daywalkingblade | First Date (Tag M-)

First Date (Tag M-)

The black muscle car rumbled into the gravel parking lot of what looked to be a bar/saloon in the middle of nowhere, upstate New York. The place was south of Rochester by about forty miles. Above the entrance, a tacky red neon sign read "The Roadhouse". There was no one hanging around outside, but thee were several cars and motorcycles. It was pretty quiet for what one might expect of a bar, at least from the outside. As the car pulled to a stop, Blade glanced at his passenger. This was going to be...interesting. She was too pretty and far to classy for a place like this. Hell, she was probably too stunningly beautiful to be in this car with someone as rough around the edges as Blade. But here they were. People would notice as they went into the bar, but nobody would say anything. Of that fact at least, Blade was certain.

"We're here. Stay close, and order whatever you want. The food's actually pretty good, and the drinks are better. Once I get some information on where to find some suckheads, we'll be out." He flashed a little bit of a toothy grin. "Guess you could say this is the closest to a "date" portion of this outing as we'll get."

They both pushed their doors open and stood up out of the car. The parking lot remained silent. Hunters and mercenaries were probably inside drinking quietly, enjoying a bit of peace. There were the occasional loud, rowdy drinkers - usually the mercs - but most just wanted a place to rest and get information before the next big job. Also, most didn't trust the night enough to be drunk out in it. Blade knew the bartender inside. A good woman by the name of Ellen who really knew her shit. It was why he liked coming here. Of course, he knew the bartenders in most of the Roadhouses around the country. It was a bit of a chain, but not in the corporate sense. When a place was named "The Roadhouse" in some back country nowhere, it was a kind of secret sign to all hunters and some mercenaries that this was a safe haven and a good place to exchange information and get jobs. They were also neutral zones. Any who dared cause any trouble in these kinds of places was blacklisted, and that was as good as being fired in this line of work. In some cases, it was a death sentence because it also meant no assistance in any job ever again.

"You ready?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's good to be out of the house that's been haunted for too long. She has spent so very little time out of the city since she woke up, wrapping the very toxicity and danger of a city built of steel and iron around herself. The poison of it helps suppress the least human parts of herself which have already come to bear with this hunt in more than one way. Walking through the farmland brings out something else until she's almost able to predict the appearance of the empty field.

His eyes are remarkable when he actually takes the shades off. Expressive, which could very easily explain the other part of why he kept them hidden. It would be difficult to keep the stone look up between his eyes and his surprisingly mobile mouth. Of course, his smile just added to the mystique. And he called her beautiful.

Silver knives in sheathes make their own little pile as he strips his weapons and armor. The softer gleam of old world silver is barely visible between the leather wrapped handles and sheaths, but part of her wondered if there wasn't another reason he wore those leather gloves between all his silver weapons. Besides, she had no plans to have him find one of her knives while his mind should be on other things.

M- steps closer to him, realizing this is the first time she's seen Blade anything other than armed to the teeth. There's a kind of vulnerability to that, without making him any less dangerous. Which was good, because they both knew she was never actually unarmed as long as she was awake. He had just seen a demonstration for himself. Neither was looking to become something. Just to let enough of their guard down to be touched by someone else. So she peels her gloves off, letting them fall with the knives as she reaches for him.

Blade steps forward to meet her, and there in the middle of the soft grass under an almost new moon they embrace again. Before their kiss, he breathes in deeply of her scent now that it isn't mingled with undeath. The ash had fallen away in the walk, but she still looked beautifully disheveled from the fighting. A warrior princess. Part of him hesitated, uncertain of if he was worthy of a woman such as her. She had been a queen. He was but a warrior, and a solitary one at that. Blade was no knight. There were fairy tales about trysts like this, but everyone knew that fairy tales weren't real. Or were they?

The hesitation was brief, and he broke it by pulling her more fully against him than before and kissing her with heat and passion. The man who was always in absolute control stopped thinking and let instinct take over. Who cared if she used to be a queen? Who cared that he'd always been obsessed with preserving humanity, and now he fell for a woman that wasn't human? Who cared how different they could be, or how similar they actually were, two people who groped for humanity even as something inside each of them denied them it? For the moment, he could just be, be himself, and be with her.

