Invitation

"An open invitation is a very dangerous thing to give a vampire, much less in writing," Drift's voice rings out, interrupting the soft scraping of quill on paper and eliciting a small yelp of surprise from its writer. Aimée looks at the unopened door, at the empty seats, at the shimmering swirl of the dust in the sunbeams not permitted to settle on any surface of her office, and finds no source.

"My, did vampirism give you the gift of telepathy Drift?" she responds to the open air.

The hairs on the back of her neck erupt and a floorboard creaks behind her. She whips her head around, but all there is to accompany the rhythm of her quickened pulse is a lovely view of her garden through her massive leaded windows, her camellias looking as vibrant and well pruned as ever.

The loose hairs falling across her face tickle her cheeks as a light breeze brushes against them, despite her windows sitting resolutely closed. "No," Drift whispers directly into her ear, the breath caressing it cold and wet, "Not telepathy."

The air before her seems to ripple and shift, almost like disturbed water. It's hard to look at, her eyes losing focus and seeming to move of their own accord away from the spot no matter how hard she tries to keep them trained on the shifting in front of her. A sharp pain behind her eye causes her to squint them shut to make it stop—and it goes dark. Not from closing her eyes—rather, she feels the light hitting her eyelids suddenly vanish, and when she opens her eyes again it is not her camellias that greet her but blood red irises, framed by soft brown hair and deathly pale skin. Her favourite detective leans over her, supporting herself by one arm on her desk, the other resting at her hip, their faces inches apart.

Her heart stutters and her breath catches in her throat. "Drift," she whispers thickly, a grin spreading its way across her face as her heart catches back up to itself, "So you can what, teleport to me now?"

Drift straightens up and laughs lightly, stepping back to lean against the windowsill instead, "No, no. I've been here for a while now—I came in with your servant earlier."

"Have you really?" Aimée exclaims, and glances at the longcase clock in the back corner of the room. "Why, we are almost a quart through the hour! I didn't know you were a freak like that Drift."

Drift coughs and looks at her with wide, scandalised eyes, "No, I—hrmm" she makes an irritated noise as Aimée smirks at her, "I am making a point."

Aimée rests her head into one gloved hand, "Are you now? And what might that be?"

Drift's eyebrows twitch, "What point do you think I'm making?"

"Oh I don't know, something to do with how obsessed you are with me I suppose," Aimée muses.

"I am not—speak for yourself!" she says and gestures vaguely at Aimée, "God! No, I'm trying to show you how dangerous it was for you to give me a permanent invitation into your house. I could have easily bitten you and you didn't even know I was in the room!"

"Oh please don't threaten me with a good time," Aimée purrs.

Drift pinches the bridge of her nose, "Aimée. I am not the only vampire in the world. Most of them do not possess the self control I do!" She steps forward and leans in close again, lowering her voice, "I was in here for fifteen minutes and you did not notice until I wanted you to. If you made this mistake with any other vampire you would be dead right now. Watch your wording."

Aimée reaches up to fiddle with Drift's cravat, rolling the hem of the bow's tail back and forth between her fingers, "Whoever said I made a mistake?"

"Oh I don't doubt you thought you knew what you were doing," Drift says, rolling her eyes, "But a written invitation like this cannot be rescinded. Thanks to this letter I now have permanent access to your estate."

"Mm," Aimée hums, then hooks a finger underneath the knot at Drift's throat, "Tell me Drift, what is it like, drinking blood?" she pulls lightly on the cravat, and Drift does not resist, her eyes going wide and her pupils blown.

They flick down to Aimée's neck for a moment, then Drift turns her head away, "Well, most things turn to ash in my mouth these days so it's mostly just a relief to drink something that doesn't make me want to retch."

Aimée lifts her hand to Drift's face, trailing her fingers along her jaw before cupping her cheek and turning her head to face her, "No, no—I meant, what is it like to drain someone's life from them? Do they struggle at first, then slowly surrender as they grow too weak? Can you feel their heartbeat shudder and panic, uselessly pumping their blood down your throat?" There is a flush dusting Aimée's cheeks, and her own heartbeat has begun to eagerly dance in her chest, "I myself love to watch the moment when they realise it's too late, that they are going to die, that their body is failing them—the rage and indignance in their eyes falling away to despair, and then resigned acceptance. How does that feel, cradled in your arms? Oh, how intimate it must be!"

