Swan song (NSFW)


The drive to his house was only about twenty minutes, but it had felt longer. It was likely because of his underlying eagerness to get there. At some point during the drive, his right hand would wander toward Amy to rest on her thigh. As if to serve as some kind of reminder.

His house was small and normal-looking with the white paint and dark roof. It was nestled inside a copse of evergreens.

Malachy pulled up onto the drive way in front of the house. He didn't feel bothered with parking it inside of the garage.

"It's not much," he said humbly as he turned off the car. Inside the house was bigger, but only because there wasn't much furniture. His habit of packing lightly had morphed into minimalism.

Malachy stepped out of the car and walked around to meet her on the other side of the vehicle.

Men were such awfully eager creatures.

A hand would be placed atop her thigh and, in turn, Amy would rest her own hand atop the one on her thigh. Truthfully, she was eager to get this behind closed doors as well, but not quite for the same reason. There were various things going on in her head, all of which were various degrees of selfish; perhaps a human version of the blonde would've been repulsed by them, but as it was now, she was hardly bothered by them.

They'd reach a normal-looking house eventually, small and generally unimpressive from the outside, but generally, it was pleasant to look at.

Stepping out of the car a moment after Malachy did so himself, Amy would shut the door gently and turn her gaze towards him. "After you," the words were light, accompanied by a hand gesture which prompted him to lead them to the door.

Her politeness was flattering, but unnecessary, he thought. It brought a smile to his face. Almost revealing in his amusement. He offered out his hand for her to take before leading the way.

She'd take his hand, content to have him lead the way.

"Quite a nice house; you certainly have the welcoming vibe down."

Except she wouldn't be welcomed in 'cause vampires couldn't enter houses without a verbal invitation and just. Fuck you too, universe. You fucking... Was that even racist?

Upon approaching the door, she'd wiggle her hand free of his, the move gentle so he could unlock the door and um. Hopefully invite her verbally in on his own bc it was gonna look weird otherwise. :>

"Thanks," he said.

Malachy fidgeted with the ring of keys in his hand to grab the house key. He felt her hand slid away from his when they reached the door. He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

"Come on in," he said. Then he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Lights on or off?" He winked as a small smirk grew.

Had she had a functioning heart, its beating rate would've definitely increased upon seeing the door unlocked, but fortunately, Malachy was kind enough to invite her in verbally.

Thank fuck.

And then a minor detail was brought up.


It hardly made a difference, really. Night vision and all that.

"Bed or couch?" She asked in return, words a near purr.

There were more options as to where to do it, but she opted for silence instead.

"Couch," he said as he closed the door. The bed was further away than he cared for. Malachy reached to cup her face with his hand before leaning to kiss her.

A warm feeling washed over him. There was anticipation and an almost numbing carnal urge. He knew better than to unhinge himself like a horny frat kid.

Couch it was, then.

Or, rather, wall.

He cupped her face with a hand that was somewhat warmer than her cheek and leaned in to kiss her, both of them waltzing backwards a couple of steps as she pressed her back against the wall. They'd hardly moved away from the door—the couch being some feet away still—but she didn't care at the moment.

Some kind of pleasurable sound bubbled up on the back of her throat—neither a hum nor quite a moan—amber eyes half-closed as she let her hands roam up his shoulders and underneath his coat, gripping at the fabric of his sweater before attempting to get rid of the extra layer of clothing. Anything to remove the coat from his shoulders and get him to drop it on the floor.

At her insistence, his hands moved to be behind him so he could pull down the sleeves of his coat, tugging it from his shoulders and down his arms. Heedlessly, the coat fell to the floor in a clump behind him with a pathetic thud.

His hands quickly returned to her. One sought a handful of her hair, while the other grasped her hip firmly. He took half a step nearer toward her, to pin her more against the wall before his mouth moved to her neck. The kisses were a little sloppier than they were at the bar. A little more needy.

Gradually, he ventured nearer toward her shoulder.

