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Sharp as a Razor, Soft as a Prayer

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The bar was a warm mouth, humid air licking like a lecherous tongue at Zoisite’s skin, slicking her with mingled scents of liquor, smoke, and sweat. Hazy red light cast a dreamy feeling over the crowd swaying to swamp-magic slide guitar and slurring with drunken fervor.  A scant few days were left on the calendar before the arrival of Mardi Gras. The crowd was in a rush to get their sinning done before the grim, contrite days of Lent began. Zoisite shook her head and smiled against her sazerac. She couldn't comprehend these crass Americans and their rituals of drinking themselves blind until they brought up the contents of their stomachs in the gutters of Bourbon Street--all in preparation to later repent under the dome ceilinged churches of their strange, stern god.

    Zoisite leaned her head on the shoulder of the man standing next to her,  feeling drunk--not on the liquor but on the carnival energy which she sipped from the air. The people around her were far too busy guzzling beer and whooping it up to notice tendrils of vitality being siphoned out of them by a creature not of their kind. With this large of a crowd, and this much exuberance, there was plenty of energy to go around. “I like this place, Kunzite” Zoisite murmured against the crook of her companion’s neck. Sweat stuck strands of snowy hair to the dusky skin of the man's neck,  and Zoisite’s tongue darted out to lick it away, earning her a reproachful look. “We could belong here,” she sighed dreamily, nuzzling deeper into her lover’s musky scent.

New Orleans. It was so different from the aggressive hypermodernity of Tokyo--a glittering gem of glass, chrome, and neon. Here, time seemed to flow as thick and sluggish as the muddy Mississippi, the buildings of stucco and wrought iron loomed with antebellum grace, and the ghosts of the past shimmered on every street. The shitennou had come here to seek a reprieve from the cold and boredom of the Dark Kingdom, to get some distance from the tyrannical demands of their Queen, to be somewhere new . She was disenchanted with Japan for the moment, embittered by the string of humiliating defeats they’d met on the streets of Tokyo at the hands of the senshi . It had been at least two hundred years since she’d last been to America, possibly longer since  she’d visited this city with its utterly unique patois--a melange of cultures delightfully dark, rich, and singular.

Kunzite, on the other hand, did not seem to share her delight in the city. He huffed impatiently, the paleness of his knuckles clutching the stem of his wineglass telegraphing his tension. “We’re wasting our time here, Zoi” he said in neatly clipped tones. His velvet voice was level, but Zoisite knew him well enough to hear the restless agitation under it. Zoisite waved an elegant, long fingered hand dismissively. “You need to relax, Kunz,” she said airily, “we fucked up our last mission. There’s no point in rushing back into disaster. We might as well take some time to lick our wounds...maybe even enjoy ourselves .” She raised her glass in a mocking salute, her tone teasing and green eyes flashing with wicked merriment. Kunzite glowered at her, every inch the general smarting from defeat. Out of his military regalia, he looked ill at ease: too stiff in his white button down and gray slacks. As uncomfortable as he clearly was, Zoisite couldn’t ignore how delicious he looked: the starched white shirt damp with sweat, unbuttoned extravagantly, nearly to the middle of his tanned and muscular chest; his powerful thighs outlined beautifully in the tightfititng trousers. A wicked smirk tugged the corners of Zoisite’s lips up sharply. “I could just eat you up,” she whispered into his ear.

A strong hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, clamping down hard enough that she could feel the fine bones grinding against each other. A low growl rumbled in the back of Kunzite’s throat, sending a sweet shiver down Zoisite’s spine. “Brat,” Kunzite said, low and silken, “you shouldn’t always get what you want.” But he was pulling Zoisite into his chest, burying his nose in the flaming coppery hair that tumbled down her back, wrapping his hand around her narrow hips. When Kunzite glanced up over his lover’s shoulder, his breath caught in his throat and his ice-chip eyes narrowed in disbelief. There, on the other side of the bar, close to where their comrades Nephrite and Jadeite were busy schmoozing with college girls who giggled nervously and clutched their hurricanes, there was a vision. It had to be a mirage, because it had him seeing double: a creature who was almost a perfect replica of his Zoisite.

