Dreamwidth Vamptober writing prompt: @meli_writes — Vampire who can secrete a numbing cream, but has to lick it over the bite spot
The catgirl is dressed in nothing but a hair ribbon and a pair of booty shorts. One cheek reads TYPE and the other O with smaller block capitals underneath reading (MULTI). She’s stretching to reach from a high shelf.
At the kitchen table, a vampire and a werewolf lounge; the werewolf nursing a longneck, the vampire running an idle fingertip around the rim of a martini glass. They watch.
“You could reach this yourself,” the catgirl says, almost whining, fishing about with fingertips for something she can’t see and can’t quite get hold of.
“Don’t talk back,” the vampire says. The werewolf chuckles. “Well, if you can’t manage, leave it, it doesn’t matter.”
The catgirl drops down from her tiptoes and turns, half scowling, half apologetic.
“Oh, nice,” the werewolf says. “All eight nipples pierced?”
“That’s how we met,” the vampire says, “isn’t it, Kitty-Kitty? Came in to have just the top ones done, human-style.”
Kitty-Kitty parks her ass on the edge of the counter and obediently arches to display the work.
“Came back a few weeks later, got the next pair. Then a few weeks later, the next. Then when she came back for the last ones, she asked if it’s true that vampires produce their own anaesthetic.” The vampire smirks. “Of course, strictly speaking it’s not to health code, and there are easier ways to get to my mouth....”
The werewolf chuckles again. The vampire crooks a finger, and Kitty-Kitty scrambles across the tiled floor to be close, a hand fitted to her hip.
“Now are you sure about this,” the vampire says, and Kitty-Kitty looks at the werewolf through her lashes and blushes and fidgets and nods. “I know Baxter’s given you the elevator pitch, and I know that got your greedy little attention—”
Baxter smirks lazily. “Long as your forearm,” she affirms. “Knot the size of a fist.” She pauses. “My fist, not yours,” she adds, and demonstrates, reaching out to gently boop the catgirl’s nose with the tip of the thumb on the balled outside. Kitty-Kitty goes crosseyed staring at the size of it.
“—But horny brain isn’t always the same as now I’ve had time to make a sensible decision brain,” the vampire finishes, diffident. She strokes her thumb idly over a stretchmark. “It’s fine, either way. It’s fine if you’d like to think about it a bit more.”
Kitty-Kitty shakes her head a little.
“Bax has told you she has four sisters, up on that big old farm, hasn’t she?” the vampire says in a conversational tone. “…And they share everything.”
Kitty-Kitty looks up through her lashes, wide-eyed, and down at her feet, and bites her lip, and shakes her head a little again.
“Five is a lot,” the vampire says. “One is a fair amount, not that I’ve had the pleasure, but five is — and of course the refractory period of a horny werewolf is less than the time it takes the next four to finish—”
The werewolf chuckles again, darkly.
“Not that I’ve had the pleasure,” she mimics. “Remember when we were rooming together, when I was in college? That girl you had then.”
“Mm,” the vampire says, eyes slitted.
“Had her so trained after a year or so that Eddie here would lie back, the girl would sink down on her strap, and the second Eddie put a hand on her throat she’d go so limp and pliant I could knot her butt without any fuss,” the werewolf says reminiscently, and Kitty-Kitty fidgets, pressing into the vampire’s hand on her hip.
“What happened to her?” she says, trying to sound casual.
“Someone slipped Eddie a weed brownie and she got the munchies and ate her,” the werewolf says. “Gave me the bones to gnaw—”
The vampire sighs loudly. “She was in college,” she says shortly. “She grew up a little. Outgrew me. Graduated, moved away, dated some other people, settled down with a nice genderqueer demidyke in — websites or something. Got a dog. She’s a dentistry tech. We exchange cards every Christmas.”
She pinches Kitty-Kitty’s hip.
“Ready to head out?” she says, sharp as a stropped razor, and Kitty-Kitty looks at the werewolf, and at the vampire, and shivers all over. Nods.
“I’ll drop her off…call it lunchtime tomorrow?” the werewolf says, pushing her chair back and fishing for her keys.
“Oh, one thing,” the vampire says, and puts two fingers into her mouth. Her cheeks hollow for a second, and then she pulls them out — glossy-slick, some clear thick shiny gel puddled in the groove between them. She takes her other hand off Kitty-Kitty’s hip, pulls the front of her booty shorts out.
“Oh no,” Kitty-Kitty says in involuntary horror.
“Don’t talk back,” the vampire says, and puts her glossy-shiny fingers down the front of the booty shorts and puts them somewhere that makes Kitty-Kitty inhale sharply. “Wet slut,” the vampire mutters affectionately, and gently but thoroughly rubs the gel in with little circular motions.
Kitty-Kitty whines. “I’ve been good!” she protests. “I’m — I was—”
“So ready,” the vampire says sympathetically.
“That’ll last hours,” the catgirl wails softly.
“Five werewolves,” the vampire says. “They’re only handing you back at lunchtime so they don’t break you; you don’t think you’re getting a rest until then, do you? I’m practically doing you a favour.”
“No you’re not,” Kitty-Kitty mumbles, hanging her head.
“Naw, she’s mean and she likes it,” the werewolf says. “Time for the cat carrier!”
“What,” Kitty-Kitty says in alarm, and the werewolf picks her up and slings her easily over one shoulder.
“See you tomorrow!” the werewolf says to the vampire, who salutes with her martini glass.