Drift's eyes darken and her lip curls, "I have never taken a person's life, Aimée. I am not like you."

Aimée giggles, her thumb lifting Drift's lip further and revealing the sharp fang beneath, "You've taken lives before, though. I've seen it. A deer here, a few chickens there. Not enough for anyone to miss, just enough to keep the bloodlust under control, right?"

Drift tilts her head back a little to regain control of her lips, "I take no pleasure in it, we all need to eat to survive—and what do you mean you've seen me? You call me a freak when you're actively stalking me?"

"How could I not? My beautiful, brilliant detective," Aimée caresses her cheek, "The only person to truly understand who I am. Naturally, I want to know everything about you."

Drift laughs, hollow and mirthless, her hand coming to rest upon the desk again for support, "I do not understand you, Aimée. Your depraved acts sicken me and if you were not holding my own secret over my head I would have turned you in months ago."

"And yet," Aimée cocks her head, "Here you are, warning me to be careful who I invite into my home."

"That—!" Drift begins to retort, then fails to come up with a defence.

"That?" Aimée coaxes, a gleeful grin on her face.

"That was... a lapse in judgement. Honestly? I don't know what I was thinking! By all means, invite whoever you wish into your home, I hope someone kills you in your sleep."

"In my sleep, Drift? You want me to go peacefully? Why how sweet of you, you really do care!"

"Oh, you are insufferable!"

"You like me though," Aimée croons, pulling their faces closer together.

"Not in the least," Drift hisses at her, pulling back and finally removing her face from Aimée's hand.

Aimée smiles, lazily loosens her own cravat, then begins to remove her gloves, Drift's eyes tracking every movement, "You like me, and the idea of someone else laying their teeth on me pisses you off."

Drift's eyes narrow and meet hers. "You say that as if I would ever lay mine on you."

"Speaking of, are you hungry, Drift? Your skin is so cold I could feel it through my gloves. When was the last time you fed?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Drift scowls and crosses her arms, stepping back towards the windowsill again.

"Has it been a week? Two?"

"I'm fine Aimée, you will not convince me to feed on you."

"Mm," Aimée hums, and rises to her feet, "Yes, you said you were here to prove a point."

A flicker of confusion crosses Drift's face, "I did say that, yes."

She steps over towards Drift, who backs up further until her legs are pressing again the sill, "You also asked me what point I think you're trying to make, and mentioned your self control."

"Where is this going, Aimée?" Drift scowls at her.

Aimée leans in and places one hand on Drift's waist, simultaneously loosening her cravat with the other, drawing Drift's gaze, "I think that's the point you were making. Were you thinking of me Drift? Imagining the soft skin of my throat beneath your teeth?"

"...I just told you that I will not feed on you, Aimée." Drift replies, but the way her eyes linger on her throat and the audible swallow before she speaks greatly lessens its conviction.

"Yes, exactly," Aimée smiles and leans in close, "I think you came here to prove that to yourself—half starved and dreaming of my blood on your lips. Does it scare you to have access to my estate, Drift?"

Drift scoffs and turns away, "Don't flatter yourself Aimée, I read the letter and I suppose for a moment forgot the person you are and had the foolishness to be concerned about the lack of self preservation presented therein."

Aimée laughs, her now gloveless hand coming to rest again on her frozen cheek, "You Drift? Foolish? About your own feelings, perhaps, but never anything else. What came first, the thought of killing me, or the thought of holding me?"

Drift rolls her eyes, "Neither, it was 'God, what a self absorbed idiot he is' and 'some day I'm going to find him dead in a ditch of his own making'."

"Don't lie to me Drift. You thought of yourself entering my estate long enough to plan exactly how to catch me unawares. You've been sat here watching me in silence. Which one were you thinking about?"

Drift scowls at her, "Would it please you to hear it was your death?"