His coat hit the ground with a soft thud before he moved to tug her hair with one hand and grab her hip with his other. He pushed against her and Amy, in turn, angled her hips against where his crotch would've been under the fabric of his jeans.

A soft moan would leave her lungs as he kissed her neck greedily, the proximity enough to have traces of crimson tainting her vision. She felt her gums ache at the smell of his blood and the sound of his heartbeat; even the familiar sensation of his lips against her neck reminded her dreadfully of feeding, which, as a result, made her feel rather impatient.

Tugging at his hair in return, she let her other hand trail towards his jeans, cold fingers clumsily working on undoing his belt.

A hum rumbled in his throat in response to her moan. His lips parted for open-mouth kisses. The tip of his tongue touched her cold, pale skin. Fleetingly, he thought he should turn up the temperature for the heater.

While she tugged his hair and fussed with his belt, Malachy shifted his hands to the straps of her dress. He hooked his fingers around them and pulled them down, eager to see the black fabric pool at her feet.

The feeling of his cock hardening in his jeans made him release a growly moan against her neck before placing another kiss there. He allowed his teeth to drag lightly across her skin.

The belt would eventually be managed and the button if his jeans would be undone next, her movements sloppy at best whilst he bit her neck. The straps of her dress had been pushed past her shoulders and the dress had fallen well beyond her sides before pooling at her feet like dripping ink.

Eyes a bloody shade if red amidst the darkness, she'd tighten her grip on his hair and release something akin to a growl herself. "Couch. Now." A demand between breaths as she danced out from the dress at her feet and took a couple of steps to the right, moving backwards and tugging him with her until her skin touched the texture of the couch.

Belatedly, she remembered to take off her heels, but that could wait another moment.

Once his belt was undone, he began to work off his shoes. He slid his socked feet out of them before kicking them aside.

The tightened grip on his hair caused him to withdraw from her neck. He looked at her when she spoke and hummed "Mhm" in response. After pressing his mouth against hers, he moved with her toward the couch.

When they came to a stop, he began to shed himself of his jeans, shoving them off.

Whilst he worked on removing his jeans, she worked on getting rid of her heels, throwing them off to the side before leaning forward and tugging him towards her, nails digging against the fabric of his sweater and nearly tearing holes into it from the needy motion.

A leg would be lifted to rest atop the couch as she attempted to bring him atop of her, give him a sense of power he didn't quite have.

Malachy leant forward, succumbing to her pull. He continued toward her, pushing her onto the couch. After settling himself between her legs, he would kiss a sloppy line from between her breasts to her mouth. He ground his hips against hers. The friction brought a moan out of him.

He would settle between her legs and trail sloppy kisses against her skin till their lips met in another kiss. With his hips grinding against her own—despite the fabric that lay between them—and the heat she felt radiating from his body, she released a moan herself, fingertips curling around the hem of his sweater with the intent of pulling it upwards and removing it.

Play fair, Malachy.

She couldn't be the only one who was stripped nearly fully.

He pulled away from the kiss only to assist in the removal of his top. It was tossed to the side carelessly as he returned to her lips. One hand was placed by her side on the couch, supporting him; the other began to caress across her skin before sliding over to rest between her legs. He rubbed her softly, awaiting some kind of approval.

It was near torture having him this close without being able to sink her fangs in and draw blood.

He caressed her skin with warm fingertips and she let a shuddering breath snake its way past her lips as soon as those fingers trailed lower. There was a faint arch to her back more out of instinct than anything else, eyes tainted by crimson watching him in a near-lustful manner as she brought a hand to rest against his nape, tug at his hair in quiet protest for him to lower his lips again to touch her own before she dared work on his neck should he let her.

She'd leave faint bites starting from the base of his jaw and moving lower, feeling the thundering beat of his heart against her ears.

It was practically in her head.

Guided by her hand, he leaned down to greedily kiss her mouth. His chest was heaving, silently panting from excitement.

