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Trinity presses her back against the wall, mouth going to her neck, her lips and then her teeth on her pulse point. Yolanda arches into her, their hips grinding together.
"Bite me," she hisses, one hand going to Trinity's waist, the other to her jaw.
Don't have to tell me twice, Trinity thinks, and she obeys.
It's a light bite, just enough for her teeth to prick the skin and elongate into fangs at the touch. Her tongue is next, gentle, ghosting over the impressions in Yolanda's neck. The blood begins to seep out in delicate rivulets, encouraged by the flick of her tongue and the anti-coagulating compounds in her saliva. Trinity laps. Yolanda moans.
They've done this before. It's a familiar dance, a part of their foreplay. Trinity gets to feed, and Yolanda gets to be worshipped like the goddess she is.
"You taste so good," Trinity breathes against her neck. She knows this is getting Yolanda wet; Trinity too is growing fuzzy-headed with arousal, awash in the pleasant buzz of hemoglobin. Yolanda is writhing beneath her, pinned between her body and the wall, seeking more more more —
Trinity breaks from Yolanda's neck to kiss her, their lips crashing together. Yolanda is using her teeth, biting at her lip, panting, hot and heavy, whereas Trinity is having to be careful with hers in their still-elongated state.
"Do it again," Yolanda breathes into her mouth.
Trinity doesn't need it; she's drunk her fill from the crimson pearls still beading along Yolanda's dark skin. The first wound is still trickling weakly, but Trinity knows Yolanda loves the grounding burn of a bite, so she moves a few centimeters lower and sinks her teeth in again. She wants to give her this.
Both these wounds will be healed by the morning, closed and perfect with no scar in sight. Her blood tastes like juice from a fresh-squeezed orange, like sunlight. Trinity catches every drop, savoring it like a precious gem.
Yolanda is getting antsy now, her fingers tugging at the hem of Trinity's shirt, and Trinity hums obligingly against Yolanda's neck. "Bed?"
Yolanda laughs, her pulse fluttering beneath Trinity's tongue, and Trinity feels her hand slide up the back of her shirt. "Yes," Yolanda says, her voice low. "It's my turn to fuck you."
Trinity is braver when she drinks Yolanda's blood than she is in any other part of this. She still needs a firm hand to guide her, for Yolanda to call her good girl, for her to be patient and slow but still make her feel alive and wanted. So she lets her back her towards the bed until her knees hit the mattress, and she sits.
"You did so good, pretty girl," Yolanda croons, like Trinity has done something more impressive than give in to her most base instincts. The words make Trinity's breath come quicker. Yolanda puts one knee onto the mattress next to Trinity, leaning into her space, eyes flickering to her too-red lips. "Making me so hot. Now let me take care of you."
Trinity swallows. Yolanda's pupils are blown wide as she rocks back and hooks her fingers under the hem of Trinity's shirt, then draws it up and over her head. Yolanda is still too clothed, and Trinity fumbles with the other woman's shirt until she feels Yolanda's hands on her own, helping.
"Kiss me," Yolanda says, and Trinity quickly captures her lips with her own. She knows Yolanda can probably taste her own blood still lingering on Trinity's tongue, and the idea of that makes arousal curl faster in her stomach.
Yolanda is always very clear about what she wants when they sleep together, and her candor has been encouraging Trinity to do the same. She knows Yolanda's body by now, she knows what she likes, but there's something about being told what to do in bed that fills her with a sense of peace and safety.
They're both shirtless now, and Yolanda has lost her bra, so Trinity sheds her own and shivers at the touch of skin-to-skin and the brush of Yolanda's warm breasts against her own. Yolanda is half-sat across her lap, and one hand is on the dip of Trinity's waist with the other cupping the back of her head. Her thumb strokes gentle circles across the base of her neck, caressing her cervical spine, and Trinity sinks deeper into the kiss.
Then Yolanda does this thing with her tongue, just as her hand on Trinity's waist slides higher and cups one of her breasts, and Trinity whines, shifting her hips without fully meaning to. Yolanda laughs into the kiss, and the hand on Trinity's neck lifts away, then touches her again, this time between her legs.
