Urges - Vanijeanne fic

Urges

It had been happening every day since she'd first tasted his blood.

After the second time, after he'd offered himself like a lamb to the slaughter, after he'd asked her to call him by his name, she knew that she was doomed.

She had tried, oh so very hard, in the days and nights that followed, to be present. To nod and smile at Master Luca. To answer questions when she was being spoken to. To react in the right manner, in the right way, relevant to what the person was saying.

But night would come or she'd have a moment alone, and all her resistance would pull taut against its restraints.

That was how she ended up -

Here.

In the hotel room of Vanitas after midnight.

He was asleep. Picture perfect. Stretched out on his side, that mop of ink-black fringe cascaded across his forehead leaving one closed eyelid exposed. A tinge of blue graced the entire room by mercy of the moon. He looked... delicate. So unlike the cocky self-assured bastard he was when awake.

What did she expect? For him to be perched on the bed, neck exposed, ready for her hunger pangs?

And what did she think she would do now - wake him up in the middle of the night and demand blood like she was crazy?

She knew she was being ridiculous. Could the hellfire witch who slayed 1,000 vampires not even have 1 ounce of control?

It was a mistake.

She knew that now.

Jeanne turned back to the window she had come from, crept over and pressed her palms firmly against the cool glass panes, ready to -

'Leaving so soon?'

A chill. That voice. And she hadn't even opened the window. She froze. She heard the ruffle of covers, knew that he had sat up in bed. A match was struck. To her right, out of the corner of her eye, the flickering of what could only be candlelight, yellow invading the blue.

She turned and saw exactly what she knew she would: that slithery, slimy, supercilious smirk like he had one over on her, like she was the one losing blood and not him.

What made him... like this?

'So soon, and not even after getting what you came for.'

Vanitas pulled down on the white shirt he was sleeping in, it was already shaped with a V at the neck but when he pulled on it, it exposed more of his un-pierced milky flesh and the juicy contours of his chest.

Jeanne swallowed. The saliva was coming in her mouth. Pride and instinct battled it out but she refused to be roused by him like this, like a dog with a bone.

Vanitas stood up and stepped forward. Jeanne found herself pressing her back into the hard wooden ridges and cold squares of the window, trying to create distance in the non-existent distance that there was, trying to think, rationally -

'Vanitas -!'

In three strides he was right in front of her, millimeters apart. His eyes sparkled like jewels as he considered her, and Jeanne could not help thinking, not for the first time - who is the prey? The smell of that red liquid in his body had her wanting to move closer but yet his body so close instinctively made her want to move away. She was torn between pouncing on him or shoving him.

'H-how did you know, I was here?'

A gloved hand made its way to gently caress and hold her cheek. The pounding in her veins - it had to be from the scent of his blood, right?