A soft sigh was made at the soft trail of nips she made down his jaw. Pale blue eyes stared at her blonde hair strewn across the couch. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips.

His hand continued to rub across her, but more lazily. He became more distracted as the trail she left continued lower. He was close to snapping, becoming more eager to wrap up the foreplay.

Malachy wasn't the only one who was about to snap.

With each inhale, she could scent the sweet aroma of his blood, nearly taste it on her tongue. His heartbeat, the heat radiating off of him; it all made the glass of patience and composure she had left spill over. He continued to work her up and she aided him by rocking her hips lightly, trying to find a steady pace up until sexual pleasure took second place.

There was just something about all this touching, this proximity that all but urged a slumbering beast awake and, whilst its wake was something gradual, it was something that could not be mistaken. With eyes the shade of fresh blood and fangs beginning to emerge, the biting would slowly intensify, the distinct sound of bones popping evident and much faster compared to all the other times she'd experienced it; there was no point in fighting it.

Not now.

Her hold on his nape growing firmer, she pulled back for half a second as if it reconsider her actions, but, truthfully, Amy's mind was already set; longer than usual fangs would sink themselves in the side of the man's neck, a relatively clean way to feast on his blood, but not exactly the most painless, given that some flesh had to be torn in the process.

It had all been fine. Until it suddenly wasn't. He knew the difference between a lovebite and a bite and this was very much the latter.


The thought that she might be a vampire had briefly flashed across his mind. She had talked quite a bit about the supernatural. But it was pushed aside by discomfort and being quite abruptly turned off.

He leaned back, trying to pull himself away from her.


You know, dinner rudely pulling away was something Amy wasn't especially fond of.

Of course, she'd started this rudeness to begin with, but that didn't really matter right now.

His unwillingness to remain put merely managed to peeve her despite the haze that was beginning to cloak her mind. One clawed hand reached to tear at the couch so she had some support whilst the other migrated from his nape to his shoulder blade, finding purchase against the muscle there, digging deep to keep him in place so she could feed for a moment longer.

Well, weren’t you in a pickle now, Mal. He was losing blood in more places than one and he was already beginning to feel a bit more lightheaded. Struggling only made the wounds worse.

Frantically, he glanced around the room. There were plenty of pillows he could throw at her (like that would work). Books in the bookshelves. A lamp caught his eye, but it was too far away and he didn’t trust his telekinesis enough that it wouldn’t hit him in the head instead.

He was becoming weaker. The only thing he could think of was to roll off the couch and hope she might be dislodged that way. So, that was what he did, or would try to. She was a stronger bitch than she looked (or had looked before, now she was a demonic bloodsucker).


It dawned a little belatedly upon her that he could potentially be a fire wielder.

But that thought didn't last particularly long, for Malachy attempted to roll off and was successful in doing so. His weight, combined with the world around them spinning, was enough to have the vampire's claws dislodged from his shoulder blade as well as the teeth that had tore at his neck.

In the process of him rolling, the blonde would make an attempt to hold on a bit longer, but it'd be to no avail quite unsurprisingly.

Blood had splattered down her neck, her chest. Her fingers were coated in it from where she'd dug them. Simply put, she was a bloody mess, with another bloody mess on the floor next to her who was bleeding.

Pretty much sated at this point and more docile, her jaw popped back in place, but for the claws to assume their human appearance again, it'd take a moment longer. At the very least, his heart was still beating.

Malachy could not revel at the success of his plan. He had managed to push himself further away from her, but that was all his body was capable of doing before slumping to the ground.

Blood flowed freely from the punctures in his neck. The feeling of panic was overwhelming. He thought he heard the sound of a pipe bursting in the kitchen when his eyes had flashed green. But it sounded so far away.

He closed his eyes, then. Nothing sounded better than a really good, deep and endless sleep right about then.

Everything was spinning so vividly; she felt like she was floating and had the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat not been a thing, Amy would've gladly drifted off into space. But his heart had a rhythm to it and that rhythm, whilst slowly growing more fatigued, was present. It kept her grounded, if only just barely, reminding her that his life was on the line.