Aimée giggles and grins wolfishly, "Ah, so it was holding me, then!"

"I—Wh—" Drift blusters, "I just told you the complete opposite!"

"Yes, and you lied~" Aimée croons and strokes her cheek, "But the thought of killing me scares you, doesn't it?"

Drift's nose wrinkles, "It doesn't scare me Aimée, I just unlike you simply have morals and won't kill anyone, which unfortunately includes you."

Aimée slowly tilts her head to the side, presenting her neck to the vampire whose eyes are instantly pulled to her throat, "Want to test that?"

"How many times do I have to say I will not feed on you Aimée," Drift growls, and attempts to turn her head away—but Aimée holds her face in place and smiles at her. Drift's eyes snap to hers, "Aimée."

Aimée slides her thumb across Drift's cold lips, tracing their shape before slowly pushing her thumb inside and running it along her teeth. Drift makes a confused noise, unfolding her arms and grasping Aimée's wrist, but before she can remove her hand Aimée presses her thumb hard against her fang and Drift freezes in place.

They stare at each other, Aimée smiling at her and Drift beginning to tremble, the hand on Aimée's wrist tightening to a painful degree. She presses harder against the fang and feels the bead of blood begin to trickle, then fall into Drift's mouth, followed by another, and another. Drift swallows loudly, the gentle wetness of her tongue coming to meet Aimée's thumb accompanied by an ashamed whimper, her hands falling away to grasp at the windowsill.

"Drift," Aimée soothes, removing her thumb and stroking her cheek with her knuckles, "It's okay, you're allowed to want me."

Drift stares at her with wide eyes, no longer breathing, every inch of her shaking as she grips the windowsill so hard the wood begins to creak.

Aimée brings her still bleeding thumb to her own lips and licks it, the skin still tingling from the touch of Drift's tongue.

"Aimée," Drift says in a hoarse whisper, "I do not want to kill you."

Aimée caresses Drift's cheek again and presses her warm body against Drift, "Then you don't have to. You're a vampire with great self control, aren't you Drift?"

Drift makes a strangled noise, and tries again to turn her face away from Aimée, to no avail. "I've never fed without killing, Aimée," she pleads, "I don't know how."

"Practice makes perfect," Aimée purrs, leaning in close enough for them to kiss.

"You could die," Drift says, voice thick and her eyes screwing shut, "That's not something you can just practice!"

"You won't kill me, Drift," Aimée says, then presses their lips together.

Drift whimpers again, holding herself stock still as Aimée's mouth explores hers, and Aimée's lips tingle with each kiss. The windowsill stops creaking, and for a moment it is completely silent in the office.

Then, the tension that has been building in every inch of Drift's body explodes at once, and Aimée finds herself being shoved against her desk, her books scattering loudly across the floor, Drift's hands finding their way into her hair, her lips pressing roughly against Aimée's, against her jaw, her throat, the hands in her hair pulling Aimée's head to the side to give her access. A gleeful laugh that could only be described as a cackle erupts from Aimée, "Go on, Drift," she says through ragged breaths, "Bite me."

Teeth graze against her jugular, cold breath rushing against her skin, then Drift's lips close and kiss it gently instead. "I'll hurt you if I go too fast," she whispers against her, sparking deeply unchristian thoughts in Aimée's mind—not that there were ever any in there, nor indeed was she engaging in christian behaviours right now. But her compatriots don't need to know that, and regardless, these ones were especially egregious. Needless to say, she had never felt more desperate to marry this woman than now with her cold undead tongue circling her throat, a strange numbness and tingling forming there and a burning heat spreading across the rest of her body.

"Can you feel this?" Drift asks after a moment, pressing her lips against her throat again.

"Faintly," Aimée breathes, and Drift hums, her hand tightening its grasp in her hair. Her lips part, and the heat in her body is reflected in her throat, an involuntary noise of pleasure erupting from Drift's throat as she swallows. Drift's nails scrape against her scalp and Aimée moans back, her body relaxing into Drift's, arms wrapping around her and her fingers tracing shapes at the nape of her neck. She feels her pulse quickening and the strange sensation of Drift sucking and lapping at her throat, the vibrations of her pleased hums, and the rising desperation in the way her hands grasp at her and hold her there.

