Blood+ Fan Fiction ❯ Pretentious ❯ Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Saya and Blood: The Last Vampire are the intellectual property of Production I.G. No copyright infringement intended. Not profiting from this fic.

 

And now we venture into lemon territory.

 

 

Pretentious

 

 

Chapter 3

 

 

Part of me assumed that Saya was still a virgin.

 

That's right, people, you read that correctly. Alice McKee once thought that her centuries-old girlfriend had never had sex. You see, Alice McKee is able to convince herself of believing anything.

 

Somehow, the idea got into my head, and I never questioned it. I kept making these rationalizations to myself, kept coming up with reasons for how a person could go for four hundred years without getting any.

 

I told myself that for all that time Saya was too busy fighting a two-woman war to have time to bother with relationships.

 

I told myself that feudal Japanese society repressed females. Japanese women don't have clitorises, or at least that's what they were taught to believe. .

 

I told myself that Saya was so lonely and sometimes so awkward and socially inept that it would be too painful for her to try to be intimate with someone.

 

I told myself that Saya is, essentially, an elderly woman, and part of old age was adapting to loneliness and denying human desires.

 

Maybe it was my way of putting Saya and myself on a level playing field. I knew nothing about sex except what they told us in school, and I guess it was comforting to think that Saya might be in the same boat. I kept thinking that we would be embarking on a journey together, discovering our bodies together, finding new ways to express our feelings.

 

It's so easy to forget that that youthful face is just a façade.

 

You can imagine that the romantic part of me just loved the fact that I was going to give my virginity to someone I loved, someone I would do anything for, someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I guess I flattered myself that I was going to receive the same thing. What, did I actually think that I was so special that Saya waited four hundred years to be with me? Did I actually think that Saya lived like a nun for all that time, saving herself for me?

 

There's a naïve part of me, a part of me that's never going to go away no matter how much blood and violence and screaming and monsters and killing and trauma I see. It's the part of me that dreams about living forever with Saya in a big expensive house. It's the part of me that allowed me to dream about a better future, even when my father was murdered and I was left an orphan with no one in the world.

 

-

 

About three months after I ran away from my uncle's home with Saya, I decided that I was going to try to seduce my girlfriend. Of course, the loss of my virginity was a momentous occasion and it took me a week to plan for it.

 

I decided that the event was going to happen on a Friday evening. This was going to be a very emotionally intense time, and afterwards we were going to need to have very long conversations about our feelings. How could we open our souls to each other and share our innermost thoughts if I had to go to school?

 

Maybe Saya started to get suspicious when I bought in enough groceries one day to last for a week. Obviously, we were going to stay in bed for the whole weekend. It would kind of put a crimp on things if one of us had to take a trip to the convenience store.

 

My period had come two weeks earlier, and Saya's kind don't menstruate (she'd told me so, in that horrifyingly frank way of hers), so Mother Nature wasn't going to intervene to drive us apart. I was going to wait until we'd both showered, so there'd be zero risk of odours killing the moment.

 

I made sure all our laundry was done. I made sure that our bedroom was spotless. I think Saya was vaguely bewildered as she watched me fly all around the apartment like a maid clearing out every piece of dirt and trash I could find.

 

That night, I waited until I heard Saya draw the shower curtain shut, and then I switched the television off, and hurried into our bedroom. A dozen scented candles were hidden in the cupboard; I pulled them out, and started placing them strategically around the room. Already, my heart was pounding, my head was starting to feel light, and I started to giggle and squeak. Deep breath. Deep breath.

 

Of course, something just had to go wrong. A wave of panic swept over me as I realized that my lighter wasn't working.

 

I swore under my breath. Self-righteous, indignant rage welled up inside of me, and I felt like a little piece of plastic was trying to come between me and my love. I rushed out of the bedroom, and began searching frantically for another lighter, a box of matches, two rocks to rub together, anything. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

 

I knew that Saya wouldn't be long. I prefer baths, but when I do take a shower, I usually lounge in there for about twenty minutes, almost dozing off beneath the stream of water. But Saya, no, she has to be super efficient, doesn't she? Miss Well-Organized has her shower finished in four minutes!

