Prowling
Bethany was still riding high on that wave of pleasure and adrenaline that had come with Atia's touch and that kiss, the very same one that had reached invisible hands deep inside her soul and pulled at the seams, opening the hole wider and farther so that darkness could overwhelm and suffocate it.

She was passing people in the street, senses more attuned to them than they had been before. Everything was suddenly more intoxicating and she ached for every moment, wanting to dominate and possess, taste and devour, push the limits and slide further and faster into the darkness clawing at her.

Her confidence was apparent, the way she turned heads and passed slow smiles at the wandering eyes. Vegas. She could feel its pulse like her own, beating beneath her feet and thrumming through her veins like the blood that kept her alive. Bethany was aimless, with only a vague idea of what she should do; she had never been one to follow anyone else's whim easily, after all.

She touched strangers, invaded their space and didn't care, seeking out the beats of their hearts with her ears and fingers, challenging them to say or do something to tell her no. They never did. Her skin was glowing in the lights of the Vegas night, hair damp with sweat and body oozing a darkness that was part her own but part something else.

It was only when she caught a familiar scent on the breeze that her footsteps stilled and she looked around, closing her eyes and turning her head to follow its movement on the air.

In films, lovers would often be depicted as circling one another while their senses heightened to a fever pitch. They engaged in a dance while pulses raced, swirling the way thoughts could.

Bethany closed her eyes and took in the fragrances of skin and hair and cloth. Her body turned as if on a string, following him because him, she knew.

Darian pivoted around the Slayer as if looking for insight. What difference was there in a body that looked the same, slender like a dancer’s, but postured itself sinuously, sexually, like even the night air caressed her in secret places?

She looked had.

Satisfied. Post-orgasmic. Not satisfied.

His mouth twitched. It could be difficult, when your soul was in question, to decide whether to be jealous or turned on. He supposed it was possible to be both. “Bethany.” He touched the small of her back. “You’ve been taking liberties.”

Bethany's eyes opened and the dark depths regarded his face, sliding over the high cheekbones and running along the strong jaw line that held the aftershave she had tasted with her tongue on more than one occasion. Her hand lifted to his neck, cool nails sliding over the pulse she knew by touch alone before her lips pulled apart to reveal teeth.

"You think so?" She stepped up closer, splaying her fingers and grasping the side of Darian's neck. "And you?" She angled her head, lips mere inches away from Darian's, eyes dark with questions and unreadable emotions. She would have smelt different, herself but not. There was something else there, familiar but different at the same time.

She reached upwards, tangling fingers in his hair and drawing herself closer to him and him closer to her. In truth, Bethany could share her body with countless lovers if she chose to, but it was Darian that held sway over her heart.

He watched her from close range. “Only in my imagination.”

His fingers on her back began to wander higher, counting the vertebrae of her spine. Darian knew her. The looks she could give, before and afterward. This look had a little of both. “Whose fingers do I have to break?” Rules be fucked. They had an open relationship. It didn’t mean he couldn’t stop things from happening twice.

The saunter she had was either the work of Ecstasy in a large dose or some kind of residual spell. Nobody shot off hormones like that, at least no human, and not naturally. The Dealmaker put his mouth on hers. It looked like a kiss, but he was tasting.

And Bethany arched under his touches like a cat, pressing the inches of her back against his questing fingertips. Her lips curled, stomach fluttering at the possessive tone and the low threat. It was nice to feel wanted, to know he still felt for her the way she did for him. Open relationship or not.

It was when he kissed her that she opened, body and soul. Atia was there, on the edge of her tongue and farther. Her corruption festered in the deep, dark places in Bethany, growing and spreading, and it wouldn't be long until Bethany knew no more rhyme and certainly no more reason.

She tangled her arms around his neck and pulled him down farther, drawing him in as deep and close as she could.

Darian probed until he tasted it in the back of her mouth. Something dark and bittersweet like licorice. Magnetic, too, because its source had a place by Leviathan’s side and held sway over demons. He would’ve thought it was Elfleda, if he didn’t know better. Elfleda was out of commission.

Because in many ways he was just a guy, Darian didn’t back off. Sure, it was the equivalent of finding out his girl wasn’t in her right mind, and this could be construed as taking advantage, but ‘right mind’ was relative where the blonde was concerned, and he liked to think her tongue would be down his throat anyway.

On the sidewalk, people commented on the lip-lock as they passed by, whistled, made lewd comments. At least one of them, Darian thought, was a pretty goddamn good suggestion.

He locked his fingers behind her head and slanted her mouth. The tip of his tongue stretched to the roof of her mouth and made one long, slow stroke. He felt the corruption in his toes. He broke off and said, “Looks like somebody’s had a visit from downstairs. I should probably lock you up for the duration. You could be a danger to yourself.” He didn't have any particular concern for others, except maybe himself. By the time this wore off, there could be a lot more fingers to break.


[Thread: Open to Bethany]
**Adult Content (Sexuality)***