The moment once again lasted forever and no time at all. Would that it could last forever, but there reached that point where they would either go further or nowhere at all. He broke the kiss, but could not resist peppering her face with many smaller kisses before resting his forehead against hers.

"Are we doing this? Do you want to?"

Whatever reason he has for pausing is a bad reason, but she doesn't bring it up. M-'s recent romantic ventures might have been more complicated that a soap opera about Greek gods, but she at least had them. Blade has been alone in most ways for a long time, if not most of his life. A moment to catch himself makes sense and is more than made up for when he closes the distance.

This embrace was nothing about art and everything about finding what they both needed in the moment. She didn't miss her name because she didn't need it alone with Blade under the open sky. M- was a part of the night, a part of the approaching winter, and entirely a woman in the arms of a suitor she desired. And then there's a break and a question. Two questions.

She looks up at him, pupils dilated, lips slightly bruised. "I want you very much. Do you?"

His eyes met hers, and he thought about the question for a moment. Really, he knew the answer even before she asked it, but it was a question that deserved consideration. It was interesting that brown eyes could be softer than most, and his were no exception - a stark contrast from the hard man they belonged to. There was no doubt that he wanted her right here, right now. Nothing was complicated about this. Nothing should be.

With a brief nod, he pulled off his t-shirt and flicked it to the ground. His torso was well muscled and not as scarred as one might think from a lifetime of fighting. It was the regenerative ability he had from his vampiric blood. There were a few scars, sure, from when he had been unable to get to his serum or to any blood quickly enough to heal cleanly.

In further wordless answer to her, he stepped forward and slid his hands up under her shirt. The feel of her skin against his was amazing. It had been too long since he'd held a woman, felt her move against him. For several moments, he just let his hands roam up her back and down along her sides. It was cool, and pleasant. Instinct pulled him closer to her again. She was of the night, and the night was in him. After those moments of just feeling her, he started to slide her shirt up and over her head, his fingers deftly unclasping her bra as they went over that part.

"Yeah. I do."

She runs her hands over the expanse of exposed skin before the shirt even hits the ground. The heat of his body against her skin draws her closer as her eyes travel over the few scars that lasted before settling back on his gaze. Her gazes is steady even as she catches her lower lip lightly in her teeth as his hands find her skin.

When his hands move up, it's a mercy that saves her from the horrible tenderness and desire in the previous moment of still intimacy. M- helps him remove the shirt and bra, shaking her hair free of the shirt's collar and it's own band. Her hair spills over her shoulders but not enough to conceal her from him in the pale moonlight. She seems almost too real in this place, and certainly more so as she pushes what remains of her clothing down her hips.

The vulnerability she offers him with the next kiss has nothing to do with her nudity and everything to do with her desire. M- is not a virgin, but does that count when she can't remember? His is the first bare skin she remembers pressed against hers, and if her body comes with the instincts and ability, there's every difference between that and this moment of reaching for Blade.

"I'm glad."

Not being one to waste time, especially with the awkward things, Blade quickly undoes his boots and kicks them off as she pushes the rest of her clothing down her hips. It takes him a few seconds longer than her, but he pushes his own pants down. Clothing in this place and this moment is just in the way.

When she next kisses him, there is absolutely nothing between them. His skin presses against hers, and his arousal is separated from her only by a moment. It's a moment that he doesn't take yet, however. If she was married in a previous life, then she isn't a physical virgin, but virginity is a mindset as much as anything else. She comes to him as new as she can be, and he recognizes that vulnerability. And what does he have to offer? He's not exactly a virgin, but it's been a long time. No, what he has to offer is a protection of that vulnerability, because he is a protector.

As they kiss, he lays her down gently, oh so gently, onto the soft grass. His hands explore her body, which is at once tender and soft and yet hard enough underneath to be the huntress he saw before. Suddenly, she is his primary and his only concern. Her needs, her wants, her desires, he wants to meet all of them. The woman without a name or a past is tonight his present, and he will make sure that her present is her only concern right now. She deserves that much and more, but this is all he has to give. He hopes that it is enough.

