blackbirdsong | Yancy Becket Open RP Post

[He smiles softly, letting her play, watching her with almost too-blue eyes.]

I love you, Jazzy.

[Straight and to the point. No additions, no quantifiers. And they'll stay here like this as long as she likes. watching each other, drinking each other in. Fingers playing over miles of soft skin.]

I love you so, little one.

[She will never get tired of hearing that.

(Perhaps Raleigh's fickle affection affected her worse than she likes to admit, perhaps she's just fucked up with severe emotional and psychological issues that have nothing to do with who her parents are and are instead all in her own head.)

Yancy is still hard enough that she can rock her hips slowly against him, shivering at the slow drag of their skin, and she lifts her chin to press a kiss to the edge of his mouth.]

Forever?

Forever and always. [He moans softly, a shiver running up his spine, hyper sensitive body jolting under her movements. Just give him a minute or two to recover. Steady himself and come back to full attention. slide both hands down to cup that gorgeous ass and tug her tightly against him for a kiss.]

[Call her paranoid — call her a lot of things, really — but Jaz has always harbored a secret fear that one day Yancy will grow bored with her the same way Raleigh apparently has, and she'll be left behind with no one to love her.

Maybe that's the reason she's wound up where she is, arching into the touch of his hands settling on her ass, her mouth opening easily beneath his so she can run her tongue against his blunted teeth.]

Promise me.

[Paranoid maybe.. but what does that make him. Just as abandoned. Just as replaced..for some fucking shiny human, god damn it. It makes his borrowed blood boil. He can't even begin to articulate the frustration and hurt and betrayal.

But Raleigh is and forever will be a free spirit.. Raleigh will be Raleigh. And try as he might to corral it, Yancy simply can't.]

I promise, [He whispers against her lips between kisses. moves to lay her back and follow suit. Make love to her slow and tender and sweetly int e nest nest of their bed sheets - whispering sweet nothings in french. Promises. I will never leave you. I will always love you.]

[There are days when Jaz is impatient and needy, when she comes home and climbs into Yancy's lap right there on the couch and pins him down with her hands on his shoulders, and then days when she gives it up so easy for him, days like today.

She already had a screaming orgasm not twenty minutes ago, so she's feeling soft and lazy, her body sensitive and her skin tingling still. When he tips her back into the sheets and covers her body with his, all Jaz does is cross her ankles behind his back and slide her hands along his ribs, yielding sweetly to him and meeting him thrust for lazy thrust.

Somehow it's truer in French than it is in English, probably because it's the language they only use in the house, and even then only when they're being their truest selves, when the mask of the good Reverend and his family have been stripped away. She whimpers, her body clutching at him, her legs tightening around his waist, her fingers digging into his back.]

[And this is how it goes. Making soft, tender love for the rest of the day. Resting. Going at it again.

They need days like this, he thinks. It re-solidifies their bond. Ingrains every last sense of the other into their skin and bones. Declarations of love and need pour from their lips between gasps and moans.

For hours. All damn day. Stopping only to tend to the needs of the body. Making time for nothing and no one else. The rest of the world can wait, they'll open their arms soon enough. But for now it's just them.]

[Despite her earlier assurances that she'd grow bored, what eventually forces Jazmine out of bed is the fact that she has to pee and she's hungry, not because she's lost interest in the press of Yancy's skin against hers.

The rectory is a small little house, and with just the two of them living there now, she doesn't even bother reaching for the lacy little shirt she'd been wearing that morning before she pads down the hall to take care of herself. She's washing her hands when she pokes her head out the door and yells down the corridor to Yancy,] Did you leave your breakfast chained up downstairs, or is he finished?

[To anyone else, the fact that there was a body in the basement, a body their father-brother-lover routinely went down to feed from, would be horrifying. To Jazmine, it's par for the course. She'll help him dispose of it if she has to. It's nothing she hasn't done before.]

Uhh-- [Comes the answer] Little bit left I think?

