say as James smooths a bandage over your neck. “I shouldn’t have come tonight.” 

“You don’t only need to come for feedings,” James says. “We don’t ever have to do this if you’re not up to it, we’d be happy to have you either way.” He gives you a moment to sit with that before adding, “And you really don’t have anything to apologize for, angel. None of this is your fault.” 

“It is,” you breathe. 

“I wish you’d had more water, but—” 

“No, I—” You close your eyes, a bitter tang on your tongue. “I haven’t been honest with you.” 

The poison does come spilling out. You lay it all out before them: your skepticism, the job that led you into their home, your shock when they were precisely what they claimed to be. The true motives behind your questions and the recording device kept hidden in your pocket for your first meetings. You drop the lie you’ve fed them like a corpse, cold and ugly, at their feet. 

James asks a few questions. It hurts to hear the helpless optimism in his voice morph into hurt as you answer them, but you hold nothing back. Lily is quiet all the while. You can’t look either of them in the face. 

“I still have the recording at home if you want to get rid of it yourselves.” Shame chokes you. “I got rid of my notes. I haven’t figured out how to tell my boss I won’t be writing about this anymore, but I’m working on finding something else that might make him forget it if I’m lucky. I’m just—” you take a breath to keep your tone even “—so sorry that I lied to you. That we met that way.” 

“Could you lose your job for refusing to write something you were assigned to?” James asks. He sounds raw, like his vocal chords are rubbing up against something unpleasant. Hearing it hurts in your throat. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I was the one who pushed for the story, so it wasn’t an assignment. I don’t know if that’ll make things better or worse, but…” You shrug. James nibbles his cheek, looking caught between sympathy and upset. “You don’t need to worry about me,” you tell him quietly. 

James turns to Lily, and you work up the courage to look at her too. Green eyes bore into yours with a stoniness you’ve not seen before. It’s the sort of look that makes you suddenly aware that either she or James could rip out your throat with their teeth if they wanted to, and yet you’re still not afraid. 

“I thought you were curious about us because you were interested,” she says. 

“I am.” Your voice comes out more hurt than you mean for it to; Lily’s brow twinges like it hurts her, too. “I was…it was a different sort of interest at first, but that changed the first time I was here. I had lots of questions about the vampire thing, because I was new to it, but I also just wanted to know about you. Both of you.” 

Neither James nor Lily responds to that, and the tightness in your chest begins to suffocate. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” you say one last time, pushing down on the mattress to swing your legs over. 

James blocks you with a hand on your knee. “Don’t go,” he says. 

“Why?” 

“Because you’ll faint again before you get outside,” Lily answers sharply. James reaches for her, the soft darling from his lips enough to make your guts liquify with want and self-loathing. Lily lets him take her hand, something too awful to bear crossing her expression as he kisses her knuckles. She takes a breath. “You recorded every time we spoke?” 

“I stopped bringing the recorder with me after the second time,” you say again. “I was going to get rid of it, but I can give it to you instead if it’d make you more comfortable.” 

“Why did you come back?” 

You blink. “Sorry?” 

“If you had the quotes you needed to write your story,” she says, “why keep coming?” 

Somehow, it feels easier to lay bare your misdeeds than the motivations which underlie your underlying motivations. You haven’t really taken the time to parse them apart yourself. But you owe Lily and James full honesty. “I think I convinced myself I still needed some material, even though it felt wrong to record any more. I figured I’d just take notes in my head.” You force yourself to meet her eyes. “But, really, I just wanted to see you.” 

Lily holds your stare, and you can see the moment she registers you’re telling the truth. The set of her mouth softens. 

“I think,” says James, whose hand you realize is still on your knee, “if we’re going to keep at this, we need to be asking you more questions.” 

“That’s not your fault,” you admit. “I’ve been avoiding them.” 

“No more avoiding, then.” He leans forward, locking eyes with Lily. Whatever he sees in her expression has him crossing the rest of the distance to kiss your forehead. “We want to know you, too.” 