"Do you like this?" she whispers. Trinity rolls her hips again, seeking the touch of Yolanda's hand through the too-many layers of fabric still between them. The seam of her shorts combined with Yolanda's hand provides just what she needs, and she tilts her head back as her vision flickers white for a second.
"Please, god, fuck, please Yolanda —"
She can hear the leonine grin in Yolanda's voice when she says, "Let's get you out of these clothes, good girl," and there's a keen beginning in Trinity's throat as Yolanda's hand withdraws to work at the button on her shorts.
—
The world is quiet and dark in Trinity's bedroom as they both curl there, sleepy-warm from orgasm, sheets tangled around their legs. Yolanda is lying on her back, and Trinity is touching the already-healing wounds on her neck.
"Thank you," she says.
"Hmm?" Yolanda's attention flicks to her. Trinity taps the side of Yolanda's neck with her index and middle finger. Trinity is as sober as a judge, but she feels a little drunk anyway, and when she kisses the evenly spaced punctures, Yolanda shifts in response.
"Mmm," she says, and there's a little breathy tremor in that syllable that means Trinity's ministrations are having an effect. Trinity laughs and kisses her neck one final time before withdrawing. Neither of them are up for a round two after the day they'd both had at work, as frisky as they might start feeling when Trinity's teeth touch Yolanda's neck. Yolanda's hand goes to the spot, fingertips questing after the shallow indents. "Did you get enough?"
"Oh yeah." Trinity shifts to her back so they're staring up at the ceiling beside each other. She sends Yolanda a sideways glance. "Did you?" Did I make you happy?
Yolanda grins, lazy, as she says, "Absolutely," and rolls to her side to move in for a kiss.
—
Yolanda Garcia tastes better than anyone she's fed from in years. Trinity thinks she may get addicted to this woman.
—
She asks Trinity to bite her more and more as the weeks go on. It's more blood than Trinity could ever need or want, but nothing seems to get Yolanda hotter, and, well, Trinity would do just about anything if Yolanda would keep looking at her like that. She's never been with anyone long-term who's been okay with the fact that she's a vampire, much less with someone who appreciates and encourages it.
"Do you not worry that I'm going to go too far?" She asks Yolanda one night as their foreplay is heating up. She's straddling the other woman's lap, one hand holding her hair away from her neck as she takes in the open expanse like an explorer about to make land.
"What?" Yolanda is breathless and distracted, her pulse already thrumming beneath her skin, and all she wants is for Trinity to taste her, so Trinity resolves to bring it up again another time.
'Another time' comes about a week later when Yolanda is cooking dinner for the two of them. Trinity is dressed in an oversized pair of Yolanda's sweats, hair still damp from the shower, and Yolanda is wearing one of Trinity's hoodies. It's cozy and domestic, and Trinity feels a little like she's fucking up something nice, but she has to ask before she loses her nerve.
"When I bite you," she starts, not looking at Yolanda, worrying at the edge of her lip with her (regular) teeth, "do you not worry that I'm going to hurt you?"
Yolanda is whipping up some sort of fancy pasta dish in the kitchen behind her, but Trinity can hear her motions slow. The kitchen faucet turns off, and there's the sound of utensils being set in the sink. "I'm aware it's a possibility," she says. Her tone is even. "But I trust you."
Trust. What a concept, what a delicate and intimate thing that she's not quite sure she has earned. Trinity blinks, frustrated by the beginnings of tears suddenly and incomprehensibly rising to gild her vision, and looks over at Yolanda. Yolanda, whose hair miraculously stayed dry in the shower, and whose wrists poke out the tiniest bit over the sleeves of Trinity's hoodie, and whose tongue is sharp in the operating theater but so, so soft in the bedroom.
She's stepped away from the pot on the stove and is cutting up little bits of cheese to pair with some crackers, which she comes around the kitchen island to set in front of Trinity. She knows that Trinity likes to snack while she's preparing dinner, and though she will admonish her for ruining her appetite, she sets out the snacks anyway. Smoked mozzarella (Trinity's favorite) and Wheat Thins tonight.