 

I started pulling open drawers and rooting through what was inside. I heard the water from the bathroom stop, and my blood froze. Was Saya finished already? But then I relaxed. It's okay, Saya soaks herself first, then she turns the water off, applies the lather, and turns the water on again to rinse the soap off. Saya is all about saving resources, isn't she? I still had two minutes.

 

I opened the shelves, and rooted through them. For a moment, I eyed Saya's swords, displayed on the wall. Hmmm…maybe if I clashed them together, it could generate sparks? Nah, I'd probably just hurt myself. It would kind of kill the romance if my arm was lying on the floor and I was bleeding all over the place.

 

Finally! I found a box of matches underneath a map in a drawer in the kitchen. I rushed back into the bedroom, and began lighting all the candles. I already went to the trouble of placing them in glasses of water, so there wouldn't be any danger of the apartment block burning down while Saya and I were in the throes of passion.

 

I shut the curtains. I flicked the light switch, and the room was filled with candlelight. Our squalid little bedroom looked like a palace, and for that moment I was filled with the kind of joy that women feel when something that seems unimportant but means so much to them goes right.

 

I pulled off my sweater and slacks and shoved them under the bed, and then climbed on top of the sheets. I was wearing a tank top and cotton shorts; nothing too adventurous for my first night, but at least Saya would be able to see what was in store for her. I draped myself across the bed in what had to be the least-natural seductive pose in history, and waited.

 

I heard the water from the shower stop. I heard the shower curtain pushed aside, and Saya step outside. Her feet pattered on the bathroom floor, and she dried herself off with a towel.

 

I got more and more nervous. What if she wasn't ready? That would be vaguely humiliating. I imagined myself having to walk around to all of those candles and blowing each one out, while she lay in the bed, facing away from me, unspeaking.

 

What if she laughed at me? Laughed at the presumptuousness of a girl who willingly exposed herself, made herself vulnerable? At that moment in time, I had put myself in the palm of her hand, trusting her not to crush me. What if a smirk broke across her face? What if she really saw me as nothing but a kid? What if I'd been hiding myself from that all along?

 

Stop it. She would never do anything to hurt you.

 

I heard her footsteps across the hall. The door opened, and I watched her enter the room.

 

Saya's got one hell of a poker face. When she first saw me lying there, I was so anxious that I obviously couldn't help but burst out in a stupid, childlike grin. But nothing registered on her face. She just stood there, unperturbed, and took in the room.

 

“Candles,” I said, like an idiot. “It's nice.” Smooth.

 

She walked around the side of the bed, and sat down next to me. She reached for my hand, and I gave it to her. She was wearing the usual t-shirt and tracksuit bottom combination that she favoured in the evenings. Her hair was still glistening with wet from the shower. I imagined it sticking to my skin.

 

It seemed like Saya was thinking of what to say for a moment, but she must have decided that she didn't have anything to say at all.

 

She pulled me closer to her, and we kissed. She wrapped one arm around my waist and another around my shoulders, and positioned me so that I was kneeling more comfortably in front of her. I guess this made it clear that she had no intention of breaking off the kiss soon. Well, I thought, best get into it.

 

We knelt there, holding each other, pressing against each others' mouths. I felt her tongue flicking at my lips, and I wondered if she wanted me to do the same. Saya and I had never kissed in that way before, and so like the immature schoolgirl that I was, I had to of course start shaking with laughter. I found her tongue with my own, and we fell deeper into each other.

 

It might have been strange that the painfully shy and inexperienced Saya of my imagination would initiate French kissing, but that didn't occur to me. Yet.

 

Finally, we broke off, and gazed into each other. I was breathing more rapidly, and I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Saya, of course, was the unflappable demon warrior, and she just peered into me, not a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

 

“I want you,” I whispered.

 

“In know,” she said. “I can smell it.”

 

She pulled away from me, and held out her arms, and I realized that she wanted me to remove her t-shirt. I took two handfuls at her waist, and slid the garment upwards, inwardly cursing myself when it got caught on her chin. I pulled her arms free of it, disentangled her hair from the folds, and then tossed it on the floor.

 

Stupid jokes formed in my head. I thought of making some idiot quip about how I should start going to the gym. I thought of telling her that her stomach scared me. I thought of saying something like “Hey, I got breasts just like those. But I think I prefer yours”. But I knew better. It would probably have come out: “(Titter titter) I got breasts like those. (Hee hee!)” Deep breath. Deep breath. “But think…heh heh…I prefer yours.” Deep breath. Deep breath.

