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The soft squeaking of leather gloves and the creak of the door is the only sign she has before Aro is upon her, his red eyes wide and ravenous, shoulders tense, hands clenched as he scans her face in a frantic rush. The cold, supple leather of his gloves presses gently against her cheeks as he bends down, his large hands wandering to her neck and then her shoulders, pausing slightly over her pulse.
An unneeded sigh escapes from his lips, and he kneels before her, shoes squeaking, cloak rustling. His marble arms wrap around her frame and his head rests on her lap. His red eyes vanish behind paper-white lids and his entire body loosens as he sinks into her lap, careful not to let skin meet skin
"You're still here." he mumbles- so quietly she almost mistakes it for the soft rustle of his cloak. But the desperation, the need, is still there. His black hair falls forward, and she reaches to tuck it back, her gloved hands gentle on his face, pressing silent affection into him. Aro nearly preens at the touch. Leather-covered hands cradle his cheeks, tilting his face upward, until his chin rests on the fabric of her skirt, red eyes locked with hers, pleading and reverent, as he melts into the hands that cradle him so.
"I will always be here," she says, her thumbs drawing circles along his sharp cheekbones. And a soft whine falls from Aro's throat as he leans into her touch, willing himself to believe her. The place where his heart once beat clenches painfully, and he grits his teeth at the desire to lunge forward and sink his teeth into her, just to taste the olive-colored skin, to get a taste of the flesh that is just underneath.
His stomach twists as she watches him with wide eyes, her head tilted, dark curls brushing against the exposed skin of his wrists. He almost can’t bear it- the thought- the dream that she might one day yearn for his touch as he yearns for hers. The need to see her, to smell her, feel her- is all consuming; it churns the blood in his stomach, turns the ice in his veins molten and he can barely stand being so close yet so far.
Something in him snaps, the monster within snarls for Aro to touch, just one brush of skin, just one moment of contact would sate him for centuries. But the knowledge that she’s not ready- that his touch could scare her off- paralyzes him. The thought of her running from him, out of reach forever, breaks him. He bites his tongue; his hands clench the fabric of her shirt as he holds back. He couldn’t risk it. Not until she was ready to be seen.
It’s been millennia since Aro last touched someone without restraint. Before his change, he still remembers how soft human flesh was- the warmth of his mother’s hugs, the strength behind his father’s handshakes.
Now- he remembers the fear in his mother’s expression when he came home, his eyes red, throat burning. He can still hear her screams as he lunged for her, still feel her life pouring into his mind. Her memories. Her anguish. Her love. He still remembers the taste of his mother’s blood—thick, hot, flooding his mouth as she screamed his name.
He remembers his father’s fury, the heat of regret in his mind, and the fire of resentment. His father’s memories had been almost as red hot as his blood; Aro can still feel the burning.
Most of all, Aro remembers Didyme- her sorrow- not for herself, but for him. And Aro, somehow, found the strength to change her, for the thought of killing someone whom he considered a part of himself was akin to death. She was the last person Aro could freely touch. But even then, after Marcus, she began to shy away from him. Eventually, after her death, Aro was left only with the touch of the humans he slaughtered and from the vampires he questioned, he was going mad with desperation. Starved for affection, for love- he nearly lost himself. He hungered for love, for a soft touch, more than he hungered for blood.
He had gone longer without blood than he had without touch. Blood was simple- ubiquitous and transactional. Blood could be hunted. But touch- affection- love? That was ancient magic. That was extinct. He hadn’t felt the press of skin in tenderness, the warmth of a body leaning into his, in over three thousand years. Civilizations had turned to dust. Stars had collapsed and vanished into black holes. Empires had risen and fallen, and still, no one had touched him with love.
Time had not softened the ache. It had sharpened it—refined it into something monstrous, crystalline, unyielding. A hunger so old it had ceased to feel like need and had begun to feel like identity. Like destiny.
