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Summertime,
And the livin’ is easy.
Fish are jumping,
And the cotton is high
It should be funny, that it is far from summer, in the midst of the biting chill of winter. Yet, Æriadne pays that no mind as she slinks back to her plush armchair, the sound of a piano accompanying her languid steps. A deep, feminine voice rings out with an easy swinging rhythm and alluring melody that brings a slight smile to Æri’s expression, that unmistakable glint of mischief in her eyes as she picks up her book.
“You couldn’t have picked anything else?”
Shrike emerges from the bathroom, damp, crimson hair over one shoulder as the younger mage begins to dry it. There’s no real complaint, the fondness in her tone unable to hide a thing. Along with the light giggle she gives Æri from across the room.
Æri looks up from her book, lowering her reading glasses slightly as she raises an eyebrow in her thrall’s direction. Her arm gestures to the shelf containing her collection of records under the turntable. “Do you not like this one, darling? Feel free to suggest anything else, then.”
Æri is far from annoyed, even if the words she utters are rather pointed, the signature smirk that dances across her features denotes the complete opposite. She cannot help but look upon her dearest Shrike in fondness, placing the book on the side table and beckoning her closer.
Shrike, with no hesitation, approaches with a shy smile. She may have experienced many of Æri’s devious tricks, but that doesn’t cause her to falter, or to be nervous. Placing a soft, warm hand upon the dhampir’s cold, outstretched one, the young mage stands before Æriadne expectantly. “Of course I don’t mind. Your voice is beautiful, and well… the song is nice.”
A gentle tug is enough to coax the taller woman to stand, her right hand, adorned with its elegant black metal gauntlet gently grasping Shrike’s waist, the claws just pressing into the soft shirt. Æri cannot help but lean in to her companion’s ear, to whisper like the words of a forbidden prayer, tongue twisting to each syllable, venomous, yet ever so sweet and tempting. “I am glad… Perhaps, you would treat me to a dance, my dear?”
“Y-Yes, please. I would like that.”
Why was Shrike so timid? Æri was only offering a slow dance-
Ah.
Well, maybe neither of them would dwell on that - although, the thought of how absolutely, incredibly, irrevocably , in love Æriadne Zola was with Shrike Magnolia was on constant rotation in the former’s mind. How she had never felt love like this, how she had never fallen so damn hard before.
No, it wasn’t exactly a topic either of them wanted to discuss, at least not now. Most of their time was spent… occupied… with each other.
In the most magnificent, spectacular ways!
It was probably embarrassing, how foolish they both are, how obsessed and addicted they are for each other.
This was something new, unexplored, and rather exhilarating for them both. Of course they were going to be a little wild and explorative. Yes, at times it definitely felt terrifying, but that didn’t mean it was a bad thing.
Shrike lays her hand on Æri’s shoulder, standing close enough to share some of her warmth. They paid no mind to the shorter woman standing a little on her toes to reach.
A gentle inhale informs Æri of the gentle scent of her peach and vanilla shampoos and shower gels set into Shrike’s skin. A familiar and homely smell that brings only comfort and a dreamy smile.
One of these mornings
You’re gonna rise up singing
You gonna spread your wings
And take, and take to the sky
The pair looked a sight for sore eyes, Æri in that black silk pyjama suit, with the faintest of silver embroidery like the webs of a spider. And Shrike, adorned in a matching set in deep crimson, the sleeves and legs rolled up several times, despite already being shorter cuts anyway.
It hardly mattered though, as they began a slow two step in each other’s arms, gently swaying in the rays of moonlight filtering in through the thin tulle curtains. In the low light of Æri’s high ceilinged room at the peak of Conjurot Hall’s tallest tower, they were so content, peaceful, like the only people in the world. It was a magical feeling, one neither would give up for anything.