 

I probably just wanted to cover up my own embarrassment. But Saya wasn't embarrassed. She gazed at me with that same intent look that I've become so familiar with. Undaunted. Unafraid. Calm. So I gazed back into her, and tried to take some of her calmness for my own.

 

She reached out for me again, and took the waist of my top. My turn. I raised my arms, and my tank top joined her t-shirt on the floor. I looked at her expectantly, perhaps looking for a sign of approval. She pulled me into an embrace, and I gasped; so much skin coming into contact with skin, a sensation I'd never had before. It was like running into the cold sea. We circled our arms around and held each other again.

 

My heart was still racing, I was still breathing too fast, and I began to get wobbly on my knees. I think Saya sensed me becoming unsteady, and so she drew me down until we were lying on our sides. We lay there, kissing each other gently, and I was able to get my pulse under something like control.

 

Her hands glided up and down my arms, up and down my sides, across my shoulders and along my neck. I murmured and moaned, and whether through nerves or just absent-mindedness I whispered stupid things to her. I burned with humiliation, kicking myself for letting such dumb crap come out of my mouth. But then her hands drifted down my back, and across my waist, and she would turn me just ever so slightly so she could stroke my belly. And then I would gasp and sigh, and forget that I was supposed to be embarrassed, and end up saying stupid shit again.

 

Our breasts crushed together. I stole little glancing touches, skimming the sides. She took my wrist and encouraged me to take her breast in my hand. I squeezed it, ran my fingers over the nipple, and internally groaned at my own lack of skill.

 

Saya left my mouth, pushed me fully onto my back, and began trailing kisses along my neck. Now, at this point, a question started to form in my head, a question that got clearer every moment she kissed and licked my throat. As she worked and I just lay there, I began to wonder: how is it that the Saya of my imagination, the Saya who for four hundred years was too socially crippled to have sex, seems to know exactly what she's doing?

 

The question nagged at me for a few seconds. Then she started lavishing attention on my ears. Goodbye rational thought. She pulled gently at the soft bits with her teeth, her tongue wormed its way into the lobes, and my eyes rolled back into their sockets.

 

In between the waves of ecstasy, I cursed myself for lying there like a useless piece of meat while Saya made all the effort. Of course, I was young, then; no one had told me about butches and femmes.

 

As she was playing with my ears, Saya had begun caressing my breasts. She seemed to instinctively know that the top areas were the most sensitive, and circled her fingertips with a lethargic ease. She slowly drew my nipples in between her fingers, and I had to grab handfuls of the bed sheets to stop myself from interfering. She started using her mouth, licking, kissing and sucking, and I burrowed my hands into her wet hair. Every jolt that she sent into me, I wriggled beneath her.

 

She paused for a moment, and crawled over so we could look into each others' eyes. I stared at her face; her skin was flushed and there were glints of sweat all over her, but her eyes…

 

By now, I've learned that emotions aren't easy to draw from Saya. The only expressions that she's comfortable with are detached boredom and run-for-the-hills, don't-bother-begging-for-mercy, complete-and-utter fury. But Saya looks at me differently, and no, that's not me just imagining things. It's not often that she shows fondness or anything like that, but her expression does seem…softer when she's looking at me.

 

“What are you thinking about?” I asked her.

 

“I want to make you happy.”

 

“Then be happy.”

 

She pushed herself to her knees, and dug her fingers underneath the elastic band of my shorts. She pulled them off, and they joined the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. She smell of my own sex drifted into my nose. I promised myself that when I was naked I would have a confident expression on my face. There was no mirror handy, but I was pretty sure that I looked anything but confident. My expression was probably more like: Please like me. Please be happy with me. Please look at me like I'm adequate.

 

Saya pulled off her tracksuit bottoms herself, and threw them aside. Her panties went next, and they landed on the little pile of discarded clothes as well. She acted as though being naked before me was the most natural thing in the world.

 

Our fingers mingled, and for a moment nothing happened. I could smell Saya's arousal, now, as well. She crouched there, looking at me. I lay back, a pleading smile on my face, paralyzed by my own lack of imagination and experience.