Trust.
"Why do you trust me?" Trinity hears herself ask. And isn't that the question? Yolanda puts her life in Trinity's hands when she asks her to drink her blood. She has to hope that Trinity knows what she's doing enough to whet her thirst without causing permanent hemostatic damage. Blood is a limited - if renewable - resource, and Yolanda only has so much that she can lose before things start getting complicated. So why does she continue to offer it to Trinity? There are plenty of other ways for her to get turned on that don't involve the threat to personal safety.
"You've never given me a reason not to," Yolanda says, as simply as if Trinity has asked her what the weather is today, and a shiver runs down Trinity's spine.
"But what if I did?" She asks, unable to stop herself. "What if I hurt you by accident?"
It's not hard to imagine. Trinity could bite too deep, she could drink too much, she could let herself fall deeper and deeper into the well of bloodlust until she'd crossed the line and the next stop was a bag of O-neg in PTMC's emergency department.
Yolanda frowns slightly. Trinity tries to dispel the mental images, tries to ground herself in the fact that Yolanda is here and uninjured. The kitchen smells like cooking pasta and some sort of remoulade that Yolanda has simmering on the stove. It's warm, humid, and comforting, and she tries to soak it in through her skin like a plant in cool rain.
Yolanda wipes her hands on a checkered dishtowel and sets it to the side. "Where is this coming from? You've never even come close to hurting me."
"I know, but…" Trinity trails off and bites her lip. "It's always a possibility."
"And I could hurt you by accident," Yolanda points out. "You've got a bad shoulder, and if I'm not paying attention, I could put too much weight on it."
Trinity frowns, bristling slightly. "It's not the same."
Yolanda shrugs. "We can talk about it some more, if that would make you comfortable. I'm always down for extra kink negotiation."
Trinity almost chokes on the cracker she's eating. But they've talked about safe words, and they had discussed Trinity's feeding in great detail before she'd done it for the first time, so…she guessed that was all a kind of kink negotiation. She'd just never thought about it in those terms before.
"I think that would be good," Trinity says after a moment. She doesn't want to ruin the best and most beautiful thing that she's had in her life in a long, long time.
"After dinner, then," Yolanda says. Her eyes are soft for a moment — what does she see when she looks at Trinity? — before she snaps back into motion. "Come here and tell me if you think this sauce needs to simmer for longer."
—
Sometimes, they fuck.
Other times, they make love.
Trinity had had a rough day, to the point where she'd initially suggested they take a rain check for the evening.
"I don't think I'm going to be very entertaining," she'd said to Yolanda as she tried to rub a knot out of her neck in the parking garage.
"You don't have to be 'entertaining' for me to want to spend time with you, it's not a performance," Yolanda had said, and Trinity had smiled in spite of the throbbing headache she was working on.
"Fine. But we're going to your place, because mine is a wreck."
So they'd gone to Yolanda's and ordered Chinese, and after dinner, Yolanda had lured Trinity to the couch with the promise of rubbing her shoulders.
"Just a shoulder rub," she'd said, holding her hands up innocently. "Because yours have been up by your ears for the last hour, and I can't imagine that feels good."
Trinity sinks into the massage, trying her best to keep from falling asleep under the kneading touch of Yolanda's strong hands. She knows Yolanda isn't expecting sex, but sitting here between her legs, feeling her breath on the back of her neck…well, Trinity might be more into the idea than she'd initially thought.
"Okay," she says after a few minutes. "Your turn. I know your back gives you trouble sometimes at the end of a week."
Yolanda looks surprised and mildly charmed. "I never said anything."
"You didn't have to," Trinity says. She's seen the way Yolanda stands after she's spent too many long hours over the operating table, she's heard how she exhales when she sinks into a chair. "Now scootch."
Yolanda turns around on the couch so her back is to Trinity. She's wearing a forest green cableknit sweater that feels soft and pliant beneath Trinity's touch as she flexes her fingers and gets to work on Yolanda's traps and the deeper-buried rhomboids. They're tense and locked, and Trinity wouldn't be sure she's making progress if not for the hisses and low, exultant murmurs coming from Yolanda.
