Femfeb - "Café"
Feb. 5th, 2019 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparklightNo BDSM AU for this, but it IS for Carmilla, haha. Just an in-between moment in the novella, after Carmilla has escalated to feeding from Laura.
It's warm and sunny enough that afternoon that the chocolate is served on a terrace at the back of the schloss instead of in the parlour, and with the delicately wrought-iron furniture out there, the sun warming both skin and the girls' lassitude, Laura would say she feels like this is surely how it'd be to sit outside one of the cafés in Vienna. The pillows propping her up are soft, the smell of chocolate teasing her nose is rich, and dear Carmilla would fit right in in a place like Vienna.
She'd normally feel dismay at the notion of being in such a place without being dressed as current fashion demands (they are isolated, yes, but news always arrive and both she and Madame and Mademoiselle have exclaimed over the latest changes in fashion, shortly before they received the news of what happened to poor Bertha and before Carmilla arrived), but at the moment, she feels far too darkly exhausted for that. It creates a twinge of pouting displeasure, but if they ever got the chance to do such a thing, she could always ask papa for a new dress beforehand, couldn't she? She purses her lips at the thought. Glances sideways to where Carmilla is draped in her chair quite like a cat in the sun, though she's squinting at the same, not looking quite as relaxed as a cat would. Maybe it would be far more marvelous to be able to go to Vienna alone, with Carmilla, and shop for a dressmaker to make them new dresses and wander the streets after...
Laura sighs, which finally stirs Carmilla's attention. Her dark eyes swing to her with precise attention, the movement seemingly heavy with the same indolence that has filled Laura up since a week hence.
"What is it, darling?" Carmilla picks up her cup of chocolate with both hands, her fingers small and delicate around the ceramic, and Laura is struck by the ridiculous thought that those fingers should be around her hand. Not that this doesn't happen often, as often as Carmilla can make it so in a day, honestly, but never before has she... searched such things out. "You sigh with such longing, one could think I'm not sitting right next to you."
Her heart flutters at Carmilla's smile, and she's forced to look away. The sun makes her squint, now, but Laura remains still in her chosen direction, reluctantly fitting her hands around her own chocolate. Hesitates, but the thought fills her up like the dreams she has at night that she doesn't quite remember, like the slowly rising thoughts of darkness, death looming.
"I was just... wishing, we could be sitting at a café in Vienna, in the latest fashion. The sun on the terrace, and taking our chocolate out here, made me think so. Silly, isn't it? Gratz would be far closer!" She laughs softly, but trails off, flicks a glance back to Carmilla as she's so quiet, and finds herself speared by the dark gaze. Her mouth is dry.
"That sounds like a delightful event. Like a celebration!" Carmilla smiles, even claps her hands after putting her cup back onto the table; for a brief, animated movement she's flush and alive in a way Laura seems unable to be since these thoughts came, but all sickness passes, doesn't it? She can soon be as before, even if the sickness will have changed her.
The thought is pleasing, and she doesn't mind her cold toes, her heavy limbs as she takes a careful little sip of chocolate.
"But what would we be celebrating?" It's a question, but some part of her feels like it ought not be one, that the answer is obvious, but Carmilla's expression makes her forget it (makes it easy for her to drop the thought, the feelings), as she leans in like she's about to share a secret.
"That we're in Vienna, of course. That we'll have all that time together. That I have been given the gift of your presence, to keep with me as I keep my heart inside my chest."
And there Carmilla goes again, being silly, but any words to laugh it all off has dried up in her mouth, because her mouth is still dry despite the chocolate she drunk just earlier, and Carmilla's small hand around her wrist is throbbing warmly, firm and hard and yet soft like silk, as she squeezes it.
"I am so happy I met you, Laura. So happy I found you again."
She squeezes her wrist again, then her hand slowly slides up her arm while Carmilla stands up, leaning both over the small table and her. With the sun behind her Carmilla is nothing more than a shadowed outline to Laura's light-struck eyes, and she can't move. Every limb is heavy, sucked down into the shadow cast by the table, by Carmilla. By her own thoughts, tilting up to meet Carmilla as she leans down, and the hot brush of lips against her cheek should be a shock. It's not. It reminds her of...