The stranger was much taller than his petite lover, nearly as tall as himself, but as willowy as Zoisite, with the same fine boned elegance, and so androgynous, he would have looked completely feminine if not for a certain hard dangerous set to his jaw.  He had the same bone white skin and cascade of coppery-gold curls falling down his back, and most miraculously, the same luminously green eyes--a green that perfectly matched the glass of chartreuse in the stranger’s graceful hand. There were two others with him, one broad shouldered and baby faced, the other fox faced and angular--apart from that, they could have been twins, with their crowns of wild black hair, eyeliner smudged eyes, and deathly white skin. All three wore the black rags of leather and lace that the goth and punk crowd were so fond of. On them, it looked as natural as skin. As the three moved sinuously on the dance floor and opened their mouths to laugh at some private joke, Kunzite caught a glimpse of their teeth--all three of them had bright, needlesharp incisors. Fangs. And not the clever imitations that so many sported in this odd, macabre-obsessed city. Real fangs. Kunzite’s heart hammered  as realization dawned: they were not human. As if he’d felt the current that jolted through Kunzite, the emerald eyed doppelganger looked up, and those improbable eyes locked with his. The stranger smiled at him, the slow snarl of one predator recognizing another.

“Look,” Kunzite nudged Zoisite and nodded in the direction of the trio on the dance floor, who were now all unabashedly staring back at them. Zoisite turned and let out a slow hiss of breath. “Oh,” she said, entranced. Normally, seeing Kunzite looking so covetously at another would have left her mouth filled with the ashes of jealousy.  Her lover was a hopeless aesthete, and prone to fall for beauty in any form. But, considering he was currently fixated on a man who could almost be her twin, it was oddly...thrilling. Zoisite tugged Kunzite’s hand and together they walked across the room, almost in a trance.

They stopped a short distance from the black-clad trio, all regarding each other warily. The tension was broken when Zoisite and her doppleganger stepped forward simultaneously, clasping hands as if they were old friends and smiling into their mirror images. “Zillah,” the stranger introduced himself simply. His voice was low and melodious, and up close the resemblance was even more striking, but for a swath of his hair which was dyed in the gaudy colors of Mardi Gras: purple, green, and gold. A silver inverted cross dangled from his left ear, while small studs made from the gem of her namesake glinted on the earlobes of his smaller female counterpart. “Zoisite,” the general replied, her soft soprano voice sounding odd to her own ears after the deep timbre of her near-double. The two wild-haired, feral looking companions of Zillah burst into giddy laughter, for no discernible reason. “Molochai,” the baby faced one giggled, grabbing Zoisite’s hand with a suspiciously sticky palm. Before Zoisite could discreetly wipe her hand on her jeans, another sticky palm enclosed it, proffered by the taller of the two who, snickering, announced himself as “Twig.”  Nodding to the group at large, and studiously keeping his hands in his pockets, Kunzite introduced himself as well.

“You two aren’t from around here, are you?” Zillah asked, his green eyes glittering with interest, “we would have noticed you before.” He reached up and stroked a stray curl off of Zoisite’s forehead, his long, pointed fingernails glinting glossy black, looking bloodied in the dim red light of the bar. “It’s been a very long time since we’ve seen anyone like you. Anywhere,” Kunzite said by way of reply, a tentative nod to their shared monstrosity. He placed a possessive hand on Zoisite’s shoulder, but as much as the gesture lay claim, it also seemed to extend an offer, as he subtly pushed them both closer to Zillah. Another slow smile spread across Zillah’s face, lending a sharp cruelty to his plush lips and exquisitely displaying his fangs.