"Fuck, Trin." Yolanda sighs so deeply that Trinity cracks a smile. "You're incredible."
"Thank you," Trinity preens, and she lays more solidly into a knuckle as she rubs it through a knot.
It's when she gets up to Yolanda's neck that she pauses. She knows her levator scapulae is probably causing some pain, if the way she leans into the massage is any sign, but she also can't help but hesitate as her sharpened senses pick up the heat from her blood, tucked tight in the veins beneath the sternocleidomastoid.
Yolanda feels her stop, and she gently rolls her head to try out her new, relaxed muscles. "That felt…fucking amazing."
"Good," Trinity says, and leans in to press a kiss to the base of her neck, just above the collar of her sweater. But then she drops a second and a third kiss, and Yolanda arches beneath her, very slightly, but Trinity is pressed closely enough that she can feel it.
"I thought you were too tired," Yolanda says, her voice a little bit deeper now, and Trinity moves her next kiss to the soft skin beneath her ear.
"I got a second wind," she says lightly. "If you're feeling up for it."
"Definitely," Yolanda says, and she turns as far as she can so she can meet Trinity's lips with her own.
They kiss for what feels like an eternity. Trinity, rejuvenated as she may be, is still sore and tired, but Yolanda seems content to stay here. Her lips are soft, like flower petals opening beneath Trinity's touch, and her tongue is a delicate, questing creature. She does not use her teeth in the kiss tonight, so neither does Trinity.
But eventually Trinity wants more, and she backs away from kissing Yolanda's lips to trail down her jaw instead, skipping temporarily over her neck and pausing at the rise of her clavicle. Yolanda tilts her head back to give her better access.
"Bite me," she breathes, eyes half-lidded and serene, and Trinity's eyes skim the familiar stretch of her neck where she usually sinks her teeth. It's inviting and unblemished, and she takes another moment to send up a prayer of thanks to whoever may be listening that vampire saliva has such incredible healing properties.
The tone of the moment is different — more subdued, a low and simmering rumble of passion as opposed to a sharp and violent creature — and Trinity treats this bite with matched energy. She caresses the skin first with her tongue, easy, gentle, and presses one more kiss to Yolanda's neck before she leans closer and lets her teeth sink in.
They elongate to fangs immediately, razor-sharp, and she bites just deeply enough to draw blood. Yolanda sighs beneath her, and one of her hands comes up to cup the back of Trinity's head, drawing her closer.
So Trinity bites deeper, lapping, drinking, as Yolanda murmurs, "That's it, baby, that's it," in something just above a whisper.
Yolanda's other hand has moved down between her own legs, and after Trinity emerges from the bite, blinking her sharpened vision into place, she grins.
"Let me help you with that," she purrs, emboldened, and follows Yolanda's hand with her own beneath her sweatpants, then her underwear.
Yolanda is wet already — Trinity's bite always gets her this way — and Trinity is pleased to find her trembling and responsive, like a filly in heat. She won't go down on Yolanda tonight, not with her teeth as sharp as they are, but she knows how to please her in other ways.
Yolanda bucks and whines, arching impatiently back against the couch cushions as Trinity helps her slip out of her bottoms, seeking more pressure, more stimulation, so Trinity is quick to return to touching her delicate folds.
It's not long before Yolanda is crying out, Trinity's name woven in between other breathless syllables. Trinity continues to touch her reverently as she comes.
"There," she croons. "My sweet girl."
Yolanda shivers in pleasure in response, curled back against the couch cushions, all lines smoothed from her face as an expression of peace takes form. Trinity is struck again by the delicate balance of trust at play — Yolanda, who can take Trinity apart with her wise hands and her praising tongue; Yolanda, who is the strongest and kindest person that Trinity knows; Yolanda, who lets her drink from her veins like she is the finest of wines.
"It's your turn, baby," Yolanda says once she's recovered her voice. "C'mere."
Don't have to tell me twice, Trinity thinks, and she obeys.