She follows him down to the grass, heart beating faster as the warrior becomes so careful with her. The ground is still warm from the sun, and more comfortable than she would have guessed as his weight settles over her. His hands elicit soft sounds and shifts as M- tries to extend the touches that stir up more need and emotion. He seems to respond instinctively, and in turn encourages her hands to do the same.

Blade is a warrior with a warrior's body, muscle and strength with just enough flexibility to balance out to an impressive masculine beauty. Her hands trace scars like they are precious things, reminders of what he is capable of surviving. Dim light or no, there can be no doubt she sees him as she kisses softly along his shoulder or up to catch his mouth. Her senses are full of him, rendering the present as a simple, needful thing. Tonight is all about the next brush of skin and teasing touch and rising fervor that will culminate in something beautiful.

She knows it.

Even while on the ground, he is able to hold her and be gentle with her. His body is a solid 230 pounds of muscle, but there is a warrior's grace about it. He knows how to use that weight, and how to make it light when it needs to be. When she traces his scars, he looks down at them and back at her. There is no real expression, as his scars don't mean much to him one way or the other, but when seen through her eyes they are of sudden importance. When she kisses him and touches him in the right places, he sighs out with little moans of pleasure.

After a little while, he leans back and braces himself on his arms to look down at her. She sees him, and he sees her. His eyes are full of adoration and appreciation of her. How anyone could deny her is beyond him, but that is all to his benefit.

"Let's start slow." He smiled at her softly, and it's a fuller smile than she's probably seen yet.

He begins to kiss his way down her body, nipping here, licking there, sucking where appropriate. As he goes, he takes his time, letter her just bask in the pleasure. When he reaches her center, that little flash of red, he looks up at her and meets her eyes for a moment. In a way, it's a moment of truth and trust between them, and he knows it. Then he lowers and begins to work with that tongue, teasing her and chasing her pleasure and the eventual first sweet release.

What M- sees in Blade's eyes eases an ache that both does and doesn't belong to her. How deep are injuries that chase a person from one life to the next? So lasting she doesn't even realize it was there until the tension eases. The hunter may only have this moment to give, but this moment is exactly what she needs. It lights up her eyes that catch the moonlight even when he should shadow them. Love may be a long and complicated thing, but the affection here is real and sweet in its simplicity.

"All right," she answers, savoring his smile and trusting his instincts.

The hint of the sharpness of his teeth, the warm and wet of his mouth have her moaning with gentle urgency long before her makes his way down between her legs. Her inherited body is responsive, and she is grateful that he is willing to explore it. Glad for the moments when she can reach and touch him until he pauses to catch her gaze. Her breath catches in her throat for a moment before coming out in a low moan.

At first she can hardly move or speak, then her body tenses and relaxes, soft murmurs of his name on her tongue to encourage him when the touch is just right. His earlier touch help him in the pursuit of her pleasure, making it something that she feels build like waves until she almost drowns in the pleasure in gasps and moans.

Even before he ever gets to the center of her womanhood, he is enjoying the taste of her. There is a soft but definite taste to her skin that he relishes. Every kiss, lick, and bite brings that out. The moans that he elicits from her are an added bonus, arousing him all the more for her. But it's the taste below that really does it for him. Some might say that pleasuring her first like this was selfless, but that's not true. Feeling, hearing, and tasting her pleasure are all such amazing things that he feels it almost selfish.

He can feel her building, building...and he draws it out for as long as he can. The longer you make the climb, the higher this particular mountain. Just because he hadn't done this in a while didn't mean that he was out of practice. His tongue goes deep, then comes out to circle around the most sensitive spot. There he sucks a little until it is firmer, he blows, and he moves back down. Each time he does it, her gasps and moans become more intense until finally, her thighs claps around his head and he rides her waves, listening to the cries that fill the quiet night.

When she is recovering, he sits back and smiles at her, licking the last of the taste of her from around his mouth. "How was your new first there? Kinda glad I get to participate in this part of your learning who you are." He lifted an eyebrow over his smile. "Learn anything interesting?"