Molochai bounded forward, pulling a flask out of his spiked leather jacket. “Have a drink with us,” he urged, voice charged with manic glee. Zoisite took the flask, drinking deep as the sharp-toothed trio watched with hungry intent. The liquid was warm: salt, copper, oak and loam. A heady mixture of wine, blood, and herbs. Zoisite’s tongue darted out to lick a stray drop from the corner of her lips, and a collective intake of breath whistled through the triad of vampires. Zoisite handed the flask to Kunzite, and he too drank deep, closing his eyes to savor the rich, strange taste. The shitennou fed off energy, not blood; but that didn’t mean they didn’t enjoy it every now and again.

“I never expected to meet real vampires in New Orleans,” Zoisite exclaimed with delight. Her laughter tinkled like fine silver bells. Molochai and Twig howled at this, slapping each other on the back. Zillah merely tilted his head to the side, assessing her and Kunzite, trying to place these Others who were like him, yet not. He caught Zoisite’s wrist and pulled her flush against him. “Dance with me, Pretty,” he purred, writhing against Zoisite to the wailing of guitars and Tom Waits’ gravelly voice warning to keep the Devil Way Down in the Hole . Zoisite laced her arms around Zillah's waist and ground her hips against the vampire’s, smirking with delight when Zillah gasped at the contact. They shared wicked looks, and Zillah dragged a sharp black fingernail down Zoisite’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood, which he lapped up languorously,  unphased by the stares they drew.

Nursing his glass of wine, Kunzite stared transfixed at his lover and her uncanny mirror-brother, tangled and dancing sensuously. In civilian (human) attire of ripped black jeans and a thin, flowing black sweater, Zoisite looked even more uncannily like her vampiric counterpart. Zillah kissed Zoisite deeply. It was like watching Narcissus kiss his reflection made flesh.  Their coppery hair flamed against their pale faces, and their mouths shone wetly red with blood, and when they opened their eyes, they blazed like emerald fire. Kunzite was oblivious to the attempts Molochai and Twig made to get his attention (touching his shoulder, stroking strands of his startling white hair, writhing against his side) and they got bored and abandoned him to dance with each other, leaving him to bask in the sight of Zillah and Zoisite kissing hungrily on the dance floor. At long last, he joined them, pressing himself up against Zoisite's back, swaying with them as he kissed the nape of her neck, and then bit down hard enough to bruise. A little cry escaped from the waifish redhead’s mouth, muffled by Zillah's kiss. Zillah reached over Zoisite and caught a handful of Kunzite’s hair, pulling him into a kiss filled with the taste of his lover’s blood. Kunzite an clutched at Zillah's thigh, as he pressed his groin against Zoisite's ass.

   “Come with us,” Zillah said, his voice honey and knives,“let’s get out of here.” In a haze of lust, the shitennou followed the small tribe of vampires out of the bar and into the muggy night air. Tom Waits’ voice trailed them out into the dark, lamenting his bad liver and broken heart, and a girl sharp as a razor and soft as a prayer. The song wrapped soft tendrils of longing around them, they clung to each other as they breathed in the rotten-sweet air of the French Quarter.

     The vampires led them to a hulking, battered black van. Zoisite lifted a dubious eyebrow, her delicate features scrunching with distaste.  Molochai and Twig cackled. “Home sweet home” Twig said in a sing-song voice, sliding the door open to reveal a mattress wrapped in rumpled black sheets,  empty wine and liquor bottles, and a pile of discarded candy wrappers. The otherworldly generals shared a look of disgust. “You live like this?” Kunzite asked incredulously. This earned another peal of manic laughter from the sticky twins.  Zillah merely shrugged. “We don't stay long in any one place. The body count makes that tricky,” he offered off-handedly, “you learn not to be too fussy.”

“That's right,” Molochai chirped, clambering into the van, opening a bottle of Dutch Chocovine--a sickly sweet concoction of Cabernet and chocolate-- and stuffing a Twinkie into his mouth.  “Hey! Share!” Twig whined, crawling over to Molochai, who opened his mouth wide, allowing Twig to lick out some of the partially chewed sweet. Zillah smiled in fond exasperation at the antics of his companions, but noting the looks of revulsion marring the beautiful faces of the shitennou he suggested, “Why don't we walk down to the river?”