And so, he craved her. Not as a lover craves, but as a relic craves the sun, as something undead craves the memory of life. His yearning was not a feeling- it was a timeline, a history, a thousand years of starvation fossilized into his bones. Every moment without her touch calcified his restraint, and every breath she took near him cracked it just a little more.
To live forever was not a gift. It was a sentence—one Aro had been serving alone.
And now- now- she sits before him, the answer to every silent prayer. Her warm form, her soft skin so near… and yet so out of reach. But Aro has learned restraint in three thousand years. He knows how to wait.
But he is starving.
He craves touch the way a drowning man craves air, the way a shipwreck soul yearns for shore. He fears that once he has her- he’ll never let her go, clinging to her like Odysseus clung to the shore of Scheria, gasping for air, and digging his fingers into the soil. He might suffocate her- but he can’t find it in him to care. Aro craves her how the damned might crave salvation, how a devil might crave the pig styes.
A second of contact would drown him in her, would feed him for days. The thought that she might one day choose to touch him, to press her skin to his- makes his entire body tremble from the sheer weight of his need and he nearly grows sick with anticipation. His body unraveling at the seams, desperate for the warmth of skin, the press of flesh against flesh. Affection was a luxury not even millenniums of riches could buy. He used to dream of holding someone. Now- he dreamed of devouring them. Somewhere along the centuries, the line between affection and consumption had blurred. He couldn’t remember the last time he touched without wanting to take. That terrified him. Not enough to stop—but enough to mourn what he used to be.
"Do not promise something you might be unwilling to honor, my love," he murmurs, his breath ragged. Her fingers thread through his hair, his eyes fluttering closed as hunger surges inside of him- fierce, feral, insatiable- destroying nearly everything within his very being.
She sighs.
And Aro nearly lunges to snatch her breath from her lips. Her scent- heavy, intoxicating- the knowledge that that air has passed from her lips, that it has touched her skin, makes him nearly green with envy. He almost snarls, but instead, a soft, pitiful whine escapes him as her hands leave his hair. His eyes snap open, wide and frantic, hands gripping her shirt, nearly ripping the fabric. He aches for her touch, for the warmth beneath the gloves, for any trace of her.
"Wait," she whispers, and the hunger in Aro swells. "Close your eyes please."
And Aro is nothing if not her willing slave. He would do anything if she just pressed her gloved hand to his cheek again. He obeys, his body heavy like stone as he waits for her touch, the hunger sharpening inside of him.
And then- warmth.
Her bare palm envelopes Aro's cheek. His scarlet eyes fly open, lips parting in a gasp as memory after memory floods his mind. He groans in relief, a soft sob tumbling from him as her thumbs brush his cheeks, fingers finding purchase under his ears. All Aro can feel is her- her love, her tenderness.
But the hunger still claws at him.
He lunges, burying his face into the hollow of her neck. His lips clinging to her skin, his nose presses to the swell of her throat. He rips the gloves on his hands, letting marble meet flesh. His fingers seek out the heat of her, the pounding of her heart. And he groans into her as her memories crash through him, her thoughts curling through him like smoke, delicate and fleeting. He hoarded them, swallowed them whole, let them line his bones and fill the hollowness inside.
He was eating her, thought by thought. With every touch, he took. Took memories, took moments, took the parts of her no one else could see.
He wants more; he needs more. He is starving.
Heat burns the back of his throat as his cold lips press into her neck, and he licks the goosebumps that rise beneath his touch, groaning quietly into her, tasting her affection, her desire, her love.
If he could, he would break her body like bread, drink her like wine.
The rough pads of his fingers press into her skin, and her memories, her feelings, the love for him, all swirls around his head, snaking around his heart, taunting the hunger within him.
"I love you," he murmurs, lost in her thoughts. They drown him, and he savors the flood, willing to drown every moment of his damnable existence just to touch her.