Æriadne looks deep into the violets of Shrike’s eyes; the eyes that had captivated the dhampir so easily, and unconsciously smiles a slightly wonky smile.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Just… thinking how beautiful you look.” Æri accentuates the statement by removing the hand on Shrike’s waist, placing it on the junction between cheek and neck, using her thumb to brush a lock of that fiery red hair behind an ear. The gesture is so tender, even with the slight brushing of metal. Æri, so captivated, so enraptured, so undeniably, in love with the girl in her grasp, mutters so lowly, lost in her daze. “Can I kiss you?”
Shrike leans into the hand, feeling the chill, pressing herself against the dark nails, sharp as claws. If she pressed any harder, it could almost draw the tiniest amount of blood. “You… you… of course you can.” Those were the words Æri wanted to hear, carried on a gentle, soft voice - as she gazes into Shrike’s eyes, that little eager look on the young witch’s face, the look of someone who genuinely wanted Æriadne Zola - not just a part of her, not just things from her, but wanted all of her, wanted to spend time with her. Wanted to be hers. Who could possibly resist someone so willing and eager, someone so desperate for her?
If her heart wasn’t already a stagnant piece of meat trapped in her ribcage, it would’ve stopped at that moment. It never matters how many times they kiss, or hold each other, or how many times they partake in some of their more private… activities… Æri could never get over this feeling. Not one single bit.
Her other hand withdraws from Shrike’s, slowing their steps to a halt and tangling it into that soft hair, resting at the back of her head, a gentle cradle, as eyelashes flutter and icy blue irises, littered with deep red flecks, disappear under pale eyelids. Æri’s soft, yet ever so slightly cold, plump lips find themselves over Shrike’s own warmer mouth, pressing softly, the contact sending traces of that familiar lightning coursing through them both for just mere milliseconds. The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but to them, it is like hours between them, their bodies steadily colliding into one embrace. The contact between them so familiar, so homely, as if they had been apart for centuries.
And maybe they had?
As the taller woman retracts, Shrike cannot help but lean back up, back in, to Æri’s graces, and neither can she resist the joining of their lips a second, a third, a fourth time. So entangled in themselves and this beautiful moment on this cold winter’s night.
The record scratches and the static becomes louder under the silence of the transitioning of songs. Resting her forehead upon the Shrike’s, the sorceress serenades her thrall, ever so quietly. A gentle voice, harmonising with the rich voice from the record player, a sweet lull and a pull of thread to the easy rhythm and relaxed instrumentals.
I’ve been loving you,
Too long,
I don’t wanna stop now.
Hands move to shoulders and waists, with gazes meeting in a storm of tender passion as the gentle sway of the previous dance picks back up again. Growing in intensity as the vocalist too, rises with a fervour that sends Æriadne reeling, spinning and twirling Shrike in her arms to bring her close to her chest, and sweeping her low to hold herself above her. Cascades of dark hair spilling over her shoulders, not unlike the spilling of her voice in that confession, preaching that feeling that has been setting her heart aflame, burning her with a love unlike any she may have perceived before. There was not a single chance she could take her eyes off her, could never think to be apart for so long, lest her heart shatter like glass. She probably looked desperate, lovesick, foolish - a thousand and one different feelings she couldn’t possibly give a name to - but she did not even care. Why would she choose to question it, when she already knows, when she has already confessed so many times through words, actions, touch, thoughts, anything, everything?!
It was so simple, really. Æriadne Zola, was in love.
The dance carries on, a series of steps and twirls, Æri leading Shrike across the floor in the shape of a web, because how could she not? The feeling of Shrike coiled up in her webs, belonging to her and her alone, responding to her siren calls… Æri encouraged Shrike to fulfil her indulgences. But she loved Shrike. And she would never let her go.
“I- Æri, I have an idea. I think it’s one you’ll like.” Shrike’s voice snaps Æri towards lucidity, from where she had perhaps been staring too deeply into the witch’s eyes, almost hypnotic in nature. “Show me, darling,” Æri purrs in response. “Lead the way.”
