Vampire Erotica...
"The Night Will Come," a spooky sex story by Chelsea Comeau
At the precise moment when dusk brushes bruised blue strokes across the sky, she squeezes herself onto the subway, pressed firmly between sweating construction workers in stained overalls, and fat secretaries with swollen pumpkin bellies that spill over their waists onto the tops of their thighs. She rides the subway for three stops, and emerges back into the descending night, where she climbs onto a bus and rides for another twenty minutes. This same routine is repeated every evening, but she never grows weary of it, because he is always waiting there with dinner and gin and sometimes even a small bottle of warm oil to smear across her shoulders and breasts.
There are always pots and pans creating a symphony in his kitchen when she arrives. She has a copy of his key on a ring in her purse; the muted clunk of the lock, the sound of her shoes limply falling to the floor as she kicks them off; these are all familiar noises that have become as comforting and predictable to her as a bowl of her grandmother's bland soup.
He rents an apartment downtown, a suite on the fifth floor that overlooks a crammed cityscape of skyscrapers, office buildings, and restaurants very much like the one in which she works.
He is always there to take her coat when she shrugs it off. By the time she arrives, he has thrown open the curtains in the living room, and she will shut them when she leaves to protect him from the sunlight.
"I've made spaghetti," he announces tonight. "And there is garlic bread in the oven."
She'd love to make a comment about vampires and garlic, but she thinks by now that all her jokes have been exhausted. Not that he wouldn't laugh anyway. He still feigns horror when she makes her fingers into a cross, even after seven months.
He is nearly a foot taller than she is, olive-skinned and beautiful. He told her once that he was born in Ancient Greece, when the Parthenon was still being built. He has changed his names so many times since then that he does not even remember what his mother first called him. He introduced himself as "Tobias" and this is what she calls him.
She sits down at the kitchen table, which is already set. "We should go see a movie tonight," she says.
He grins, exposing his fangs. This is their comedy shtick, their private joke. She comes up with something for them to do, something that will draw them away from his apartment, and he will use his wet, pink lips to talk her out of it.
They are faced with two options every evening: seek outside entertainment, or make love. There is rarely enough time to do both because his sexual appetite is nearly insatiable, and it is thoroughly impossible to resist a vampire. Every once in a while, they will go and listen to a poetry reading, or eat spicy tuna rolls in a booth downtown, but truly, she would prefer to splay naked on his living room floor.
"What movie do you want to see?" he asks, dumping pasta onto her plate.
"I don't know," she shrugs. "Something funny maybe."
They eat slowly, and their conversation drifts languidly in another direction. They know that there will be no movie tonight.
***
He is meticulously clean, and moves with liquid quickness, so clearing the table is a brief task. He refuses to let her help him, always ushering her to the sofa and putting a remote control in her hand. She hardly has a chance to finish channel surfing before he joins her.
"What time is the movie?" he asks, taking her arm and trailing soft, slow kisses to the cleft of her elbow.
She smiles. "Depends on what we want to see."
"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay here instead?"
"I might be coerced."
His chiseled cheeks curve in a sly grin, and his lips begin tracing an invisible path towards her throat. She can feel her eyelids flicker dreamily as he combs his fingers through her auburn locks. His hand slips between her thighs and up her skirt, pulling her underwear down to her ankles. He casts them aside and dives down to lick the warm moist patch he has exposed.
She groans, her back arching.
He laps rapidly until she is shuddering and on the verge of climax, and then he recoils, causing her to cry out.
He is nimbly unbuckling his belt, peeling off his clothes until he is glorious and naked. He deposits himself between her legs and slides gently inside of her.
His thrusting is deliberate, calculated. He draws himself out so that he is barely touching the walls of her warm folds, then lunges deeply, eliciting tiny moans of pleasure with each movement.
His bucking grows frantic, frenzied.
He tears the buttons from her shirt, unhooks her bra and takes her rosy left nipple into his mouth. His fangs scrape the supple skin, but do not pierce.
She writhes beneath him, her throat growing hoarse, and she clings to him desperately. Her fingers squeeze his buttocks, searching and pinching for tangible flesh to keep her grounded.
Beads of sweat trickle down his temple, snaking down to his chin, and dripping onto her breasts.
They are shouting now, trembling.
He buries his face in his throat, licking the space between neck and shoulder before breaking the surface with his fangs.
Hot blood floods his mouth.
Simultaneously, they shudder, and emit coarse grunts of relief.
They are panting, limp now on the sofa, limbs dangling as if their marionette strings have been severed.
Tobias plants a kiss on her forehead and rests his cheek upon the cushion of her right breast.
There is silence that swathes them in contentedness, and he lets her eyes flutter shut. She will sleep for a few hours until the sun threatens to rise, and then hurry home to shower and change before work.
He will crawl into bed and draw the comforter up over his head, creating a seal of shadow all around him.
She will type and he will rest, and then soon, the night will come.
Originally published October 2006 - "Supernatural"
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
