Chapter 9 #2
Aster nodded without even thinking of it, exposing more of her neck.
Despite how much she was enjoying it, she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could physically take—vampires had a lot of blood, much more than humans—but Sylvia was greedy.
And they didn’t want to cross that invisible line. No, that would be bad, very bad—
“No,” Sylvia moaned. “Not that. Need more here, I—”
Sylvia’s hips shuddered down again on her leg, and Aster slowly understood.
Oh.
A smarter, wiser, saner version of herself would have understood that Sylvia was in a state, and thus didn’t really know what she wanted, but Aster wasn’t any of those things at the moment.
So, with a whimper, she pushed her own leg up, into Sylvia’s center, and the other woman immediately rewarded the behavior—groaning into her neck and biting deeper, her hips sliding against Aster’s again and again.
“Can’t— can’t stop,” Sylvia whimpered. “You taste—”
Even through the soft material of her pants, Aster could feel her. Hot, warm, wet.
“Oh my god,” Aster moaned.
“Baby, I–” And there it was again; that nickname. It somehow did more to her than even Sylvia’s fangs in that moment. “I’m— I can’t fucking control myself—”
“It’s okay,” Aster whispered into her hair, reaching around Sylvia’s waist to push her harder down into her—giving her more. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Please don’t stop. Please.
Aster’s vision was going fuzzy. Her hearing became less and less sharp, like she was zipping through a tunnel. All she could feel was Sylvia rutting desperately against her thigh; Sylvia’s fangs pulsing desperately in her neck; the little whimpers leaving Sylvia’s throat.
Sylvia; Sylvia; Sylvia.
But then, like a carriage slowing to a halt, Sylvia began to slow down. She took a deep breath in, and her fangs exited Aster’s neck.
When Aster saw her face again, hovering and panting a few centimeters away, it was a version of Sylvia she’d only ever seen once before—briefly, when they first met, when Sylvia opened the massive metal door to Maroven House, and saw Aster, a stranger dressed in black, a dagger tucked into her dress.
She had assumed Aster was a guest of Catrina’s.
Aster hadn’t corrected her, it would have blown her cover.
So she let Sylvia believe that was who she was, until later that night.
And Sylvia had looked scared.
Sylvia had never looked scared since then. Not around anyone. Not around Aster.
Aster’s entire body froze. The worst case scenario spun like a dreidel in her mind.
Sylvia had got lost in it and done something she regretted—Aster had crossed a boundary, forced Sylvia into a position she didn’t want to be in—Sylvia was disgusted by her now, she’d never look at her the same, they wouldn’t speak for centuries—Sylvia thought she was a monster.
Sylvia’s hand wrapped tenderly around Aster’s face.
“I could hear your heartbeat slowing down,” Sylvia said, and she sounded terrified. “You’ve lost too much blood. Fuck—what was I thinking? Quick, just, take mine—”
Wait.
She was scared… for me?
Aster’s heart hammered in her chest.
Sylvia had been so worried about her that she’d pulled herself out of—that—in a split second? Aster had experienced what it felt like to bite now—it was not something you could easily tear yourself away from. It was like a magnet binding to a refrigerator door.
Aster barely had a second to think before Sylvia was lowering herself down to her mouth.
And it was only when Sylvia’s shoulder—bare and pretty and pale as the moon—was being presented to her on a silver platter did she realize just how hungry she was.
She was hungry in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time—hungry to the point where her vision was fading around the edges.
Greying out. She knew that if she drank now, it would be a Blackout for sure.
“No,” Aster said weakly. Very weakly, because all she wanted to do was drink from Sylvia—press herself against Sylvia’s leg and let go. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop if I do it right now. I’m too hungry.”
“I don’t care.”
Aster was scared of how certain Sylvia sounded. As if she truly wouldn’t mind if Aster drank her to death.
“Okay. But I do,” Aster laughed weakly. “It’s ok. Can you just—” She groaned, her head had begun to hammer. She was so thirsty. “Can you grab me a few of the blood bags?”
Reluctantly, Sylvia pulled back. Reluctantly. As if she’d really wanted Aster to drink her dry. What the fuck is wrong with her? Aster paused, then corrected herself. What the fuck is wrong with both of us? She was feeling insane. Rightfully so, actually.
Sylvia had nearly—
Fuck.
Sylvia had nearly…
Aster’s mind replayed the last five minutes, not completely believing that they were real.
Had they been about to have sex?
You *were* having sex.
No we weren’t. It was just a reaction to the blood.
Yes, just like sex is a reaction to being horny.
Shut the fuck up.
“Here.”
Sylvia had poured five bags of blood into a giant Stanley cup.
The sight of it made Aster snort. It was a SpongeBob Stanley cup—decorated with about six hundred different Patrick Stars.
Aster had gotten it as a gag gift for Sylvia’s last birthday—(they had so many birthdays between them, every sixth one they celebrated purely as a joke)—and Sylvia had thought it was so ugly she threatened to use it as a murder weapon. But naturally, it grew on her.
She pushed it into Aster’s chest gently, and Aster gave her a thankful smile in return. She drank the whole entire thing, a testament to just how much blood she’d lost.
Sylvia watched her brazenly the entire time, staring with a singular focus that Aster had never seen her give almost anything.
It made Aster’s heart stutter again, in an entirely new way than before.
And—oh.
This might be more trouble than Aster thought.