Give Me That Body (Oneshots)

Come, Kitten (Laurent, June 30, 1960)

Laurent (The Vampire, L) and his kitten, Leis (300ish Marseillais)

"Oh, pet," I murmured. "My beauty."

Leis stirred in sleep, drew his arm back from his face, moaned. I admired his long body, his blond hair tangled around his head from sleep. His eyes were shut. He looked like a statue of Raphael's, lithe and supple.

I kissed his straight eyebrow, first the left, then the right. I touched the white sheet covering his vulnerable belly, and his hand stopped mine, very gently. 

"Kitten, wake," I whispered. 

He made a "Huh" and turned his face away.

"Kitten," I said, clucking at him. I slid down the sheets to where his feet were bare. 

He drew his legs up away from me, bending at the knees, and I parted those with my hands. "Ca suffit," he said. That's enough.

"It's never enough," I said, kissing his skin. 

He thrashed a little, and laughed. "Cover me, darling," he said, "give me some decency."

"I would have you without it," I said. "Talk to me."

He brought his hand near his face, as if holding an imaginary square microphone, like a broadcaster for the radio. "Voila, nous sommes ici a Cannes," he said, smiling. "Un homme embrasse interieur de mes cuisses. Il suce ma peau et il gifle mes fesses. Tres malheureux." Ah, we are here in Cannes. A man is kissing my inner thighs. He sucks on my skin and slaps my behind. Very unhappy.

"Chaton. Impudique." Kitten. Indecent.

He licked his lips. 

His skin was so soft at the inner thigh that I had to kiss him, I had to bite him, though he tried to roll under my touch and moaned protests of sleep and pulled my hair. I pressed my lips to his skin and sucked on him, holding him at the hips so he could not turn his body.

"If you will bite me break the skin," he mewled. "You bruise me with your lips. It will be difficult to walk. When my thighs touch, it will hurt me."

"When your thighs touch," I whispered, "it will be like I am sucking on you again, chaton, and you will think of me and sigh out."

His delicate hands were in my hair, and I followed them, drew myself over his body to his neck, where he wanted me to be. "Mordez-moi, mon mort, mordez-moi." Bite me, my death, bite me.

"You will be had only when I want to have you," I said. 

He tipped his chin back and chuckled, stretching under me. 

"A tomcat in the sun," I whispered, admiring him in the sunlight.

"The blood grows hot," he said, matching my whisper. "Draw it with your perfect mouth. Give me my little death, of the morning. I beg it."

"Do you speak this way to your lover? Or are these words mine alone?"  I asked.

"Yours only. He is no one at all. There is only you." His hands were inside my cotton robe, long fingers tracing the curve of my spine, massaging the muscles of my back roughly. He lifted his head from the pillow to be kissed on the lips.

"Pas du tout. Aucune chance." No way. Not a chance.

"Will you be so cold now?" he protested, elaborating a pout. 

I found the bites from the previous evening with my fingers, pressed on them at his neck and at his shoulders, and he made startled sounds of pain. "Cry out, mon semeur, troublemaker. Make noise." He looked into my eyes, and I could see in his that he was not certain if it was a love game or not, my hurting him, and it lit me. "Does it hurt you, mon semeur? Do you want the bite now?" 

He was choking and keening and that is when I lowered my head to his neck, and pushed through his taut skin with my wicked teeth, without a kiss, which made him scream out in shock, pain, and the sudden pleasure of relief. Have what you want, kitten, I thought, and I will have you as I would. 

His hands were everywhere for the first few seconds, touching my face, holding his throat, at my hips and dragging wherever there was flesh, his heart pumping hard enough to flutter in his chest, which I felt at my lips, and I knew that his eyes were rolling, near the threshhold of the swoon, heart beating too fast, as his fingers weakened on my back, so I drew back to look on him, and he pulled me in to kiss my blooded mouth.

"Pourquoi est-ce que vous avez cesse?" he said, licking my lips. Why is it that you have stopped?

"Kitten, you are killing me. You have been bitten. Will your day be over before it begins?"

He made a wordless, purring answer.

"Come downstairs when you are ready, and we will go walking by the water," I said, pushing my face against his neck.

"You drink so little that I am still able to walk." He fluffed my hair with his hands, drawing his fingers through its tangles.

"Play a bit more innocent, pet. That is what I like. Today you are playing very badly."

He pursed his lips and unpursed them, which evened the blood on his lips. A fine color. "I will come downstairs in a few minutes, my Laurent."

I kissed his forehead, and kissed his lovely, smiling mouth. "Yes, come, kitten." 

I turned and swung my legs over, but two of his fingertips touched my arm.

"Leis," I said.

"Effleurez-moi," he whispered. Touch me lightly.

"Yes, pet."

There were boats in the bay. As I mounted the bed again, I caught a glimpse of their white sails. He gestured for me to sit on his hips, and his belly trembled, when I touched him, lightly. He turned his head to the side, loose and breathed out.

"Do you grow old?" I asked him, gently. "Do you ache for tenderness?" 

"Yes," he nodded. 

The bites at his neck and shoulders were beginning to bruise, fading slowly at his lack of blood. There were fingermarks among them. "Did I hurt you, pet? Was it too much?"

"No, moitie. Sometimes when you hurt me, I like it."

I drew my fingers over his ribs, gentle with his precious flesh, sighing. 

"I like the weight of you," he said. "I think of it." His eyes were closed, dark blond eyelashes still looking long and seperated from when I had closed them in my eyelash curler the previous evening. "When we are not together, I promise you. I don't forget you."

"Don't talk about it, love. If we are together, don't talk about it."

"You are still my gentle angel," he breathed, smiling under my touch. "Saving me."

"Shh," I hummed to him, and brushed his cheek with my lips.

"Bisou, bisou," he said, smiling. Kiss, kiss.