Carmilla's lips meet hers, her tongue like a scalding brand, her small, generous lips clever, and Laura thinks this is how a suitor ought to kiss, and there will be none to compare after this, as she sits there, head tilted back, her hand on Carmilla's shoulder. Carmilla's sharp incisors, the ones the merchant that had angered Carmilla so by pointing them out scrape against her lips. Her heart quails, and the shadows in her mind rises up, welcoming, and Laura can't help but sink deeper into them.
The scrape is followed by a pinch, and she shudders, hand tightening on Carmilla's shoulder, remembering a similar pinch, just lower near the swell of her breasts. It's familiar, by now, having happened near every night since this lazy, dark moon overtook her. The thought should bring shame, but all she can muster is to sink, to yearn---
Light lances through her, and the heavy shadow is gone. Carmilla sits down, a small, teasingly dark smile on her face, and for a hot, childish moment, Laura cannot believe Carmilla would sit back down, wants to stomp her foot and demand she do more than nibble on her lip like one does a sweet treat. Then her father comes out on the terrace with his coffee, followed by Madame and Mademoiselle, and Laura has to hide her flush by ducking her head and picking up her chocolate.
What was she thinking? Carmilla is no suitor, and there will be no café visits to Vienna. Papa would be deeply upset and worried if she left, anyway, especially with how little energy she has, these days. Even as she drinks, however, looking towards the sun, she can feel Carmilla's eyes on her, two points of light in the shadows of her thoughts, and the memory of the kiss both burns through her lassitude, and weighs her down.
She lets it, and merely smiles at papa, a small one, for that is all she can manage for her dear father, when he asks her if she is all right. She is, after all. Sickness passes, and darkness is nothing to fear.
Her mouth throbs, and she swallows the taste of iron with the chocolate, not flinching when the liquid slides over the punctures Carmilla left behind; sometimes she doesn't know her strength, but Laura has no energy to tell her to mind her teeth, not wishing to invite questions from her father and the ladies that she does not feel up to answering.
Closing her eyes, Laura soaks up the warm sunlight, and thinks of walking with her arm linked with Carmilla's down the streets of Vienna, dusk soothing on their heads, and sitting down for cups of hot chocolate. It's a nice thought, and Laura smiles again.
It's warm and sunny enough that afternoon that the chocolate is served on a terrace at the back of the schloss instead of in the parlour, and with the delicately wrought-iron furniture out there, the sun warming both skin and the girls' lassitude, Laura would say she feels like this is surely how it'd be to sit outside one of the cafés in Vienna. The pillows propping her up are soft, the smell of chocolate teasing her nose is rich, and dear Carmilla would fit right in in a place like Vienna.
She'd normally feel dismay at the notion of being in such a place without being dressed as current fashion demands (they are isolated, yes, but news always arrive and both she and Madame and Mademoiselle have exclaimed over the latest changes in fashion, shortly before they received the news of what happened to poor Bertha and before Carmilla arrived), but at the moment, she feels far too darkly exhausted for that. It creates a twinge of pouting displeasure, but if they ever got the chance to do such a thing, she could always ask papa for a new dress beforehand, couldn't she? She purses her lips at the thought. Glances sideways to where Carmilla is draped in her chair quite like a cat in the sun, though she's squinting at the same, not looking quite as relaxed as a cat would. Maybe it would be far more marvelous to be able to go to Vienna alone, with Carmilla, and shop for a dressmaker to make them new dresses and wander the streets after...
Laura sighs, which finally stirs Carmilla's attention. Her dark eyes swing to her with precise attention, the movement seemingly heavy with the same indolence that has filled Laura up since a week hence.
"What is it, darling?" Carmilla picks up her cup of chocolate with both hands, her fingers small and delicate around the ceramic, and Laura is struck by the ridiculous thought that those fingers should be around her hand. Not that this doesn't happen often, as often as Carmilla can make it so in a day, honestly, but never before has she... searched such things out. "You sigh with such longing, one could think I'm not sitting right next to you."
Her heart flutters at Carmilla's smile, and she's forced to look away. The sun makes her squint, now, but Laura remains still in her chosen direction, reluctantly fitting her hands around her own chocolate. Hesitates, but the thought fills her up like the dreams she has at night that she doesn't quite remember, like the slowly rising thoughts of darkness, death looming.