One of Shrike’s hands drops away from Æri for a moment - a wave of cold overcoming what had just been so warm - as she twists it around, carving and Weaverending tiny sigils, until she lets it return, and the rightful warmth is restored.
“If you’ll follow, my lady?” Shrike takes a couple steps back, as she begins to lead the dance, and Æri will let her, if only for now. But when the moment came, the dhampir knew she would seize control of this dance. It belonged to her. Just like her beautiful Shrike, the girl who she’d do anything for, anything to have her beside her for just another fleeting moment.
Shrike gently steps back, leading them towards the wall, before she steps to the side and onto it. “I’ve learned some new magic,” she says, now standing horizontally, her body perpendicular to Æri’s, and yet their lips were even closer now. How could Æri refuse such an open offer?
“Kiss me,” the dhampir says, delicately, and yet it was almost an order - a reminder of who truly lead, despite Shrike pulling the dance here herself, enticing Æriadne. The redhead leans in so very eagerly to press her lips against Æri’s, another spark, another flash of lightning between the two of them.
Æri takes the opportunity to step onto the wall as well, quickly sweeping her hair to tie it back before she takes a gentle, but firm hold of Shrike’s waist again, guiding her up the wall in a spiral, laughing all the while.
“Did you learn this spell so you could keep me company wherever I go?” Æri’s voice is just above a whisper as she inquires her beloved thrall, “Or, did you learn it so you could kiss me on the ceilings?” She’s mainly teasing, but she cannot help but swoop in to steal another kiss, twirling them both around.
“Who knows… I’m certainly not telling.” Shrike bites back with a small smirk and laugh of her own, making sure to leave a lingering touch over Æri’s chest, the dull thump-thump of her heart the same as always. It had become a comfort to feel the gentle rhythm, hear it under her ear when she rests her head on that cold pillow.
“You’re lucky I like you so much, or I would feel inclined to push you off this wall right now.”
“You would never .” Shrike lets go of Æri, sauntering away from her with a taunting sway of her hips, fully knowing the sorceress was watching with that searing gaze of hers. “Oh, you like me so much-”
Æri takes the short distance back in a few short moments, wrapping both her arms around the shorter woman, lifting her off the vertical surface. “That may be the case, but you cannot deny you are addicted to me, darling.” Æri leans in to Shrike’s ear once more, smirking darkly as she continues, her tone liquid smooth and filled with that familiar, bone trembling danger, “I know how badly you want my teeth in your neck, your blood spilling for me, my blood on your tongue. I know you, Shrike.”
Shrike in response, cannot help but shiver under her lady’s touch, eyes fluttering closed, her pulse racing, bloodstream hot under the cold hand tracing over the side of her neck. She did want it, she always wanted it. How could she deny it? Æri was right - Shrike was addicted in every way.
“Æri, please.” The sass from moments ago had evaporated, melted just like Shrike’s body, giving in and pleading in every way imaginable - to be Hers. Again, and again. It was always so hard to resist.
The dhampir loosens her hold, the entrapment morphing into a more gentle embrace reflecting their previous mood. Resting her face in the crook of Shrike’s neck, gently inhaling those familiar scents again. “Can we have a night just for ourselves, just for the simplicity of these moments together. Without the spilling of blood, and the heady desire that we seem to submit ourselves to over, and over. I love them, but for one night, I just want to sleep without the fear of committing such a sin as worrying for us both. Please?”
It was such a tender request, a rare occasion that would be savoured. They would always have those moments filled with heat and intensity, lust and desire, losing control and gaining control. For now, they would resist those temptations, swaying in a gentle embrace, to hold and to be held, sweet and tender, to love and to be loved.