[Yelled back as he pulls the sheets from the bed and wipes his cock before bundling the fabric to be washed and setting to pulling out fresh linens and remaking the bed.]

[Of course he didn't fucking drain him properly. Jazmine loves Yancy, more than anything or anyone she's ever loved in her life, but he's so bad at this responsible-feeding thing. The poor idiot downstairs is probably feebly clinging to life, hoping to be saved, and Yancy could have avoided all that by just finishing his meal in one fell swoop.

Although, considering the probable reason for him hurrying before he drained the body completely — so he could get back to bed and fuck her again — she can't really be mad at him.

She can, however, roll her eyes as she heads down the hall to the stairs, descending them in all her naked glory, walking through the house until she reaches the locked basement door. Despite what someone might think a murder basement should look like, the stairs are clean and wide, the walls are a pristine white, and the floor is easily-wiped down, sloping gently to the drain in the middle of the floor. Nearer one wall than the other is a medical table, the kind you might find in a morgue, stainless steel and unforgiving. Chained to it is the body of a man of middling age, with puncture wounds all over his body. When Jaz picks up a scalpel, the noise has him forcing open his eyes, and he starts weeping when he sees her.

"H-help me," he wheezes. "He's trying to kill me. You have to help me."

Jaz shakes her head sadly as she reaches for a jar that had once held her button collection as a child and now holds her collection of scalpels.]

I'm sorry about this. [She dumps the scalpels out and blows in the jar to make sure there's no dust clinging to it before walking over to the gurney, crouching down near the head to press a lever that has the whole table tilting.] He's such a messy eater, it's ridiculous. I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to play with his food.

[The man starts to thrash against his bonds with what feeble strength he can muster, but Jaz ignores that.]

Don't worry, this will be over soon.

[And with one press of her scalpel, his neck opens up with a beautiful spray of red, splattering across her chest in two tired spurts before what's left of his blood dribbles down into the grooves pressed into the table so that she can funnel it into her jar.]

[It dibbles into along the grooves and collects in her jar drip by drip as the man thrashes and wheezes - pale and weak and wide-eyed. Until there's nothing left at all. No trace of his humanity, no dignity, no sweet peaceful drifting off into the great unknown.

He dies with disgrace, pissing himself not long after. He dies like everyone else. He dies ugly and scared and alone.

By the time she emerges Yancy has made the bed and put the sheets in the wash. He's dressed and moved into the kitchen to get dinner started. It seems like a productive, normal thing to do. He can smell the blood, of course he can. He can pick the stench of fresh death from the air like the single high note of an aria's crescendo. It moves him in the same way and he hums along to the music playing over top from the kitchen's radio. Some old wartime tune re-imagined in the modern age with instruments he doesn't quite like and a hollow synthesizer he doesn't quite trust.

Faucet, off. Stove on. Veggies chopped and searing away in the pan.

She's a good girl really, Jazmine. Always looking out for him. Cleaning up his messes. Funny really, for someone as calculated and precise as Yancy she dos quite a bit of it. Maybe why they're such a good team. She's not just his daughter/friend/lover. She's also his pupil. His muse. His inevitable future. She has to learn somehow.]

[There's an industrial shower in the basement, the kind used in labs in case some chemical spills, but Jaz hates it. The water pressure is too strong — it feels like knives digging into her skin — and the temperature is likewise too strong, so as soon as the body stops draining, she picks up the jar and heads upstairs, naked and covered in arterial spray.]

You left a few cups in him.

[She sets the jar down beside him and peers into the pan, humming happily when she sees what he's cooking.

Raleigh was always their chef, the perfect housewife to the perfect vicar, but Yancy does okay in the kitchen. Jaz is perfectly able to cook for herself, of course, but Yancy likes to do shit like this for her, and she's happy to let him.]

