Chapter Text
The first time I admitted to myself that I was in love with Carmilla was the day I told her to get out of my life.
I was angry and scared and hurt.
And instead of saying “I love you” I kinda just blurted out “I hate you” instead.
And hours later, even when I tried, I couldn’t say those three little words. Not even to my camera.
The first time I admitted to myself that I was in love with Laura was the day I came back from class (you know, the one I’ve passed twenty-three times but I still go to) to find our room smelling like sweat and sex and perfume. Laura’s scent, sweet and soft, yes. But also that giantess. A tang with bittersweet undertones.
I nearly cried. Not that vampires cry, or anything, but like hypothetical crying.
I think I made a joke about the height difference and walked straight back out of the room.
I scoffed.
I wanted to scream.
Kissing Carmilla was, to say the least, confusing. She was cold and warm, all at once, and she was sweet and sharp and there was that metallic, salty hint of blood on her tongue. But the confusion melted within half a second because it was right, God it was right. Because the curve of her body matched mine like an artist had carved the space for me to slot myself into, because I felt like I knew the map of her lips and mouth and hair and back despite the fact that I’d never touched them before.
Because it was Carmilla.
Kissing Laura was everything I’d been waiting for. She was so sweet and so soft and so warm, endlessly warm.
It had been centuries since I’d truly felt warm.
Half a second pressed against her, and it was like a fire had been lit inside of me. Laura was a glowing light, I was the moth… and her heat was going to scorch me until there was nothing left but ashes. Not that I cared.
It was Laura.
A keen and a whisper, a warm pair of lips against a collarbone or a rib, cool lips against a neck and soft kisses on abdomens. It was quiet and loud and rough and gentle. Fire and ice.
Two, with pleasure like pain and fire, a ready-lit match. A perfect match.
Burning alive.
An arch and a bend, fingers and tongues, and those moments where the whole world stopped, no oxygen, no sound, just a pounding heartbeat and a pinnacle of pleasure, so extreme that nothing existed but two.
A Carmilla.
A Laura.
A scream and a gasp and the broken wave of release.
A coil, a spring, winding tighter and tighter until the pressure was enough press the fire and the ice together into a single entity that couldn’t burn or melt.
Just exist.
Just one.
Now.