“Let's” Zoisite agreed hastily.  Zillah snatched an opium pipe out of the back of the van and led the two generals down to the banks of the Mississippi. They passed the pipe amongst them as they walked, the smoke unfurling dreamily in their lungs,  leaving them loose limbed and leaning on each other as they wove through the streets. Their hands meandered aimlessly over each other, mapping the contours of cheek bones and bowed lips, snaking around waists. When they reached the Mississippi, they lay down on a patch of grass at the water's edge, staring up at the scattered handful of stars that outshone the light pollution. Dead stars, even more ancient than the creatures gazing up at them.

“What are you?” Zillah breathed as he stroked Zoisite’s cheek, “You drank the blood, but you're not one of us.”  In the cold starlight, his face looked crueler and sharper, like a marble statue, but no saint. I want to crawl under that pale skin and curl up against his bones Zoisite thought,  scooting closer to her double,  laying her head on his chest to listen to the steady pulse of his hunter’s heart.  “We're like you…” she said dreamily, “I suppose the closest word you'd have to describe it would be demons.”

Zillah chuckled darkly, and quoted, “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” A vampire and two demons walk into a bar... he thought to himself, amused. Zoisite flashed a feline smile at him, and her canines were as sharp and keen as the vampire’s. “We can drink blood like you do, but we don't need it. It's more like… a delicacy.” To illustrate this point, she sank her fangs into Zillah’s neck, swallowing a mouthful of hot, salty blood. Zillah leaned forward to lick a trickle off the corner of her mouth, and Zoisite leaned hungrily in, seizing the vampire’s full lips in a searing kiss.  Not about to be left out, Kunzite kissed a trail down the pale column of Zillah's neck, drinking in the haze of clove cigarettes, opium, blood, and chartreuse, and underneath, Zillah's own scent, earthy and intoxicating. Kunzite sunk his teeth into the flesh just above Zillah's collarbone, savoring the coppery tang on his tongue. He was surprised by the heat radiating off the vampire, contrary to the lore of the cold and undead. “You're burning up,” he voiced aloud, nuzzling against Zillah's neck. Zillah laughed low in his throat, a sound like whiskey and thunder. “As warm and alive as you are,” he confirmed, turning to catch Kunzite’s lips in his own. Kunzite broke away to take a breath and trailed his hand down Zillah’s chest. His skin was covered only by a flimsy fishnet shirt, and it was pearly and luminescent in the starlight, adorned with a myriad of scarifications and tattoos. “What a marvel,” Kunzite whispered, referring not only to Zillah’s beauty, but to the improbability of stumbling across such a perfect monster while on a rare venture to the human realm. He pinched one of the pierced pink nipples that showed through the vampire’s insubstantial shirt, and Zillah hissed and arched up into the touch.

Giggling wickedly, Zoisite slid a slender hand up Zillah’s thigh, pausing to draw slow circles against the taut muscle, before cupping the erection that strained against his jeans. Kunzite bent his head to tease Zillah’s nipple with his tongue, pulling gently on the silver hoop with his teeth. His hair fell in front of his face, like a curtain of shimmering snow. Zillah moaned and clutched at both of them, delirious with want. Zoisite stared up into Zillah’s identical eyes and smiled as she stroked torturously slow at his cock through his jeans. “I’ve always wondered what I would look like if I’d been born a man,” she mused, “now I know. God, you could be my twin brother. You’re so beautiful. ” As she said this, she slid down his zipper and licked her palm, taking his cock into her hand stroking it reverently. Moving with a fluid grace, Zillah rippled up into a sitting position and pulled Zoisite’s thin sweater over her head, exposing her small, round breasts and flat stomach. Her skin shone milky white in the darkness, and even in the sultry Louisiana night, her rosy nipples hardened at the touch of the breeze. “Gorgeous,” Zillah murmured appreciatively, bending his head to kiss one of those breasts, flicking a tender nipple with his tongue. Zoisite gasped and clutched his cock tighter, pressing her breast deeper into his hungry mouth.