You back away enough to see him, then flinch when his hand cushions your skull before you can hit it on the headboard again. You look between James and Lily in bewilderment. “I lied to you,” you say, in case they’ve forgotten. 

“You told us about it.” Lily sounds tired, but some of the bite has left her voice. “It might take us a while to trust you again, but if you’re really not writing about us…” She waits for your nod, her lips slanting half-heartedly. “Then there’s no real harm done.” 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I have really loved getting to know you, but I don’t want you to think that every time I ask a question it’s with some ulterior motive.” 

“You?” James smiles. “The same busybody who interrogated us for weeks after she’d decided not to record anything? I don’t think you being curious has anything to do with your job, angel.” 

Returning his smile is an effort, but you do your best for him. “I’m not sure it ever did, really.” 

“No.” He shuffles up the bed to get his arms around you, giving you a squeeze. 

“Will you stay here tonight?” Lily asks you. 

You look at her cautiously. “Do you want that?” 

“It’d make me feel better not to send you off still wobbly.” She gives you that same look from earlier, like you’re a well-loved annoyance. “But also I do want you to. It’d be nice for us all to talk a while longer, yeah?” 

“I have questions,” James agrees. 

Regardless of the change in location, you all have a routine you’re starting to recognize. First Lily and James feed on you, then one of them (James, tonight) stays with you while you recover and the other goes to get something to eat (this is why the meetings kick off with a potluck, you’ve realized. Volunteer donors like you need food both before and after a feeding), and then you all talk for however long it takes you to leave. The first time, you’d been reeling so badly after discovering the truth of their secret you’d asked for a ride back as soon as you could stand, and the second time you’d fallen asleep until Lily had to wake you to bring you back. Tonight, you’re hoping for more time with them. 

“What’s she making?” you ask James after Lily has been gone for a while. 

“I think she’s doing her nan’s stew.” 

“Her nan’s?” 

He hums in confirmation. You’re a bit wary to ask how old Lily’s nan is, if she’s still around. You still don’t know how old Lily is. “She wants to impress you,” says James. 

You turn to see him. “Me?” 

James grins. No pointy teeth; just blunt brilliance. “Is that so hard to believe?” 

“Why would she want to impress me?” 

“Probably because she thinks you’re pretty.” 

“Lily does?” 

“Well, it’s not just her.” James watches you, his grin widening at whatever reaction shows itself on your face. He chuckles and pulls you closer to kiss your head. “Relax, angel. I can feel your blood pumping faster.” 

“Really?” you ask weakly. 

“Yeah, but only if I focus. Don’t think about it if you’d rather not. I’m not trying to stress you out.” 

“What are you doing to stress her out?” Lily asks, coming in with a tray of—James guessed it—stew and a bottle of red wine. She’s tied her red hair back in a neat chignon. Her eyes narrow on James suspiciously. “Don’t scare her off.” 

“I’m not!” James raises his hands guilelessly. His expression of angelic innocence is well-practiced, and Lily looks anything but fooled. 

“Is it okay to eat here?” you ask. Lily’s set the tray down in front of you on the bed, but you’re hesitant to pick up a spoon. Everything they have seems so nice. You’d hate to spill stew on these sheets that feel like silk or a pillow which may have cost a fortune. 

Lily only laughs. It’s a lovely, mellifluous sound, which without fail makes James smile triumphantly even if he isn’t the one who brought it about. “You’re fine,” she reassures you. “I promise you, there’s no mess you can make that James hasn’t done worse.” 

“What an awful thing to say.” James feigns offense. “I am extremely tidy.” 

“Your nose is growing.” 

“Oh, a Pinocchio joke. My wife is so refined.” 

Lily’s eyes are laughing, but it’s not until she sees you watching them that she lets her smile loose. “Sorry.” 

“No, it’s…” Cute, you want to say. “It’s nice. This is really good, by the way.” You take another spoonful of stew. “Thank you.” 