The first thing M- truly registers as she starts focusing on the world outside of her own body is the little flicker of Blade's tongue over his lips. It sends a pleasant thrill through her that's a much subtler echo of the feeling that still sends gentle ripples through her. The next is the faintest glimmer a of a rime already melting in a ring around the edge of the clearing. Oh. Well. That was something to remember in the future.

She focuses on his face for now, the smile where he is so obviously pleased with himself but also honestly pleased. Desire stirs immediately, as if she weren't still panting gently to catch her breath. Of course, that hunger is every bit as much about wanting to see him in such a state as getting more satisfaction for herself.

She shifts her weight forward so she can slick over to him, looking for all the world like a cat about to pounce. "It was exquisite. And I find that I am a greedy thing. My own pleasure is not enough to slow me for long. Not when I still want yours."

She installs herself in his lap, arms draping over his shoulders so she can take her time. M- claims his mouth with utter confidence and tenderness. Entirely aware of how their bare bodies fit, the kiss is both tease and entirely designed to serve it's own purpose.

"You do recover fast..."

If he noticed the flash freezing of the area outside the clearing, he didn't say anything. He honestly wasn't paying attention to that, but if he was it would be one hell of a boost to the ego. Even if that happened every time, it still communicated a kind of intensity of orgasm that was intoxicating. Maybe he'd notice later, but for now his attention was taken up by her shifting her position to over top of him. Just like that, the tables have turned, and he grins up at her.

"A greedy thing, hmm? Greedy and giving, I see. Nice."

His arms slide around her waist and he returns her kiss, holding her body to his. He is so very aroused for her, but it's her turn to tease him. His moans of need for her are soft and deep, but they are the only voice he gives to his request for her to take him. He needs her, but he has her. His hands twine up her back, reveling in just the feel of her again. It's almost hard to believe that this is real, but there she is, almost hyper-real as the soft moonlight highlights her over him.

"Only name I'll have for you though will be my yells of that pleasure you want from me," he half pants, "Unless there's something you want to be called, just by me, just for tonight?"

"Fast enough."

It would be impossible for her to doubt exactly what those moans mean, and she has no intention of ignoring them. Only reveling in his closeness first. His need pressed against her continues to ask rather than demand as his hands cause her to arch into their path, hair falling back away from her face. Yes, she needs him, too. Just a little more. The right trigger. Like his question.

What is a name if it cannot be given or taken or used? Nothing and everything. A name, then, for him and for her. She brushes her lips against his ear gently. "Maeve." A deep shudder runs through her after she says the word. There is no telltale little flare that says she's lying when she gives him the name. Only the knowledge that it is true.

As she leans over him, her body shifts against his comfortably, so comfortably that he would normally be unable to resist writhing in pleasure and need underneath her. He feels the soft press of hairs below and then her full chest brushing against his own and pressing down there as she leans ever closer. Something in him senses the importance of this moment, though. Perhaps it is in her gaze, or in the way she leans in close to whisper, or perhaps the very night holds its breath as it alone along with Blade bears witness to this naming.

When she whispers it into his ear, a deep warm shudder passes through him. It is almost electric, touching every pleasure center he has. It isn't an orgasm, but it's damn close. There is power in a name, and even more in a naming. He'd always wondered what Strange meant by that -- hell, he'd always been just a hair away from thinking Strange was full of shit there, but Strange was never full of shit -- but now he knew. He felt it. And he felt special to have been there for it.

"Maeve," he breathed.

And who was he? A man who spurned his birth name in favor of the name of a weapon. He identified by one name but was given another. Oh yes, they made quite the pair in the pale moonlight. He dropped his head back to look her in the eyes again, and simply whispered her name one more time.

"Maeve."

Each time he says her name it's like being touched. No, touched is the wrong word. It isn't intimate enough and too physical. This is different, raw with the newness, but utterly necessary because of that. Is this what everyone feels when their name is spoken? No, of course not. Names have power, yes, but whatever she is makes them so much more. How else would she find that word, that name, fit so well? M- may be what she uses for others for the moment, but Maeve is hers as much as Mab belonged to the woman she was before. New but still the same.