Kunzite slunk up on her other side and cupped her other breast in a large hand, appreciating the contrast of his caramel skin against her pale breast, so soft and warm and responsive to his touch. Zoisite moaned under the ministrations of both men, bucking her hips where she straddled Zillah’s thigh. Zillah chuckled against her skin and sunk his fangs into the top of her breast, drinking in her blood right where her heart pounded under the flesh. He leaned back, watching with satisfaction as blood flowed red against her creamy flesh. He sucked the entirety of her small breast into his mouth and drank deep as she keened. Kunzite watched them intently, his ice-grey eyes narrowed with pleasure as he continued to worship his lover’s other breast with deft fingers. He pressed his mouth to her neck and suckled at her skin as Zillah sucked her blood. “Hnnhhhh. Fuck, ” Zoisite moaned, barely able to grasp at language in the vice-grip of pleasure. Kunzite’s teeth pierced the skin under her jaw, and she jolted as if shocked and thought she might come then, just from them teasing her breasts and drinking from her. She whimpered when Zillah lifted his head from her breast and covered her mouth with his, claiming her lips rough and ravenously, filling her mouth with her blood and his tongue. He sucked at her lips as if he was trying to swallow her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, tangling with hers in a quest to dominate and claim. He stilled her hand where it was continuing to stroke his cock and unzipped her  jeans, yanking them roughly down her hips. She wriggled out of them impatiently and Zillah pushed her roughly, so her back hit the dewy grass hard. She smiled at him, her green eyes hazy with lust. Zillah crawled between her pale thighs, stroking a long fingered hand up her lovely, coltish legs. Zoisite shuddered with delight when those elegant fingers stroked her cunt through her black lace panties. “Mmm, you’re so wet,” Zillah murmured, rubbing his finger in tight circles over her clit, so that hot bolts of electricity sang through her veins. Her hips bucked wildly under his hand. Kunzite curled himself around her side and kissed her slow and soft before dipping his head to her bloodied breast and licking away the stains on her skin. The three of them locked eyes, a closed circuit of danger and desire.

A dizzying wave of pleasure washed over Zoisite when Zillah’s tongue replaced his fingers, licking her through the thin lace. He grazed her thigh with his fangs, bit sharply at her hip bones, drawing  small pinpricks of blood, ripped the scrap of lace off her with a satisfying tearing noise. Her mild irritation at the destruction of her lingerie ebbed away when Zillah’s beautiful face dipped between her thighs, his junglegreen eyes boring into hers as his tongue slithered out and flicked at her clit. It was a breathtakingly gorgeous sight, the vampire staring up at her from between her legs while his tongue drove her mad, his long, elegant hands gripping her hips bruisingly. Kunzite drank in the view as he continued to lavish his attention on Zoisite’s over-sensitive breasts, sucking her nipples into the heat of his mouth, covering every inch of their swell with kisses, revelling in the breathy moans and choked cries that tore from her lips. In the quiet of the night, removed from the traffic of the French Quarter, their moans and panting breaths seemed deafeningly loud. Zillah’s mouth was devouring Zosisite’s cunt, tongue flicking and sucking at her clit and folds, then delving inside of her, his whole mouth sucking on her; it was unbearable, she was close to the edge, and then he sank his fangs into her clit and she screamed . The pleasure and pain was so intense it was blinding, and she was falling apart, shaking uncontrollably, her thighs locking tight against Zillah’s head as if to strangle him, or trap him there indefinitely. An unintentional burst of magic shot from her hands, propelled by the intensity of her orgasm, a small flurry of razor sharp sakura blossoms that sliced at the vampire’s skin. He barked a laugh of shock and delight. “Well, isn’t that something?” he said wonderingly, licking at a shallow cut on his arm. “Shit, sorry,” Zoisite mumbled. She collapsed bonelessly and Zillah slithered up her body, his lips gleaming with blood and her juices, and he caught her mouth in a kiss that was hungry and filthy and unbearably sweet. It didn’t bother her at all that his chin was dripping with her cum; she liked the taste of herself in his mouth. “Fucking Hell,” she breathed, laughing shakily. She twined her fingers in his coppery curls so much like her own, admiring the way the Mardi Gras streak next to his face echoed the absinthe of his eyes, the purpling of his lips with blood and bruise. “Glad you enjoyed yourself,” Zillah drawled. “You’re delicious. Sweet as sugar.” He slid a finger into her and brought it to his lips, sucking away the taste of her. Zoisite closed her eyes, overcome with the eroticism of the gesture, “Holy fuck,” she groaned. Zillah smiled wolfishly. “There’s nothing holy about any of us, babe,” he said silkily, licking at the shell of her ear.