[Yancy turns and looks at her, then the jar and back. He checks the pan, tossing the contents before placing it back and turning the handle to the side. He then turns himself and grabs her up as though she were light as a feather, settling her to sit on the kitchen island behind them and nestle between her legs to drag his tongue over her bare chest. Carefully and methodically clean the blood away.]

Thank you [Murmured against her skin, tongue playing with a nipple before pulling back to look up at his gorgeous little killer he's created.]

Kind of you, kiddo.

[Jaz squeaks a little when Yancy lifts her onto the countertop, opening her mouth to complain about the fact that she's naked and this is where he prepares her food, but then he's ducking his head and dragging his tongue over her sternum, and her complaints seem less important.

She sighs happily, her hands lifting to cradle the back of his head, shivering a little when he licks at her nipple.]

It's cruel to leave them waiting for it. [Jazmine has no problems killing, but she doesn't really see the point in dragging it out too much if their donor didn't do something to deserve it. The rapists, the murderers, those are ones she's fine with torturing a little before draining them. The unlucky ones, however, she tries to be a little more kind to.] You're such a distracted eater, Yance.

Mmmlook at you, can you blame me?

[He looks up and smiles, licking his lips and plucking the jar from her hand before spinning around and turning back to the stove.]

You've spent long enough complaining about me letting my food get cold...

[Still, Jaz doesn't seem actually annoyed or anything, considering that she crosses her ankles and leans her palms on the counter beside her legs so she can swing her feet idly as she watches him cook.

There's a splash of blood on her neck that's dry and flaking, and she idly scratches at it.]

The potluck is tomorrow night, right?

mmmmhmm [Hummed without turning around. He reaches and roots around in the spice rack for the salt and pepper.]

Sure is.

[But he hasn't started cooking anything for it yet. That was always Raleigh. And oh God is he so tired of explaining away her absence.]

[Raleigh is taking care of her sick father, off in Delaware. They don't know how long she'll be away. Yancy and Jazmine are doing the best they can without her. Luckily, their parishioners are more than happy to try and make their lives easier during this time of family tragedy, which reminds her, she probably shouldn't be sitting around naked in front of her "brother."

She hops off the counter and steps closer so that when she rises up to her tip-toes, she can kiss the hinge of his jaw.]

I'll take care of it.

Will you? [He perks and flashes a smile, leaning down to plant a kiss on her forehead.]

You're a good girl. I was thinking cornbread. Nice and easy, huh?

I can do cornbread. [Glancing around, she hums a little to herself, tapping her fingers against her hipbones as she stands with her hands on her hips.] Muffins, probably, since those are easier to serve to multiple people...

[She starts to head out of the kitchen, intending to go take a proper shower so that she'll be completely clean when she goes to start baking.]

I'll need the keys to the church, though. Bigger kitchen.

You know where they are. w'll go together. [He calls after her, finishing his task for her to eat when she re-emerges. He has some things to do over there anyway. Ferret around and start putting tables and chairs out. Waste some time until it's late enough to take care of the body in his basement.]

[She comes down half an hour later, her hair wet, dressed properly in a pair of cut-off shorts and a t-shirt she stole from Yancy years ago knotted at her waist, her hair braided over her shoulder so that it won't dry in a frizzy mess.

There are no complaints when it comes time to wolf down her dinner, even though it's a little too peppery for her tastes, and she smiles at Yancy over her plate as he finishes his jar of blood.]

You going to be okay tomorrow?

Course. [He gives a half shrug and sips his jar.]

Same as always. This one will be big I think so hopefully there will be a ton of left overs we can open up to the outreach program this weekend.

[She nods, nibbling at a zucchini medallion, twirling her fork as she bites off the dark green skin in methodical little chomps before finishing the softer, pale center.]

I'll talk to Susan and Mrs Gregory about volunteers. I think we can get a handful on board to help set up if we use the phone tree.

[Right, and he's the strange eater.]

Not a bad plan. This is why you're the thinker.

Yancy Becket Open RP Post

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