He didn’t just love her, he infested her. Aro's devotion crept through her life like a parasite, wrapping itself around her mind, feeding on every smile, every sigh, every flicker of affection she offered him. He told himself he was harmless, that he only wanted to survive off what she was willing to give. But parasites never ask—they take. And he would take until there was nothing left of her that wasn’t already his.
His hands roam, fingers pressing into her hips, cold hands gliding up her back, palming the goosebumps that rise, he can’t get enough. One hand tangles into her hair, pulling the dark curls at her nape and as his lips press into the swell of her neck, licking at the pulse beneath her skin, counting the rhythms- 1, 2, 3.
His sharp canines scrape at her soft skin, leaving red lines in his wake, he has to bite, he needs to bite her, needs to devour the beating heart within her chest- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- He needs to sate his hunger as it threatens to destroy him from within.
But Aro would starve, starve until the last atom in the universe crumples to dust, before he would allow himself to harm, to kill, to even consider consuming his mate until there was nothing left of her.
But Aro was so, so hungry- just a taste of the honey she held beneath her skin, a drop of the ambrosia that flooded her veins- 1, 2, 3, 4. And Aro knew she was nothing if not generous, if not giving- for she gave her love to the monster before her, gave her affection to the beast that lays within him, she could spare just a taste, just a drop of it- he was sure it would calm him.
Large hands run up the curve of her back, fingers pressing into soft curve of her hips, the ridges of her shoulder blades, mapping out the skin beneath his touch, he fingers the soft lines of her skin, the pale scars beneath his fingers, Aro can’t help but love every imperfection. He can barely stand the idea that some part of her, that he loves so dearly, will someday be gone. Desecrated by his venom, which will one day flood through her veins. Aro nearly moans at just the thought- the idea- of biting her, changing her, the only scar on her body being his- the mark of her new life- her eternal life with him. He nips at her olive skin to stop himself from losing his mind.
Aro is hungry, he feels her heart skip a beat- 1, -, 3. And the hunger resurges, the yowling within him, the want, the NEED, to consume her very being, her soul, her mind, her body. Touch isn't enough- Aro needs to be a part of her, needs to cage her to him, needs to carry, not a part, or a sliver of her- no Aro is greedy- he needs all of her, to be so intertwined not even Marcus can tell where one of them begins and the other ends.
Aro clings to her how a man lost at sea would cling to shore, how Odysseus clung to Penelope, how Orpheus desired to cling to Eurydice, but not even the underworld, or Hades himself, or that stupid Cerberus he boasts about could keep Aro from the woman in his arms.
A silent snarl leaves his lips as her hands snake into his hair, tugging at the dark tendrils at his nape, urging his head up. Aro understands at once, and despite his remorse from pulling away from her neck, the soft, frantic beating of her heart echoing in his ears, dissolving on his tongue- he complies. Allowing her to guide his face to hers as she presses her lips to his.
Aro knows he is a damned man – for you cannot live as long as he and expect to reach the gates of heaven- but her lips, her skin, her touch- it is salvation.
His cold lips press into her- marbled skin unyielding against soft flesh- and he can’t stop himself from biting at her lip, hands pressing her closer as he kneels before her- ready to worship, ready to serve.
Aro moans against her lips, his tongue lapping at the soft drops of blood that beads from his bite, and he drinks in the gasp that falls from her lips, his cold mouth working against hers, his hands running against every inch of skin he can reach.
Aro can barely focus, memories, thoughts, feelings, sensations- they all flood through him, all hers, all perfect. And Aro can’t do anything but press closer to her. But it’s never enough. And it never will be.
Aro needs to feast, to consume, to devour her.
Why did he think that a single touch could satisfy three thousand years of starvation? All it has done is unleashed the monster inside of him. She will never escape him. And maybe before he could bare it- he could watch her go. But now, now she has damned herself- sentenced herself to an eternity next to him- she won’t leave, she can’t- Aro would sooner die- and if he has to chain her to him, so be it; anything to keep her.