Utsukushii,” Kunzite murmured as he kissed her temple tenderly, lapsing into Japanese in his admiration. With a dancer’s grace, Kunzite crawled slowly towards Zillah and kissed him hungrily, tasting Zoisite on his tongue. The two men twined tightly together, their hands exploring each other’s torsos while their mouths melted together. Kunzite bit into Zillah’s lower lip, allowing the taste of his blood to mingle with the taste of Zoisite’s juices. He growled, shoving his tongue roughly into the vampire’s mouth, maddened by the impossibly delicious elixir. The vampire tore at Kunzite shirt, whisking it away so he could rake his sharp black nails over the demon’s golden brown skin. The hard muscles of his chest and abdomen contracted under the vampire’s talons. Kunzite tugged the fishnet shirt off of the vampire and pulled sharply at the silver hoop threaded through his left nipple. Zillah hissed and clashed his mouth against Kunzite’s in a fury of hunger and pain. Kunzite pushed him back and sunk his fangs into the vampire smarting nipple, drawing a fine thread of blood.

“Good, do it rough,” Zillah urged huskily, and Kunzite nipped at the tender flesh again and twisted the hoop. The vampire growled and lunged at Kunzite, yanking his zipper down and scrabbling to divest him of his slacks. In the sated warmth of her afterglow, Zoisite watched with delight as her normally perfectly controlled and elegant lover became positively bestial with Zillah, his white hair wild and mussed and his warm brown skin suffused with a dark red flush. A low pulse of desire throbbed between her legs as she watched the two of them claw at each other wildly, thrilled by their savagery. Zillah, too, looked positively feral, his mouth smeared with blood, his lips drawn back in a snarl, green eyes flashing like lightning. Kunzite stripped out of his slacks and boxer briefs, baring his lean, muscular legs and erect, impressive cock, thatched with silverwhite hair. Zillah sucked in an appreciative breath, raking his eyes over the shitennou. He trailed his hand through the slick of blood on his chest, and wrapped his long fingers around Kunzite’s cock, smearing it with his blood. For good measure, he slipped two fingers into Zoisite’s cunt again and smeared her glistening slickness on the demon’s cock as well. “I want you to fuck me,” the vampire growled as he stroked Kunzite with firm twists of his strong, slender hand, “while I fuck her pretty little brains out,” his lurid green eyes flicked to Zoisite who licked her lips and nodded, her breath catching in her chest at the mere thought. A honey slow smirk spread across Kunzite’s face, “As you wish,” he acquiesced, his velvet voice roughened and gravelly with desire.