"I was just... wishing, we could be sitting at a café in Vienna, in the latest fashion. The sun on the terrace, and taking our chocolate out here, made me think so. Silly, isn't it? Gratz would be far closer!" She laughs softly, but trails off, flicks a glance back to Carmilla as she's so quiet, and finds herself speared by the dark gaze. Her mouth is dry.
"That sounds like a delightful event. Like a celebration!" Carmilla smiles, even claps her hands after putting her cup back onto the table; for a brief, animated movement she's flush and alive in a way Laura seems unable to be since these thoughts came, but all sickness passes, doesn't it? She can soon be as before, even if the sickness will have changed her.
The thought is pleasing, and she doesn't mind her cold toes, her heavy limbs as she takes a careful little sip of chocolate.
"But what would we be celebrating?" It's a question, but some part of her feels like it ought not be one, that the answer is obvious, but Carmilla's expression makes her forget it (makes it easy for her to drop the thought, the feelings), as she leans in like she's about to share a secret.
"That we're in Vienna, of course. That we'll have all that time together. That I have been given the gift of your presence, to keep with me as I keep my heart inside my chest."
And there Carmilla goes again, being silly, but any words to laugh it all off has dried up in her mouth, because her mouth is still dry despite the chocolate she drunk just earlier, and Carmilla's small hand around her wrist is throbbing warmly, firm and hard and yet soft like silk, as she squeezes it.
"I am so happy I met you, Laura. So happy I found you again."
She squeezes her wrist again, then her hand slowly slides up her arm while Carmilla stands up, leaning both over the small table and her. With the sun behind her Carmilla is nothing more than a shadowed outline to Laura's light-struck eyes, and she can't move. Every limb is heavy, sucked down into the shadow cast by the table, by Carmilla. By her own thoughts, tilting up to meet Carmilla as she leans down, and the hot brush of lips against her cheek should be a shock. It's not. It reminds her of...
Carmilla's lips meet hers, her tongue like a scalding brand, her small, generous lips clever, and Laura thinks this is how a suitor ought to kiss, and there will be none to compare after this, as she sits there, head tilted back, her hand on Carmilla's shoulder. Carmilla's sharp incisors, the ones the merchant that had angered Carmilla so by pointing them out scrape against her lips. Her heart quails, and the shadows in her mind rises up, welcoming, and Laura can't help but sink deeper into them.
The scrape is followed by a pinch, and she shudders, hand tightening on Carmilla's shoulder, remembering a similar pinch, just lower near the swell of her breasts. It's familiar, by now, having happened near every night since this lazy, dark moon overtook her. The thought should bring shame, but all she can muster is to sink, to yearn---
Light lances through her, and the heavy shadow is gone. Carmilla sits down, a small, teasingly dark smile on her face, and for a hot, childish moment, Laura cannot believe Carmilla would sit back down, wants to stomp her foot and demand she do more than nibble on her lip like one does a sweet treat. Then her father comes out on the terrace with his coffee, followed by Madame and Mademoiselle, and Laura has to hide her flush by ducking her head and picking up her chocolate.
What was she thinking? Carmilla is no suitor, and there will be no café visits to Vienna. Papa would be deeply upset and worried if she left, anyway, especially with how little energy she has, these days. Even as she drinks, however, looking towards the sun, she can feel Carmilla's eyes on her, two points of light in the shadows of her thoughts, and the memory of the kiss both burns through her lassitude, and weighs her down.
She lets it, and merely smiles at papa, a small one, for that is all she can manage for her dear father, when he asks her if she is all right. She is, after all. Sickness passes, and darkness is nothing to fear.
Her mouth throbs, and she swallows the taste of iron with the chocolate, not flinching when the liquid slides over the punctures Carmilla left behind; sometimes she doesn't know her strength, but Laura has no energy to tell her to mind her teeth, not wishing to invite questions from her father and the ladies that she does not feel up to answering.
Closing her eyes, Laura soaks up the warm sunlight, and thinks of walking with her arm linked with Carmilla's down the streets of Vienna, dusk soothing on their heads, and sitting down for cups of hot chocolate. It's a nice thought, and Laura smiles again.
