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st_aurafinaTitle: Nocturne
Fandom: Anita Blake
Rating: PG
Words: 607
Characters/Pairings: Anita/Asher/Jean-Claude
Summary: Two predators and a bottle of wine: Anita doesn't do things by halves.
They usually find themselves in bed towards morning, the three of them cranky and smarting from the wounds of the night. Tonight, it's Jean-Claude who has bickered with both of them, tense from the pressures of vampire politics. Now he is propped on the edge of the bed, back hunched and mood ruffled, like a cat in the rain. He's still idly sniping at Asher sitting behind him. Asher nods attentively but says nothing as he peels Jean-Claude out of his shirt.
On the other side of the room, Anita takes the stopper from the decanter. The two vampires look in her direction, senses keyed in to the complexity of tannins and sugars that is the difference between grapes and wine. She smiles at them, tilting the bottle towards the glass, teasing them with anticipation. Finally, she lets gravity win, and wine swirls around the bell of the glass. She can't detect it, except by their reaction, but she knows she has flooded the room with volatile fragrance.
Jean-Claude takes a deep, unnecessary breath, inhaling as he would have done while he lived. He may not taste the wine yet, not until it crosses Anita's tongue, but there is enough in a breath to remind him he has not lost this pleasure to time. Tension falls away from him: Anita can see it, as his jaw softens and his hands go still.
Asher slides one hand into Jean-Claude's curls, and pulls him close against his chest, kissing his neck and spreading fingers across Jean-Claude's belly. Anita carries her glass to them, the stem cold and delicate between her fingers. She kneels on the bed before them both, the wine glass cupped between her hands.
The two of them are so beautiful: Jean-Claude reclining on Asher's chest, golden hair tangled in black, blue eyes, pale skin with the faintest blush courtesy of someone else's blood. Anita is one of few privileged or mad enough to see such a thing. She wonders if Da Vinci or his contemporaries have shared this sight. This is a palette worthy of the masters.
"Are we just to look at the wine, petite?" Jean-Claude says, mock-mournfully. "It is lovely, and you are lovely, and I should very much like to taste both before the sun returns."
Asher laughs softly and kisses his ear. "She is too cruel," he says. "She will make you beg first."
"Wouldn't be the first time," says Anita. "He's very pretty on his knees."
"Oh, this I know," says Asher, at Jean-Claude's neck. He must be using his teeth, because Jean-Claude arches against him with a hiss.
Anita moves in closer, so that Jean-Claude is trapped between her and Asher. She's sitting astride Jean-Claude's legs, and the chill of his skin brings gooseflesh to hers. He and Asher have both fed, so neither of them are icy cold, but in comparison, the blood rushing around Anita's body makes her glow with warmth. Her, and the wine, red and warm and close. She swirls the glass one more time, and Jean-Claude watches intently, waiting for sensation to rush through their bond, to taste the wine and feel the sensation of it warm in her belly. He and Asher are poised like tigers, languid in their posture but tracking their prey and ready to lunge.
Asher is wrong. Anita does not intend to be cruel, but to hold two creatures so powerful, to have them hanging on her every breath, is exhilarating.
She swirls the wine, and finally takes a sip. Jean-Claude gasps at the sensation, then his hands are on her, and all the squabbles of the night are forgotten.
Fandom: Anita Blake
Rating: PG
Words: 607
Characters/Pairings: Anita/Asher/Jean-Claude
Summary: Two predators and a bottle of wine: Anita doesn't do things by halves.
They usually find themselves in bed towards morning, the three of them cranky and smarting from the wounds of the night. Tonight, it's Jean-Claude who has bickered with both of them, tense from the pressures of vampire politics. Now he is propped on the edge of the bed, back hunched and mood ruffled, like a cat in the rain. He's still idly sniping at Asher sitting behind him. Asher nods attentively but says nothing as he peels Jean-Claude out of his shirt.
On the other side of the room, Anita takes the stopper from the decanter. The two vampires look in her direction, senses keyed in to the complexity of tannins and sugars that is the difference between grapes and wine. She smiles at them, tilting the bottle towards the glass, teasing them with anticipation. Finally, she lets gravity win, and wine swirls around the bell of the glass. She can't detect it, except by their reaction, but she knows she has flooded the room with volatile fragrance.
Jean-Claude takes a deep, unnecessary breath, inhaling as he would have done while he lived. He may not taste the wine yet, not until it crosses Anita's tongue, but there is enough in a breath to remind him he has not lost this pleasure to time. Tension falls away from him: Anita can see it, as his jaw softens and his hands go still.
Asher slides one hand into Jean-Claude's curls, and pulls him close against his chest, kissing his neck and spreading fingers across Jean-Claude's belly. Anita carries her glass to them, the stem cold and delicate between her fingers. She kneels on the bed before them both, the wine glass cupped between her hands.
The two of them are so beautiful: Jean-Claude reclining on Asher's chest, golden hair tangled in black, blue eyes, pale skin with the faintest blush courtesy of someone else's blood. Anita is one of few privileged or mad enough to see such a thing. She wonders if Da Vinci or his contemporaries have shared this sight. This is a palette worthy of the masters.
"Are we just to look at the wine, petite?" Jean-Claude says, mock-mournfully. "It is lovely, and you are lovely, and I should very much like to taste both before the sun returns."
Asher laughs softly and kisses his ear. "She is too cruel," he says. "She will make you beg first."
"Wouldn't be the first time," says Anita. "He's very pretty on his knees."
"Oh, this I know," says Asher, at Jean-Claude's neck. He must be using his teeth, because Jean-Claude arches against him with a hiss.
Anita moves in closer, so that Jean-Claude is trapped between her and Asher. She's sitting astride Jean-Claude's legs, and the chill of his skin brings gooseflesh to hers. He and Asher have both fed, so neither of them are icy cold, but in comparison, the blood rushing around Anita's body makes her glow with warmth. Her, and the wine, red and warm and close. She swirls the glass one more time, and Jean-Claude watches intently, waiting for sensation to rush through their bond, to taste the wine and feel the sensation of it warm in her belly. He and Asher are poised like tigers, languid in their posture but tracking their prey and ready to lunge.
Asher is wrong. Anita does not intend to be cruel, but to hold two creatures so powerful, to have them hanging on her every breath, is exhilarating.
She swirls the wine, and finally takes a sip. Jean-Claude gasps at the sensation, then his hands are on her, and all the squabbles of the night are forgotten.