Color rushes to the apples of Lily’s cheeks. You try not to smile, though you do sympathize with her; after feeding, Lily’s skin is so reactive it affords her no emotional privacy. “I’m glad you like it.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

She looks surprised by the question. You’ve been almost nonstop asking things since you met, though in your defense you’ve tried to steer clear of anything too personal. They think you’re curious, and you are, but that’s not the whole of it. You left your tape recorder at home today; it’s begun to feel like a betrayal taking Lily and James’ words without telling them, and you’re sure you can rely on yourself to remember what they say accurately enough to paraphrase. 

“Of course,” Lily says. 

You look between her and James. “How long have you been together?” 

The pair exchanges a look. James’ smile is a slow-blooming, boyish thing. “Well, it took me a while to wear her down.” 

“Don’t be a prat.” Lily rolls her eyes at him. “You did not wear me down, you grew up.” 

“She was as stubborn then as she is now,” James says to you, “in case you were wondering. Took me nearly all of school to get her to look twice at me.” 

“Pulling girls’ hair is no way to flirt, James.” 

“Depends on the girl, I’ve heard. And anyway, I graduated to flowers and poetry soon enough.” 

“We were eleven,” Lily tells you, her fondness obvious despite the veneer of exasperation. “I couldn’t have cared less about boys then.” 

“A career woman,” James sighs, lovelorn. “Smartest girl in school. Prettiest, too, obviously.” 

You pull your knees up once you’ve finished your stew, setting your chin on them. “You two are sweet. So when did you finally get together?” 

“The last year of school,” James says proudly. “That makes it…one hundred and forty seven?” 

“One hundred and forty eight.” 

“One hundred and forty eight years since she gave me a chance,” he amends. “One hundred and forty five since we’ve been married.” 

You try to keep any reaction off your face. You’re not even sure if you’re surprised; based on the amount of black-and-white photos on display in their home, you’d guessed that James and Lily have been together for some time. You just didn’t have an estimate of how much, and now you do. “That’s lovely,” you say genuinely. “Is it…do you have any trouble going on dates with your…condition?” 

James chuckles. “There aren’t many dinners at fancy Italian restaurants.” 

You frown. “Why not?” 

“Not big fans of garlic.” 

“Oh.” You smile, sheepish. “Right. And I’ve just realized I don’t know if you can…well, does the sun bother you?” 

“We can go out in it,” Lily tells you. “It’s more of an instinct to be up at night that keeps us in during the day than anything else.” 

“We won’t burst into flames,” James adds.

“Lots of nice stargazing dates, then?” 

“Sometimes.” James’ thumb rubs a slow circle over the small of your back. When you sat forward to eat, his arm dropped from your shoulders, but he left it right there, slung loosely around your waist. Comfortable. It’s remarkable how comfortable you all are, with James sitting so close beside you and Lily by both of your feet, hardly out of an arm’s reach. “Why do you ask, lovely girl?” 

You shrug. “Just curious, I guess. You’ve been together so long, it seems like you must be experts at romance by now.” 

James grins and looks at Lily, who’s smiling back at him. They look ridiculously in love. Your heart throbs. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “I mean, I like to think I was always an expert in love—” 

“Get over yourself,” Lily says succinctly. 

“—but we still have things we have to figure out, from time to time. And everyone is different, you know. What works on one woman might not work on another.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask him. 

Lily answers for him, looking hesitant. “I think James means that we’ve only really had practice with each other,” she says. Holding your gaze, though her cheeks are deep pink. “Learning to be with someone else could be different.” 

There’s a strange, bouncy feeling in your gut. “Would you want to? Be with someone else?” 

“With the right person,” she murmurs, “yes.” 

You look between Lily and James, feeling overwhelmed but unable to tear your gaze from either of them. Your stomach does swoops. 

“Easy.” There’s laughter in James’ voice as he pulls you close again, resting his cheek atop your head. “Now who’s stressing her out?” he teases Lily. 

“It’s not fair,” you mumble. “You can hear my blood.” 

“I’m sorry.” Lily seems to mean it, all fondness and sincerity around the eyes. She sets a hand on your knee, and you flush to think of her hearing your heart pound harder because of it. “We’re supposed to be looking after you while you recover. Is there anything we can do to help you relax? Do you want to go back early?” 

