It was strange, hearing her own words repeated back to her. The ease with which Velour shrugged off her critique in the past gave her the impression that she paid them no mind. Who knew that she not only listened, but committed her words to memory? A discreet little smile creeps up on her lips, watching the rogue out of the corner of her eye. “When it comes to the living, you have a point.” She concedes that much. “But from what you have personally experienced so far, the same does not ring true for those of the bloodsucking variety.” For someone who was by all means immortal and empowered unlike anything she had ever seen before, it was fascinating to see an order of fries bring her to her knees.
It would have been for the best if she could maintain a professional distance. A bag served as cold as the medical indifference felt was the wisest choice in that scenario, but all it took was the mere suggestion of a close and warm alternative for her to toss that idea aside. The heart monitor is predictably silent, a world of a difference to the rapid stir of her own beating through her chest when Velour gets on top of her. The touch of her cheek sends a chill rippling through her, one that can be visibly traced by the goosebumps rising on her arms.
The first few times she lent her neck to her dear friend felt like ages ago. Octavia had been shameless and eager, insisting it was all in the name of assisting her, but that was only a fraction of the truth. It was exciting to be included, to follow Velour into this new world unlocked by a night gone wrong, and more than anything, it reminded her of all the best memories of decades past. The anxiety inducing question that would linger in the back of her mind with each time they touched, and that sweet rush of adrenaline when she would get an answer. Today felt no different from back then. Her breath caught in her throat, waiting on her every word with a tangible tension filling the air. Everyone had their vices, those few pleasures in life they could never bring themselves to say no to, and for Octavia, Velour was one of them.
“I don’t know, Velour…” She’s all too aware of how often she speaks her name, and the ease with which it rolls off her tongue. “I was never one for fiction. Never held much appeal to me.” With her neck angled out, she keeps her gaze cast aside, into the blur that filled the space where her glasses did not touch. Textbooks, documentaries, nonfiction, and biographies were her points of intrigue for as long as she could remember. Much to the dismay of anyone in her company on movie night. “Reality is fascinating enough on its own. If you look at anything for long enough - whether its observing them in daily life or disassembling their parts, then its only a matter of time until you discover something new.” With cold fingers at her neck, the doctor meets the red tint of her eyes.
“Ever since you came back, I feel like I’m witnessing an anomaly whenever I see you’re here.” She recalls the day after they reunited, sitting at her desk, trying to calculate the odds. A series of equations written down, over and over, on piles of paper that covered until the wood beneath was buried. Moving to the city had increased the likelihood by a small margin, but her social circle could be counted on one hand. The chances of Rover knowing the both of them? Cluelessly reuniting them? The one aspect that felt stacked up astronomically against her favor, were the odds of Velour actually wanting to stay. And yet, days and weeks and months had come and gone, and she was still here. Never showed any thought of it, even before she had been designated her undead doctor. It felt like an error in the Universe, and yet no one had come to repair it.
Her own bony digits extend, the tips pressing into the side of Velour’s neck, but even with their close proximity, there was no pulse to be found. “You make it sound nice for you, too. Do you miss it?” She tucks some strands of blue behind her ear, and after a moment of hesitation, she quietly swallows. Even now, that fear of rejection simmers in her, in spite of the vampire’s positive reception to her every time before. “I want you to bite my neck.”
—- Octavia has that rough edge
doctors like her often wear, but it’s never moreso. Behind that ice-cold glare was always a smile just waiting to be tempted out. Velour noticed early on that whenever they exchanged glances, Octavia never had to try to smile, it just came naturally. In those moments, she could feel her heart tremble and imagine a world where she was her girl.
Things have changed, as they often do after ten to twenty years. Right now there is no heart to rely on, and still she can feel something tremble inside of her whenever Octavia so much as smiles just a little. It’s been so long since they had a chance to pass time together, but ever since the end of their messy road trip through Europe, she understood: some people are worth the wait, and she is one of them.
Maybe that’s why, even now that her life has taken a turn for the worst considering the drastic change in direction, she’s sticking around. Although in Velour’s point of view, Octavia is the one who made the choice of allowing her in after all this time. Her metaphor about reality and the discovery of new things has her mull over some theories of her own, but she’s never been all that eloquent when it comes down to thoughts and feelings. It sits on the tip of her tongue, however: ‘the more I look at you, the more I want to… the more I want to…’ The more she wants to…
In this moment, she wants to be the anomaly Octavia speaks of, the one she longs to disassemble and observe and keep close under a microscope with the fluorescent lights of her lab that imitate the memories of her warm embrace. In this moment, she wants to tell her that yes, she misses the first time Octavia let her bite her neck and do so much more to satiate a different kind of famine that’s been going on for longer than she’d like to admit. And still, she says nothing even when the doctor tells her exactly what it is she wants.
Velour’s stare intensifies, creepy crawlers make their home inside the belly of a beast that twists and turns in anticipation. “You want it?” she asks, a taunt carrying the surprise in her voice. The grip on Octavia’s jaw tightens when she leans in and sniffs her neck up close, water flooding the bed of her mouth. The tips of her teeth graze her skin, and for a moment it’s as if there’s a glimmer of hesitance – there isn’t. It’s just Velour waiting for Octavia to pull back, change her mind last second.
But when there is no disruption even when she puts her lips to where she bit her last time, she gives a fair warning: “alright then. Relax now,” and eventually digs her teeth into her throat. Blood comes pouring the second she pulls out her fangs, and she messily catches the river of red with her tongue before covering the fresh wound with her mouth. It drips down her jaw and the base of Octavia’s throat. Her body responds when she draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful, reveling in the strength and life that fills her veins, jolts her limbs, and grants her this semblance of life. She wants more. Velour wraps an arm around Octavia’s waist and pulls the throbbing of her heart close against her chest. She sucks harder, drinks deeper, until a minute passes and she forces herself to pull her face away lest she drains her empty.
Her breathing is ragged, heavy. The tip of her tongue catches a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth before she kisses another spot on Octavia’s neck. “Good girl,” she laughs lightly, and tries to wipe some of the blood from her throat – a futile attempt at taking care of the mess, especially considering the bleeding doesn’t stop right away. It taunts her, and still Velour tries to find the boundaries Octavia never outright laid down. “Are you okay? Need a…” The smell lures her closer. “… a break?”