A chill was seeping into the air as the night deepened, and Zillah shivered as he stepped out of his jeans, his ivory skin rippling with goosebumps. He pressed himself flush against Kunzite, his erection hot and hard against the other man’s hip. They kissed again, still hungry, but slower and more savoring. Kunzite kneaded Zillah’s ass, digging his fingers into the firm muscle. He brought his other hand to vampire’s cock, longer but less girthy than his, and rubbed his thumb over the head, smearing droplets of precome to smooth the slide of his hand up the shaft, brushing the redgold curls the dusted his pubic mound. Zillah moaned and clawed at his back, those wickedly sharp black nails raising welts. Kunzite pumped Zillah’s cock a few times before he released him and stepped back. “Let’s not neglect my dear Zoi,” he said silkily, “we don’t want her to get lonely.” Zilllah smiled toothily, “No, we certainly don’t.”

Zoisite sat up, her flamebright curls spilling over her breasts and the creamy expanse of her torso  like Lady Godiva, and held out her arms to the two men. Kunzite knelt down and kissed her deeply, languidly, his mouth warm and familiar. She could never get enough of him. “ Ai shitemasu yo,” he whispered into her ear. I love you. Zoisite clutched at him and moaned into the kiss, sucking tenderly at his lower lip. Her lover could sometimes be cold and distant, leaving her sullen and wracked with insecurity. The moments where he professed his feelings so plainly were precious and she grasped this one, tucking it away as a bright gem in her memory. “ Ai shiteru,” she echoed, placing a light kiss to lips like a seal, a promise. He pulled away from her, but his ice blue eyes were suffused with a soft warmth. Zillah crawled over her then, his lean, strong body pressing her down to the ground as he claimed her lips in a much rougher, hungrier kiss, his tongue thrusting lewdly into her mouth. She felt slickness pooling between her legs already and arched up against him, whining into his mouth. He grabbed roughly at her breasts, kneading them in his palms, squeezing until she mewled piteously. Zoisite hooked her slender legs around Zillah’s waist, her heels digging into the soft indentation above his ass, and she canted her hips upwards, straining against his cock. The warm, wet slide of her pussy against his length drew a guttural growl from him and he thrust into her then, all at once, with a savage pulse of his hips. Zoisite groaned loudly, her head thrown back, mouth wide open and wanton and Zillah imprinted the image on the insides of his eyelids to savor later. He thrust into her again, several hard, deep pulses, forcing her legs farther apart as her cunt contracted around him, impossibly hot and tight.

When he felt Kunzite behind him, folding his chest against Zillah’s back and kissing his neck, he slowed his thrusting enough for the other man to be able to get a solid hold on him. Kunzite draped himself over Zillah, the length of his cock pressing against the vampire’s ass as Kunzite bit down on his shoulder, drawing a rivulet of blood. He swirled his fingers in it, coating them well, before sliding his hand between Zillah’s cheeks, teasing at the rim of his entrance before slowly pushing their way inside. One at first, curling and rocking in and out, stretching him, before a second was added and Kunzite scissored his fingers inside of Zillah, stretching him farther, and searching for his prostate. Zoisite watched the vampire’s face closely as her lover opened him, and she saw his eyes widen when Kunzite found the bundle of nerves. Zillah moaned and his hips stuttered against hers as he jerked inside of her. She rocked against him, urging him deeper, and he shuddered deliciously and pulled out a little, pushing himself back further onto Kunzite’s fingers before thrusting  into her hard. They both gasped. Kunzite withdrew his fingers and pushed the head of his cock against Zillah’s hole. The vampire looked at him over his shoulder. “Do it rough,” he said again, his eyes hooded. Kunzite grabbed his hips and slammed into him. Zillah half-shouted-half-moaned, his nails scoring red marks into Zoisite’s flanks. He hissed and bit hard into her neck as Kunzite pummeled into him. His hips rocked into her, driven by Kunzite’s rhythm and she moaned, revelling in the thought that,in a sense, they were both fucking her.