Shrike spins in Æri’s arms, looking up at her with such a warmth that flooded through her body, coursed through her veins and lingered along each point of contact with her Æriadne. An arm snakes out from under the slender arms wrapped around her, palm tracing the cold and ageless jaw before her. “I love every moment we spend together, Æri. Bloodshed or not, it doesn’t matter, I want you to do what you want - I’ve told you you don’t have to worry, because I like it.” Shrike sighs, reaching onto her tiptoes to place a simple kiss upon Æri’s lips again, “I will follow you to the ends of every world, either way.”
The record comes to an end, the needle only producing faint static and crackling before the arm is magically lifted, returning to its hold, the record ceasing its rotations and the room is filled with silence. The ambiance of Furygale filters through the glass panes of the window, the elemental storm outside a faint hum that felt like miles away from the pair stood not even a breath away from one another.
With that, Æri lifts Shrike’s hand in hers and begins to carefully guide them both back down the walls onto the horizontal plane again. Once their world shifts back to its normal upright state, they both part for a moment, shaking off the adjustment to regular gravity. The record is put back in its sleeve and cushions and blankets pulled closer to the centre of the room under the pale stream of moonlight.
“Æri,” Shrike’s whisper is clear in the aforementioned woman’s ears, even across the few feet between them, “will you hold me?”
Æriadne turns to look up at Shrike from where she’s lowered to the ground, dropping a thick blanket onto the sea of pillows, with a curious yet, somewhat amused smile. “Darling, you don’t have to ask.”
It doesn’t take much more than that for the first year to approach, shuffling under the blankets and atop a few fluffy pillows, leaving room for the second year to comfortably take her place behind. Only, Æri stands, looking awful perplexed by Shrike facing away from the former’s spot on the nest. Her hands land on her hips, trying to gather some sort of clue as to what was being suggested. “I’m confused- why are you turned away?”
“You - you don’t know how to spoon?” Shrike turns her head a little, looking up at her querent as if she had just suggested she was never going to be bitten again. “How old are you again?”
“Old enough, thank you. And yes, I do know how to use a spoon.”
Shrike begins to laugh, a quiet bubble at first that crescendos into a cacophonous fit of giggling and amused sighs. “You’re - no, you… this is unbelievable! You- you’re telling me you’ve never spooned someone?”
“No- hey! Stop laughing at me!” The laughter is infectious, stopping any further protests from the dhampir, as she chuckles in between a few totally not adorable pouts.
“Just- come here. I’ll show you.”
Just like that, Æri slips under the blanket beside Shrike, lips drawn to a close, waiting expectantly for her dearest to impart this sacred knowledge. Shrike doesn’t need to speak, for she takes hold of those cold and slender arms and draws them around her waist, turning around semi-awkwardly so her back is pressed against Æri’s chest.
“It’s really this simple.”
A low hum is returned, the sound reverberating through Æri’s hollow chest, the sensation sending tingles through both their bodies in the tight, yet ever so gentle embrace. Closing her eyes and pushing her face into the crown of Shrike’s head, Æri mumbles languidly, her exhaustion catching up to her.
“I guess it is kinda nice…” She neglects to mention how much she likes it when Shrike is wrapped around her, holding each other. Although, Æri could get used to this ‘spooning,’ she thinks to herself as the darkness begins to claw its way through the cracks. With Shrike nestled in her arms, Æri drifts into a peaceful slumber.
Shrike lies there, nestled in Æri’s arms. It always took her a little longer to sleep, all the thoughts running rampant through her mind, as she nestles her way in to Æri, closer. It felt good. Unbelievably good. Just… nice. To have someone. To have Æri.
She curls up there, muttering little words to her in her sleep, her mind occupied with thoughts of her. Shrike… she didn’t always know how she felt about her. She didn’t know how she felt about anyone, it was like a chaotic storm, always bursting to be free. But here, in Æri’s arms, she felt calm, as the winter air wrapped round them both. “Æri, I… you’re mine,” the witch mumbles, quietly, in the ear of the dreamer beside her. She never wanted to let her go. And then, at last, wrapped in Æri’s arms, Shrike passes into blissful sleep.