“No. I’m sorry, Little Bird. You were alone.”
Black Heart made you finish your dinner and share the rest of the bottle of wine with him. You felt wonderfully warm and safe, giggling a little as you talked about books you’d both read. The first time you let one slip from your mouth, he froze, staring at you as if he’d never heard such a thing. Maybe he hadn’t, but he would give a low chuckle every time you giggled again.
Finally lifting you from your chair, he slipped an arm around your waist and deftly, quickly unbuttoned the tiny pearls that held your dress closed, and let the silk slip from your shoulders. You were wearing the fancy underthings again; he’d taken away all the plain cotton ones.
This time, you were in the altogether before he was, and you sat on your little bed, watching him undress. The way his metal arm glistened in the firelight, how the flames made it sparkle was oddly beautiful, and the word whispered from you without thought. He paused; hands ready to remove his pants. “Beautiful?” John chuckled, “I think not, Little Bird. I know you have not seen many men recently, but…”
You daringly shook your head, disagreeing with him, but your nerve deserted you as he gracefully knelt in front of you without a stitch on. So different with his long, hard body and scarred shoulders, his hot ocean eyes and calloused hands. But when his mouth descended on your nethers, you flopped back onto the mattress with a moan. You felt the rasp of his fingertips on the thin skin of your inner thighs and his mouth on your sacred place. He called it that, didn’t he? Your sacred cunny? Your legs rested on his wide shoulders as he supped on you, using his nose on your nub while his tongue speared into you and then as your toes curled and your stomach clenched, he used the delicate tip of his fangs, scraping along your wet and swollen places and you found your good end again, like last time, gasping and clutching him between your thighs.
He looked up from where his mouth was still fixed on you, eyes alight with mischief and gleaming gold again. Your own widened when you felt his finger where his tongue had been. It slid up inside you slowly, halting every time you involuntarily clenched down. His gaze stayed on you as he nuzzled the little nub he seemed so interested in while his finger continued below. His finger slid along delicate places inside you- places that made you gasp and one where you grabbed his hair without thinking. And he laughed. Black Heartlaughed.
“Ah, there it is. I feared I’d lost my touch.” His fingertip slid over the spot again, and again as his lips covered his fangs and bore down on the sensitive nub, humming as he suckled it. You let out a scream that made the shadows outside murmur and shuffle louder, but this time he didn’t punish you. He petted your nethers softly until your chest stopped heaving for air.
“Such a good, sweet Little Bird,” he said, kissing you on one cheekbone, then the other. You could smell your own finish and it made you flush painfully. “None of that, we’re past the point of maidenly vapors.” Drawing your hand down, he put it on his phallus, hugely hard and thick. “Do you know what this is?”
Your face was surely the color of a beet now but you tentatively squeezed it. “It’s a phallus. I’ve seen them in my art books.”
Black Heart - John, it seemed wrong to not call him by his given name now - groaned a bit as your thumb ran over the tip. “The classics, of course.”
“Yes,” you agreed without thinking, “but yours is much larger.”
This sent him off into another roar of laughter that stirred the shadows again outside, clicking and moaning. “I am flattered, Little Bird.” With a graceful speed that always startled you a little, he was over you, elbows caging you in as his hips settled between your thighs. “Raise your knees up,” he whispered, lips moving against the soft shell of your ear. As one hand slid between your legs, the other covered your breast, gently squeezing it and circling your nipple with a calloused fingertip. His fanged mouth went to your other one, and you felt him chuckle again as you stiffened.
“Little Bird, I don’t drink from you. But this tempting breast demands my attention. And you must relax, or you will tear my cock off.” You gasped at his crudeness but relaxed again from the skillful way he played with your breasts.
John’s … cock was sliding up into you, like his finger before but it stretched and burned and pulled at you inside. His mouth pulled at your nipples, teased with his tongue while he gently stroked your strained entrance, groaning. “Do you feel it, fledgling? The pull of my flesh against yours? We are joined so…” he broke off, eyes closed. “So tightly together.”
The weight of him inside you. There was the sense of being stuffed, of being invaded by something that took you over. It filtered past the pain to the sensation of everything in you, everything about you belonging to John.
He smelled clean, not like old blood as usual but maybe a bit like the wine. He was so heavy, solid bones and muscle but letting you breathe and move. There was no heartbeat against yours, though he was whispering things to you as he slid the … his cock out, and back in again. And again, and the movement felt slicker now and like a match sparking against your channel while his fingers teased you nethers and it was all … it was so much. He spoke against the thin skin of your throat, red, red lips whispering what you recognized as Latin.“Multum ergo avis pulchrae. Regina meum….”His driving cock hit something high and deep and you both gasped, your knees tightening against his hips.“In utero sacris…”
You felt your good end racing toward you and clutched tightly to John’s metal arm and back. Impossibly, his … the cock was growing harder, swelling more, and then his beautiful head threw back and he roared to the ceiling, laughing at the answering howls from the shadows at the gate.
John stayed inside you, rocking back and forth gently, still murmuring bits of Latin.In the sacred womb,you thought, translating his last words as he’d finished inside you. You wanted to hold him in return, put his head on your chest, and stroke his hair. But he … this wasn’t like your books. You felt warm and enclosed but no safer. This was still a monster and you were a human. So, you were still and quiet until he pulled from you with a sigh, watching his naked behind flex as he strolled to your fancy washroom for a cloth and warm basin of water to clean you. You were almost asleep when he hauled you upright.
“Not quite yet, Little Bird. Be still now.” He lifted the hair away from your neck and you saw the second metal piercing. The sting. The click. And you wore the jewelry that contained a terrible significance, something powerful enough to repel another of the Night Brethren.
As John opened the door to leave, you impulsively reached out. “Wait, would you….”
He turned, one brow lifted and the words died on your lips. Would he what? Tell you the meaning of the metal in your flesh? Tell you why he took you as a child on that dock? Why he took you now? “Nothing,” you shook your head. “Good night.”
John…
He stood over his Little Bird, sleeping so sweetly. Watching her fragile chest move up and down. Even after telling her the story of his end as a human, he could not remember what it was like to be one. He could only shake his head at how easily their bodies broke. How short their lives were. The only understanding he had of the workings of their mind, and their emotions came from her.
She surprised him the night before, when he took her innocence. His Little Bird held him to her, wrapped her arms and legs around his shoulders and waist. There was a slight hint of fang as he smiled, and he wondered if she knew how enthusiastically she had participated in her own deflowering.
So beautiful, this woman. All he’d seen when he found her crumpled on the dock at the New York Harbor was a filthy little face, tears making tracks through the dirt and enormous, pale green eyes looking up at him in fear.
“I’ve lost Mama,” she’d sobbed.
“Shh…” he’d crooned, picking up her slight form. “I’ll take care of you.”
Still, he wondered how he’d missed it, this full flowering into womanhood. The nights he’d sat by the fire, combing her black hair until she fell asleep against his knee. How her body had grown long and graceful, with elegant, clever hands that carefully opened each new book he brought her, fingers reverently turning the pages.
When she’d stepped into the lamplight after her confinement, he realized how lush and pink her lips were. The pale, smooth skin of her throat. His Little Bird was a woman. His woman.
The Night Brethren could scour the planet. He would make sure they never found her.
