blackbirdsong | Yancy Becket Open RP Post

"For he was the kind of man who would give up everything he was for the
glimmer of a hope of a chance to make peace for his loved ones.
The sort of loved who gave without reserve and asked nothing in return but for a chance at the same."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

tonitrophobia

[It doesn't matter if it's warped or sick. Jazmine has never felt taken advantage of in any way, and she was perfectly old enough to consent to anything that happened by the time it happened, so she doesn't feel taken advantage of in the slightest.

Raleigh is gone, leaving Jaz and Yancy to cling to each other in her wake, flotsam adrift at sea.

Maybe the next time they move, it will be Jazmine who stands beside Yancy and gets introduced as the pastor's wife to an unsuspecting congregation who welcome them with open arms, never knowing the types of monsters they're allowing into their community.

As it is, right now it's Jazmine in Yancy's bed, bracing herself on her elbows as he hauls her to her knees, arching her back and shoving herself back to meet his thrusts, clutching tighter at the sheets and making no move to muffle her enthusiastic cries and breathless gasps for air. Yancy's stamina is exhausting even at the worst of times, but freshly-fed, he's like an animal, fucking into her at a pace that doesn't give her any opportunity to collect herself.

He loves her being on top of him and so she loves it too, loves the way he'll bury his face in her chest and lick and nip at her breasts, the way he wraps his strong (too-strong) arms around her to cradle her against his chest, loves the feel of his body sliding against hers as she lowers herself slowly onto his cock. She rolls her hips steadily as she fucks herself on his dick, undulating in his lap, grinding her clit against him until the crescendo building in her finally breaks and leaves her shuddering in his arms, muffling her helpless cry of his name into his shoulder as her fingers twist in his hair.

She feels him come shortly after her, his cock twitching inside her, and the knowledge that she's the one who brought this about has her clenching down around him again, a whimper catching in her throat.]

From:

coeurinflexible

Shh shhh, [So soft as he gathers himself, mind awash with rapture under her. Some days all he wants is lazy morning but today he wanted this. hard and deep and all encompassing. And she's so beautiful wrapped around his cock. Muscles fluttering and ohh, ohh she's perfect. She's so perfect.

Yancy reaches to guide her close enough to kiss, gentle with a thread of slugishness. A appreciative purr in his throat. He slides his hands up her sides and ass and hips, squeezing affectionately.]

My good girl.

Edited Date: 2015-08-04 12:23 am (UTC)

From:

tonitrophobia

[All this exertion has only served to make her more sweaty, but there's nothing to be done about that.

Jaz hums lazily into the slow kiss Yancy presses to her lips, shifting in his lap so she can curl her legs around him instead of being braced on her knees, crossing her ankles at the small of his back and keeping him pressed up against and within her. Her arms loop haphazardly around his shoulders, and while she's happy to keep kissing, she's also sleepy and languid now, and so her head drifts down to rest against his shoulder as she nuzzles in against his skin.]

Love you, Daddy, [she murmurs, curling her fingers around the back of Yancy's neck, feeling his slightly-damp hair beneath her fingers.]

From:

coeurinflexible

I love you too, baby girl.

[Soft, effortless. Laying his forehead against the side of her face and letting her play fingers up into his hair.]

You're my world.

From:

tonitrophobia

[It seems so easy when it's just the two of them, nobody around to arch eyebrows or make disapproving noises under their breath, just them and the truth between them.]

I know. [She sounds smug, and she is, hiding her smile in the crook of his neck, her fingers curling slowly into his hair before smoothing out. Normally, Yancy doesn't sweat at all, but when he's freshly-fed, he's at his most human, and so he does thinks like sweat and breathe, and while Jaz loves him even in his worst moments, she loves him the most like this.

This is when they're the most alike, and until he finally lets her turn, this is the only time they'll be alike.]

From:

coeurinflexible

[He isn't ready. Not yet. Even after all these years of watching vampire movies and grooming her for the part, the life, the responsibilities and all the wretched splendor which comes hand in hand.

Laying here, just like they are is bliss. This is what he loves. Wrapped up in each other arms, warm and humming, where else would he ever want to be? But, alas, the day must go on.]

What shall we do today, hm? [Asked gently, fingers carding gently through her hair.]

Can't lay here all day.

From:

tonitrophobia

[Jaz likes being alive. She likes being human. She likes being able to stand in full sunlight, to lay out in the grass in her bikini and let the sun warm her skin until it's too-tight and tender, likes the way her hair bleaches and freckles crop up along her shoulders and across her nose.

But she loves Yancy more, and she wants more than anything to be like him.

She's growing more able to be patient, though, but not for much longer.]

Yes we can. [She presses a kiss to his neck, nipping his skin with her blunt human teeth and tightening her legs around him as if to prevent him from tipping her out of his lap.] We don't have anything to do until, like, this evening. It's not Sunday, we don't have to get up just yet.

From:

coeurinflexible

Mm, this is true. [He adjusts his hand across her back, the other still in her hair.]

We'll just sit like this, then. [Close, slick, his cock still inside her.]

You'll get bored soon enough.

From:

tonitrophobia

Probably. [She doesn't even try to demur, too pleased at his easy acceptance to pretend that she isn't a child of her generation, that her attention span isn't far shorter than his and she'll eventually tire of lying around with nothing to do but each other.

But until then...

She lifts her head and smiles at him beatifically, carding her fingers through his hair and pushing it out of his face.] Tell me you love me.

From:

coeurinflexible

[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.

From:

tonitrophobia

[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?

From:

coeurinflexible

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.]

From:

tonitrophobia

[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.

From:

coeurinflexible

[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.]

From:

tonitrophobia

[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.]

From:

coeurinflexible

[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.]

From:

tonitrophobia

[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.]

From:

coeurinflexible

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.]

From:

tonitrophobia

[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.]

From:

coeurinflexible

[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.]

From:

tonitrophobia

[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.]

From:

coeurinflexible

[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.

From:

tonitrophobia

[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.

From:

coeurinflexible

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.]

From:

tonitrophobia

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?