"Blade," she answers, so close to him it is almost a kiss. The power is there in the name he gave her, lesser than before, but she is sure that for a moment he will feel something like that stroking.

With very little effort and shift of her weight, she offers him entrance. There is so little to be afraid of in the increased intimacy provided by the slow roll of her hips that has him inside of her compared to the naming, it seems only natural. There is perhaps a mercy in the difference between the body and the mind, for the action is entirely pleasurable and without pain.

"Blade," she breathes with the next roll of her hips, going slow as he suggested. The fact they are both built so clearly to be capable of a more athletic performance is clear, but she left the need to show off in the farmhouse. They'll have more time to try to find out what else her body remembers soon enough.

His name on her lips sends another warm, delicious shiver down his spine. Somehow, he hasn't ever heard quite that much power in his chosen name. He feels as though she speaks directly to the innermost parts of his being, as if she both addresses and even to some degree claims him with that name. On her lips, his name is almost a different language, a mark that is unique only to him. Actually, he has felt some power in his name before, but only in the fear it could invoke. He had worked for that, but this...she gave him this.

"Oooooh...."

It's all he can vocalize as she finally slips down over him. Being inside her is everything he had dared not imagine before he had seen her in action, and more. There is something primal in being so connected, more primal than a name even and yet connected. Otherwise why would people cry out names in the height of passion? Something about her brought out a poetic side to his thoughts that he didn't know he had, but that was all right. There was no image here to maintain other than the one that would keep her in his arms for as long as possible.

His hands slid down to her buttocks and he held them, helping her move along his length. The moans shift to a few low growls as he claims her, she claims him, and he works to control himself. Slow, long, and steady. It is not because she is a fragile thing - she is anything but - but because this is a moment deserving of absolute respect. This is Maeve's virginal night in more ways than one, and she has given it to him. That is awe inspiring, and it shows in his eyes as he looks up at her before beginning to kiss her chest.

She might note that despite his licks, kisses, and nips, despite the fact that he is somewhat more at peace with what he is around her, never once do the fangs come out. There is a line, and giving in to what is vampiric in him crosses that line.

There are moments and ways to set magic. Rituals for the people who function under the need, and acts for those with a wilder magic. Sex is one of those acts, and while the list is long, it's one of the least destructive when used with good intent. Tonight, with the naming, there's no doubt that is a part of making it real. Her name will stick, and they will both be able to walk away no more bound by the magic of the naming than by what their emotions leave them to. She is not a succubus, nor is she any of the fae equivalents. Freely given, freely taken.

The sense of coiled muscle and barely contained control is far more intoxicating than the scrape of his fangs against her skin ever could be. Tonight is not a night for blood,and it is his choice to be careful and slow that is so sharply sweet she can't help but gasp like laughter, a very different sound from what she made during the fight. Every movement of her hips in his hands, her legs curled around him for leverage, her hand that range over his skin, invites him in and welcomes him to the next touch. She offers no threat to him.

The very fact of her head falling back, drawing all their hair over her shoulders and exposing all the skin from her throat to her breasts to him as he kisses down is an act of trust. The way he rewards her skin has her moving more deeply against him with just he barest hint of increased speed. Enough to make the friction where their bodies join sing along her nerves. Muscles she's never quite had cause to use before play over his body, tightening and responding to her instincts, surprising her with the ease of response.

"Oh keep doing that please."

Her tinkling gasps that are like laughter are quite possibly the most beautiful thing he has ever heard. The beautiful sounds are highlighted even further by a life of facing down the ugly. To know beauty, now, was very nearly like a blind man suddenly being able to see. Or rather, to accept that beauty as something he could enjoy was like that. Certainly he'd seen beauty in the world before, but that had never been his world. Right here, right now, this was.

"Maeve..." It was just a pleasurable name to say. It was even more fun to repeat in time with the rhythm that they set.