You rub your lips together. “Do you want me to go?” 

She blinks. “No.” 

You nod. Slowly at first, then with more certainty. “I’d like to stay, then. If you’re alright with it.” 

Lily smiles, tentative. 

You nod, your eyes fluttering closed as Lily places a kiss further up your thigh. 

James strokes your waist. “Are you nervous?” 

You think about it. “A little,” you admit.

“But that’s not what’s really getting to you.” 

You open your eyes. James is watching you, lashes dark and long shadowing a soft look. You don’t shy from it, but you can’t appease him either. 

Lily braces her hands on your hips as she sits up. Your heart picks up a nervous beat at the insanity of being between—being looked at by, touched by—two so bewitching people. The feel of James’ hand moving over your flank, the memory of the weight of Lily’s thighs on your shoulders—it’s enough to set your blood thrumming loud enough that you’re sure they can hear. 

“You said you would let us take care of you,” Lily reminds you. Her face is flushed, lips plump red as she lowers them to press a kiss to your navel. “Stop repenting.” 

“Do you have a tape recorder hidden on you somewhere?” James teases. 

You exhale a laugh. “No, but I should have brought one. Imagine what I could write about this.” 

“Hm, should have thought of that before you came over. Too late now.” He strokes his thumb across your ribs, lowering his lips to yours for a slow, savoring kiss. “Do you want this?” he asks again. 

“Yes,” you breathe. 

Lily puts her lips to the plush stretch of skin beneath your navel. Her eyes hold yours. “Then have it.” 

Your breaths deepen as she kisses once more on your stomach, meandering over to the crease of your thigh before finding your center. You shiver at the brush of her lips over your folds, gentle and reverent. 

James cups your breast in his hand. You’ve noticed him staring, at both yours and Lily’s, each like they were as novel and as well-loved as the other’s. You arch into his touch and he takes the encouragement, setting his mouth to the bud of your nipple. 

“So perfect,” he mumbles, rapt. “Look at you.” 

His teeth scrape a bit when he speaks. You know the feel of James’ teeth, of Lily’s, but the harmless prick of them on your skin now shocks you. Your gasp becomes a moan. 

“There you are,” James praises, as he dedicates himself to mapping every inch of your chest, “lovely girl.” 

James talks to you. He calls you sweet names, showers you with compliments, checks in and waits patiently for you to reply good or yes, please. Lily is less vocal, but she makes her feelings known in other ways. A gasp from you sends her hand coasting up your thigh, soothing; an involuntary twitch of your hips brings a pleased sigh which fans over your center. They take care of you just as they promised to, better and slower and kinder than you would have allowed yourself, working you loose and then winding you up tight bit by careful bit. 

When your eyes are damp and your chest falls in uncontrolled pants, James takes your hand. You squeeze his fingers desperately. “Breathe,” he chuckles as Lily’s touch caresses your hip. “We’ve got you. Just let go, can you do that for us?” 

It takes a minute more, a minute in which you’re certain the feel of Lily’s mouth around your clit will drive you to madness, but then you tumble over the edge. 

Light fractures across your vision. James is there to catch you, his hands solid and his lips gentle where they press to your jaw. Lily keeps you right where you are, working you through it until you’re reaching downward blindly and James tells her that you’ve had enough. 

You’re still floundering, for breath, for awareness, when she crawls up to lay next to you. James leans toward her for a kiss, and to watch it is to feel the dizzy sensation that you must be caught in some too-good dream. 

He hums as their lips part. “I want to do that next time.” 

It takes you a handful of moments to parse his meaning. You roll into Lily’s front with a sigh. “Too tired.” 

James laughs. “I didn’t say it’d be tonight, did I?”

You make a feeble sound of acknowledgement. “Thank you.” 

It’s not for the reprieve, and both of them know it. Lily pets your hair. “Don’t thank us,” she tells you. “This is what we do for each other. It’s not a favor if you…if you care about one another.” 

You hum, kissing her shoulder.  

“It’s sort of nice to be looked after, isn’t it?” James teases you.