 

Saya bent forward, bringing her head level with my belly. The ends of her hair trailed over my skin, sending the most wonderful tingles through my entire body. I stared at the ceiling, panting, squeaking and laughing as kisses pattered all over my belly. Her tongue entered my navel, and I threw my head back and squealed out loud, collapsing into giggles afterwards.

 

She settled on my right side, and kissed me deeply. Her breasts pressed into my side, her hand roved over my chest and stomach, and she draped her right leg over mine. I'd never experienced so much contact with another human body before. I'd never been so immersed in so much soft, smooth skin in my life, and I couldn't stop the whimpers from escaping.

 

I felt her hand moving up and down the inside of my leg, and I began to feel a tension building within me.

 

“Do you like this?” she asked, gently.

 

“Mmm-hmmm,” I said, nodding.

 

“Do you want me to touch you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She started rubbing back and forth across the area between my legs. There was a slick feeling, and I realized that my juices were smearing all over her hand. Her hand slid about, and I purred in pleasure.

 

“Mmmmm. That's really nice, Saya.”

 

Even though her eyes were trained on me, her fingers were feeling their way across my skin. They wandered up and down my thigh, and I gasped as they pushed slightly inside me. The candles were no use to her; she could have found her way around my body in the dark. She found my most sensitive area, and started drawing a fingertip over it, slowly, repeatedly.

 

I lay there, eyes closed, beaming. Obviously, some really stupid garbage came out of my mouth. I told Saya that it felt really good, and she stroked my cheek with her free hand. I told Saya that she felt so soft, and she started planting kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth. I told Saya that I loved her, and she pressed her forehead against mine, and held me tightly.

 

I knew what it felt like when the end was coming. I told Saya that I was going to climax soon, and she quickened her pace, rubbing vigorously. I writhed and squirmed about beneath her, and then it was happening, waves of pleasure reverberating through me. I groaned out loud, and sought my lover's mouth, and then it was over, and I lay there, panting and sweating, my face buried in her shoulder.

 

And it was finished. I looked up, and Saya was still watching me with that unreadable expression.

 

I smiled, and licked my lips. It was her turn to lie there and do nothing.

 

-

 

It's a weird feeling, when someone knows your body better than you do. Don't get me wrong, I'm not like one of those fundamentalist Christian girls who never look down in the shower and who end up traumatized on their wedding night. My dad never had the guts to talk to me about sex, but I wasn't clueless.

 

But Saya coaxes feelings from me that I never imagined were possible. She can make my body do things that I never thought it could do.

 

So Saya's had sex. Lots of sex. What, did I actually think she would be celibate for all that time, and that I was the only person special enough to make her break it? She's probably been with both men and women, and possibly things that aren't even human. She's learned every art of lovemaking that has ever been invented. Why should I be bothered by that? It doesn't really matter.

 

My first time wasn't exactly how I imagined it would be. I never imagined that Saya would be doing everything, and that I would be so useless. The naïve part of me, the fairytale-loving fourteen-year-old Alice who lived inside of me, thought we'd be thrashing about, losing all control. Fairytale Alice thought that it would be perfect, and that we'd be so swept up in the passion of the moment that we'd be weeping in each others' arms.

 

But it wasn't like that. Except for at the end, I never really lost control. If I did or said anything that I didn't mean to, it was more out of nervousness than animal passion.

 

We didn't stay in bed all weekend, either. Saya left early the next morning. She left me a note saying there was a demon infestation in Vancouver. So much for that.

 

It's really nice being in bed with someone who knows what they're doing, though. Saya makes love almost as well as she uses her swords.

 

Yeah. She's that good.

 

-

 

It came to me randomly while we were out driving in the countryside. It was such an obvious thing, but so mind-blowing that for a few moments I just sat there, mouth open like a fish.

 

Four hundred years is a long time. A very long time.

 

A lot can happen in four hundred years. Someone could do a lot of stuff in that time, if they were immortal.

 

We pulled to a stop at some traffic lights. “Saya?” I asked. I didn't like how small my voice sounded.

 

“Yes?”

 

I swallowed. “Do you have children?”

 

The lights wouldn't change. “Yes,” she said.

 

 

And that's my crack at writing erotica. And I don't care how unsociable or withdrawn Saya is. No one that looks like Saya lives for four hundred years and has adventures all over the world without racking up a heck of a lot of notches on their bedpost. And what a carved-up bedpost it must be.

 

Reviews are always welcome.