Of course, that is interspersed by his moaning and moving under her as he thrusts deeper up into her, feeling those muscles contract and move around him. His hands sometimes slide further up her back, and his short nails scratch that pale white skin as their lovemaking flares in intensity here and there. It is never enough to break skin or draw blood, just enough for her him to communicate the effect she's having on him.

"Maeve, Maeve, beautiful Maeve..." He reaches up to tuck some hair that has come loose behind her ear and then he leans up to kiss her. The kiss is tender and loving even as there is fire below.

She doesn't quite make the sound again, detouring as she finds line of his shoulder with her mouth, kissing and nibbling in equal measure until she reaches his neck. There, she simple nuzzles, letting her chilled breath caress his skin. She might have stayed there, but he says her name, and gets another gasping laugh as it sends a sprawling bolt of sensation through parts of her that are anything but physical and all too real. Her hands tighten against his skin, pressing her chest to his so that her might almost feel the rapid beat of her heart beneath her breasts.

"Blade!" Soft and carrying, her exclamation is about all she can manage before the kiss. The repetition of her name is utterly dizzying and narcotic. His lips, the taste of him on her tongue, his smell and touch all hep to steady her so she can offer him all she has to give for the moment. Her name, affection, and desire range through the light brushes of her hands over his chest to the every careful movement below.

The kiss is messy and passionate, the kind of thing that has no forethought or planning. It is just another physical expression, another way to be that much closer to her. He feels the life in her as her body presses against his, and he revels in it. Perhaps she too can feel how alive he feels in the beat of his heart and the movement of his body against hers. It is more alive than he has felt in, well, in ever. He is happy.

His motions below begin to grow more erratic. Slowly, bit by bit, the control of a man who values control above all else begins to unravel. He keeps up a rhythm, but he has slid his hands downward again and he his thrusting up and pushing her body over him with increasing intensity and speed. So far, he has been telling himself that he will release after she does, that he will put the needs of this woman that he and he alone now knows as Maeve above his own, and that is the last thread of control he will hold onto.

"Yes, yes, Maeve, oh Maeve, yes..." His head lolls back from the kiss for just a moment, his teeth catching her lower lip in a soft nip that releases as his head drops further from hers. Then he is up again and kissing along her shoulder with a fever of lust and infatuation.

The increasing rhythm of his hips does wonders for her. Maeve would be scrambling for more of him if he weren't so good at giving it to her on his own. It would be so easy to call what comes over her an animal abandon, but it's the most human thing in the world to give over to the need and want of the flesh with someone you care for. Perhaps human is the wrong word, but it will have to try encompasses that shared drive for inhuman and variously human things to feel connection and satisfaction.

She draws him into herself over and over again as his mouth offers her skin so many sensation, before she feels that beautiful moment of culmination. She can't gather enough to yell his name, but "Blade" tumbles breathlessly from her mouth with a depth of power that she couldn't manage if she tried to. Only here, only now, lost in a moment where her conscious mind can't interfere can she spend it and the burst of power that has them surrounded by a fairy ring of ice as Maeve collapses against him, holding him tightly through the shuddering waves that was through her.

The moment that he has been striving for happens. He almost can't focus on looking up at her through the frame of her hair and the stars in the sky above her. Almost. But he knows that this is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen and will likely ever see. He watches her face as the waves of her pleasure wash over it before she crumples against him, holding on tightly. He holds her to him in turn, whispering his affections of her in her ear as he nibbles at it.

And then his control is swept out from under him by her own loss of it. He gasps, his eyes going wide. At first, it is hard, but in a very sweet way. There is some reptilian part of his brain that just doesn't want to let go, that doesn't want to give up control to anybody, not even the woman that he is making love to. Perhaps especially not her, because the implications of giving her the keys to that control are far reaching and, on some level, terrifying. That part is overwhelmed, though, by the rest of him and by the sheer force of her own climax which seems to demand that he come with her down that path. His yells are guttural as he shouts her name to the night sky above her head over and over, his climax rocking his body under her as he holds on tightly. His nails leave grooves in her buttocks and his vision actually blanks out for a few seconds (maybe more, he has no concept of time).

