Women of Style and Function
The night was still. The sky overhead heavy and black, pinning her beneath it as she lay twisting slowly against the hard, frost-kissed ground under her.
The moon hid from her, shy and afraid even as she cooed sweetly to try and coax it into turning its face to the sun and sharing its secrets.
She closed her eyes and watched as the stars danced, cold fire swirling through her mind.
They sang and skipped around her, whispering rhymes and doing parlor tricks until she was giddy with it, laughing loud and unashamed at the blanket of darkness above her.
She felt Darla's approach before she heard it; the tang of sweetness, like overripe fruit, welled up in her mouth. She hummed with pleasures remembered and opened her eyes to look up at her grandsire.
Full lips curled at the edges in an affectionate smile and golden hair curled about her head like a halo.
Drusilla felt her own lips quirk up at the corners and she returned the smile while reaching upwards to snatch at a particularly persistent star skirting the edge of her vision.
Quick, quick like a snap of bone, Darla clasped her grasping hand and ran a thumb over the curve of her knuckles, "What is it, sweet one?"
Drusilla tutted and whistled, "Naughty, naughty," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "That one spins yarns."
Darla laughed and clucked her disapproval before sinking gracefully to sit in the grass. She carefully lifted her grandchilde's head and lowered it to rest in her lap, smoothing Drusilla's hair back from her face.
"The boys have gone, left for France," Darla twisted the dark strands of Drusilla's hair around her fingers, "We'll leave to join them tomorrow."
Drusilla pouted and toyed with the brocade on Darla's bodice, "Must we?"
Quirking a brow, Darla dipped her head to swipe her tongue along the swell of Drusilla's bottom lip before nipping it, "But you love Paris at Christmas."
She straightened, her eyes glowing with predatory delight, "The food, the dancing," She cut a look back to Drusilla and smiled knowingly, "Blood in the snow, the cathedrals."
The reminder brought a wistful air to the seer's expression, "The carolers..."
Darla took the opportunity to tug loose the neatly tied bow at the top of Drusilla's nightgown and slip her hand in to cup one pert breast, thumb thoughtfully circling the pebbled nipple it found there.
Her smile softened at the mewl of pleasure that escaped from her grandchilde's prettily painted mouth.
"If," She started, fingers continuing their exploration, "You come back inside, I'll let you have one of your presents early."
Pinching the hard nub of flesh between her fingers until Drusilla's back arched and she squirmed at the sensation, Darla tugged at the dark hair twisted around the fingers of her other hand.
"Let's got celebrate our last night here in style, hmm?"
Drusilla sighed her agreement, one slender hand pressing down over her abdomen to rub at the junction between her thighs through the material of her nightclothes.
Darla laughed, a low and throaty promise, and considered taking them the long way to France.
With such a lovely, splintered thing stretched out before her, who could resist the temptation?
Angelus slammed through the front door of the Swiss chateau, seething as he stalked down the hall with William trailing behind.
Seven days. Seven fucking days they had waited in Paris with no word from either woman.
Dalton stepped into the hall and quickly recoiled at the snarling demand of his master before pointing down the hall towards the bedchambers; the location of Angelus' current quarry.
Without another word, he made short work of the hallway and threw open the bedroom door before pulling up short.
The bed was a swamp of rich linens and a plush comforter. The oil lamps filled the room with a flickering golden light and glinted enticingly off of Darla's hair as it cascaded down her bare back.
She sat in the center of the bed, astride Drusilla, and one of her hands danced down the pale column of his childe's neck while with the other hand she reached down behind herself where her fingers thrust steadily into Drusilla.
Tossing a wicked grin over her shoulder at the noise of William running into Angelus who stood gobsmacked at the doorway, Darla laughed and twisted her fingers, wringing a pained moan from the pliant body beneath her.
"It took you boys long enough to get back."
Drusilla writhed under her and Darla followed the motion as gracefully as a champion dressage rider.
"Merry Christmas, my love." She lilted at her childe, a glimmer of mischief coloring her voice, before she winked at William who watched hungrily from around Angelus while Drusilla shuddered quietly under her and settled back into the soft sea of sheets.
Angelus snapped his mouth shut and ran a stiff hand through his unruly hair, muttering, "And a happy new year, at that."