She laughs deliriously, "Oh, Drift." Her pulse begins to stagger, a cold heaviness filling her limbs and a hazy static filling her mind. Every noise from Drift elicits another giggle from Aimée, which seems to make Drift even louder and more desperate. "Oh..." Aimée breathes, "Oh, if this is how I die, what a way to go," she giggles again—and Drift freezes. She slowly pulls away from Aimée's throat, heaving ragged, warm breaths. The bite oozes slowly without her encouragement, the strange properties of her saliva working on the wound. She stares at it for a moment, dazed, then lifts Aimée's face and inspects her frantically. "Are you okay?"

Aimée giggles, "Never been better, beautiful."

Drift presses her hand to her forehead and frowns, "You feel cold, which is not good. I'm the one who's meant to be cold."

"'M fine, Drift," she says, and leans in close to whisper in her ear, staggering slightly as she does causing Drift's arms to fly to catch her, "Could you feel it?"

Drift frowns, "Feel what?"

"My heart staggering for you, desperately pumping my blood into your mouth," she murmurs gleefully, then laughs again, "Ohh, Drift!" she pulls back and takes Drift's face in both her hands, "Are you blushing with the blood from my veins?"

She is, and this being pointed out makes the reawakened heart in her chest pump yet more of the gentlewoman's blood to her cheeks. "You—there are so many things wrong with you Aimée."

"Oh, but you liked it Drift," Aimée laughs, tucking some of Drift's loose hair back behind her ear where it usually lies, "The noises you were making were outright salacious—and the weaker I got the more passionately you drank."

"I... I was just hungry," Drift combats weakly, averting her gaze and blushing profusely.

Aimée's hand trails down to her chin, "Never heard you make noises like that while eating a deer, Drift."

Drift glares at her and starts to retort, but when Aimée pulls her in for another kiss there is no resistance. Her mouth tastes strongly of her own blood, the thought of which making a thrill run up Aimée's spine and a pleased noise escape her lips.

Drift however pulls back with a frown on her face, "Wait, aren't my lips covered in your blood right now?"

"Mmm," Aimée hums, wiping her lips with the back of her hand and leaving a smear of blood across it, then grins at her, "Delicious."

"You're insane," Drift says incredulously, and pulls Aimée back to her feet, "Not to mention delirious, can you even stand right now?"

Despite Aimée's immediate confident assurance otherwise, the answer to that question is most certainly no—within seconds of being moved upright, the gentlewoman begins to teeter in place and then stagger backwards as the room begins to spin around her. "Right," Drift says, catching her and then adjusting her collar, fixing her cravat to cover the huge bite on her neck, then pulling Aimée's arm over her shoulder, "You definitely need to lie down."

"Ohh Drift," Aimée croons beside her, "Taking me to the bedroom next? You scandalous minx."

"I've no intention of being alone with any gentleman in their bedroom Aimée, not even yours. The hit to my reputation would be irrecoverable."

"Then set me upon my sofa, I'm not done with you yet!" Aimée exclaims, lurching in the direction of the aforementioned furniture.

Drift holds her firmly against her side, her vampiric strength greater than Aimée's even without the blood loss, then laughs in spite of herself, "Aimée, I'm afraid if I don't send you to bed you'll stumble and die on the way up the stairs like in those so-called accidents you so love to arrange. And then what shall we do?"

Aimée giggles, "Why, you must place an orchid in the room and carry on my mantle of course."

"Not a chance," Drift shakes her head, "Let's just get you to bed so I don't get any more of your blood on my hands."

"Mmm," Aimée hums, allowing herself to be lead to the door, "I told you that you wouldn't kill me. Proved your own point, too."

Drift stops, then her eyebrows begin to twitch, "No actually Aimée, I don't think I did. That was unbelievably dangerous."

Aimée grins at her, "But you can control yourself, see?"

"Barely," Drift mutters, and opens the door.