And then he is back inside himself, panting, His broken control starts to return to him, and he finds that this woman means so much more to him now than she did even several minutes ago. This is the woman that he lost that precious control for, and that has established a bond of trust that goes deep. And the wonder of it is that she may never know just how deeply that moment affected him.

"Maeve...that was..." There are no words to describe it, but that's okay. He sees that she understands, and that is good enough for him.

She wraps herself around him for just a little bit longer, nuzzling him softly when he is unable to finish his sentence. She knows as much as she can from the other side of the equation. He found something in her she didn't know she had, and she won't forget that anytime soon. There's something about the man in her arms that says the same thing happened to him, and he's unexpectedly vulnerable for it.

Which leads to the question of whether or not Maeve finds herself equally so. She doesn't. If anything whatever she found in the naming and the sex set a part of her free. Nothing she has words for, but the flair of power and the fact the stars seems to literally shine in her eyes for moments afterwords says a lot. It's the name, and the choice. She'll learn that later. Magic for her kind is about choices and words and need and things that teeter between being entirely substantial and ephemeral. Which is what made this perfect.

"I'm glad you wanted me, Blade," her voice is soft, a note or two lower like something had settled in her in this moment. The way she says his name has changed in some unmeasurable way, like she's forgotten how to say it like she doesn't know it's something with power. Maybe she doesn't. It's hard for those new to that kind of power to remember and learn how to put distance there. Especially when they've never been instructed in the need for such a thing.

He kisses her, a few aftershocks still running through his system. The taste of her is just as sweet as ever, and perhaps more. There is something magical about her that virtually glows now, and there is some part of him that senses it. It isn't exactly a conscious part, though. It is just a stronger infatuation with her beauty, a beauty that he knows he noticed before, but that he just doesn't feel he appreciated enough until this moment.

"Still do want you."

And he did. The way she says his name briefly binds him to her again in all the right ways. No, it wasn't a permanent thing, but it was a powerful thing. What was more powerful still was that she hadn't asked him for his birth name, but for a brief moment he was tempted to tell her. But no...the man she cared for right now was Blade, not Eric.

"Thank you." It was a simple statement, but it encompassed everything. For continually finding him, for coming out here on this test which in retrospect felt so silly in comparison to the gravity of the lovemaking they'd just done, for the lovemaking itself, and for helping him briefly let loose that control that he valued so much in such a spectacular way.

She grins against his shoulder, kissing and nibbling along the line when he says he still wants her. Maeve imagines he'll get to satisfy that want again at some point in the near future. Perhaps neither of them were the kind to assume permanent bindings, but there is something here worth revisiting. She's hardly going to stop talking to him. If nothing else, her social life would be a sad remnant of what it was, but there was more. Of course there was, or she wouldn't have trusted him with this secret or found the name when she did. Blade was stuck with her for a while, at least.

Then he thanks her, and the shiver that runs through her is almost alien. Little tendrils of connection happened with every thoughtless thanks in the city, but that was absolutely sincere and something with meaning. She isn't sure if she's sad or grateful for that moment and connection. Does he feel it or is just something that is for her alone to notice and and keep? Would he gnaw his leg off to get out of that particular trap if he knew? Her eyes are sad for a moment, but then she catches herself and smiles. "You're welcome."

It was one of the better uses of netflicks I've ever had.

I'll see if it's still there, although my internet in the new apt here SUCKS. }:/

Ugh, that sucks.

Capped at 3mbps on the highest tier. And usually it's less than 1. But presumably, Comcast is coming

Comcast needs to come quickly for your sake.

Tell me about it..their WORST tier is 20mbps I think.

...A whole order of magnitude better.

Yeah..oi. I patiently watch Supernatural right now with LOTS of buffering. That's a kind of love.

a very special, very determined love.

Indeed. I'm late to that show's party, but I do love it so now.

I watched it before it got angel filled. It's a good show.

I'm in S4, where the angels first show up. I hear the post S5 seasons get a little rocky though :/

There are still people who love them, so maybe you'll be one of them!

Probably will be...been addicted to ghost stories since I learned to read!

Re: Probably will be...been addicted to ghost stories since I learned to read!

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