The trio shifted themselves so that they were all kneeling, bodies pressed impossibly tight, as if willing themselves to merge into one. Three mouths tangled together, a mass of lips, tongues, and teeth, sticky with blood and spit. Feverish words of praise of hunger spilled from them in a torrent. Zoisite reached her climax first, shuddering and biting down hard on Zillah’s shoulder as she clung to him. The vampire rode out the crest of her orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as her cunt tightened around him, and he followed her over the edge, filling her with his cum. Kunzite didn’t last much longer, driven to ecstasy by the sight of both of his lovers in the throes of orgasm, and squeezed impossibly tight by the velvet hot grip of Zillah’s body. They remained intertwined for several long minutes, silently breathing in the air scented with honeysuckle, jasmine, and the brackish Mississippi as their heart rates gradually slowed. Slowly, they pulled out of each other, and Kunzite and Zoisite curled up on either side of Zillah, laying their heads on his chest.  “You should come with us,” Zillah said, at length, “come on the road with us. We could have such fun together.” He stroked the long strands of coppery and snowy hair, marvelling at the beauty of both of these creatures who lay splayed against him. Zoisite and Kunzite shared a rueful look. “It’s very tempting,” Kunzite said, “but we have duties to fulfill.” Zoisite snorted derisively. “He means our lovely Queen would have our guts for garters if we didn’t report back to her army,” she said sourly. Zillah sighed. “That’s a shame. It’s rare enough to find other things to go bump in the night with. Even more so, things as pretty as you two.” The three of them kissed lazily, their bodies slow and heavy with afterglow, so that each movement felt like swimming in honey.

After some time, they reluctantly clothed themselves and pulled themselves back to their feet, heading back to the Quarter. They seemed contained in their own small bubble of hazy warmth as they wound their way back, Zillah regaling the shitennou with tales of road trips and mayhem, Kunzite and Zoisite sharing tales of court intrigue in the Dark Kingdom and their battles fought for Queen Beryl. When they reached the bar and the vampires’ ominous van again, they stopped for more languorous kisses and idle fondling. Eventually, they broke apart again, their faces drawn with longing. “I hope we’ll meet again,” Zillah said, as close as he ever came to expressing tenderness, “maybe we’ll see you out there on the road some night.” Kunzite and Zoisite nodded silently, their throats constricted by want and regret at parting. They pressed together for one last kiss before Zillah flashed them a wicked grin and climbed into the van.

He crawled in between Molochai and Twig, who spooned up against him, mouthing sleepily at his throat. Zillah draped his arms around them, closing his emerald eyes to  replay the night of blood and pleasure in the arena of his skull. The three vampires nestled together, settling into sleep as dawn colored the sky. Little did they know, in a few short days, on Mardi Gras, they would stumble upon another rare gem in the form Christian, the lonely vampire bartender, and Zillah would plant the seed of his own destruction.  For now they, burrowed peacefully into one another: a portrait of a happy family.


Kunzite and Zoisite meandered back to their hotel, their arms tight around each other’s waists. When they entered the suite they’d shared with their comrades, Nephrite and Jadeite were sprawled on the carpet in the common area, dishevelled. Evidence of their own celebration cluttered the room: empty wine bottles and sundry pieces of clothing left, presumably, by human women. “Where you been?” Nephrite slurred, his liquor sodden blue eyes struggling to fix on them. “You look like you got attacked,” Jadeite chimed in, pointing at the scratches and bite marks on their necks, the traces of blood on the corners of their mouths. Zoisite and Kunzite smiled slyly at each other and Zoisite giggled, lifting a hand to her mouth in an attempt to contain her mirth. “I suppose you could say we were, in a way.” Kunzite said obliquely. Their drunken companions frowned at them in obvious confusion and the couple laughed again. “Freaks,” Nephrite grumbled, rolling over and groaning as his head spun. Zoisite and Kunzite retreated to their room, leaving their comrades to their drunken stupor, and collapsed into bed. Showers could wait until the morning, for now they were exhausted. “We should come back here soon,” Zoisite said sleepily. Kunzite nodded, stroking her hair. They both drifted off, dreaming of chartreuse eyes and flaming hair.