A clawed hand would be brought up to cover her face briefly as she tried to pull her shit together, only for some kind of explosion to invade her ears moments later. It sounded like metal bursting, followed by water pouring down somewhere, but it seemed so far away.

Shallow breaths left her lungs more out of habit than anything else and, in what seemed like eons, her fingers would finally assume their human form once again, that same hand still covering her eyes as she struggled to think straight.

A moment longer and she would be giving him her blood.

Just a moment longer.

He was still breathing. Raggedly. Desperately. There was still a small urge of survival that all animals had. But it was gradually waning while the pool of crimson grew larger. Staining his chest and the side of his face. Dampening his hair. It was warm, still.

She'd killed her dinner only once and that number was going to remain the same for as long as she could help it. She was supposed to have more control by now, but she'd slipped and created a bloody mess in the most literal sense. She fought with all she had to push past the haze and right her wrongs and whilst it was a slow, sloppy process, it gradually became faster.

There were probably multiple ways to go about getting off that couch, but as it was now, the world was spinning way too fast for Amy to possibly try and stand up. So, she'd roll off—quite unceremoniously if she might add—only to land on top of him. Mind you, at least she had the sense to reach a hand out for the coffee table next to the couch so she didn't put the entirety of her weight onto him.

Working fast was what she was trying to achieve here and she was slowly picking up the pace as the high became more tolerable. Drawing her right hand closer to her lips, she bit down hard on her wrist, putrid, rotten blood pooling in her mouth in an instant. The blood flow was considerable given that she'd probably struck a vein, but god. Had she been alive, her heart would've beat a thousand miles a second.

This seemed like a scene straight out of a horror movie and little else.

Straightening up some, she reached to rest a hand against the side of his face whilst she brought the other against his lips, cold blood trickling from her fingertips as soon as she'd angled it.

He just needed to swallow one drop.

And the bleeding would slow down.

He'd be spared.


The undead blood began to do its work. His wounds were slowly beginning to heal, his breathing was becoming more regular. He was still very much unconscious, but the bleeding from his wounds would eventually cease.

Slowly, but surely, Malachy's breathing would become more regular and his heart would stabilize itself. Blood tainted the couch, the man, the fucking floor. Blood cloaked every goddamn thing within reach. It was a mess, but at the very least, that mess had been stopped and Malachy had been spared which was good enough for Amy.

Unfortunately, though, there was still the issue of running water in the kitchen.

Supporting herself from the coffee table, she'd leave Malachy to his blacked out state in favor of checking the mess in the kitchen—yes, in her underwear. Now move along, you. Truthfully, it wasn't all that bad, or... at least not as bad as she'd envisioned it would be. The faucet had basically flown off somewhere and exploded out of existence and there was an erupting volcano of never-ending water, but that could be fixed.

It wasn't like some pipe in the wall had exploded or something.

Opening the cabinet doors beneath the sink, it'd take only a moment until a set of metallic handles were spotted in the back; you most certainly needn't be a genius to realize that those things were the shut-off valves, but then again, would she have known if she hadn't bothered with paying attention to Aiden's father back when she was crashing at his place? Amy was leaning towards a "no", but that was beyond the point here.

Turning both of the handles clockwise one after the other, the water would be effectively cut off.

It would've been grand if she could've spared herself from getting soaked in it, but oh well.

Can't have it all, apparently.

With that done and the house spared from any severe flooding (the dice were nice, ok) she'd... make her way to his bathroom—unconscious people couldn't be asked for their permission, piss off—to clean off what blood had been smeared across her jaw, neck, hands and wherever else before returning to the living room and snatching up her dress.

Truthfully, she looked like a wet cat thanks to the goddamn flood, but who gave a damn.

Once the dress was on, Amy would push the coffee table a little further away before neatly resting on top of it and waiting for Mr. Potential-Water-Bender to come to and open his blue eyeballs.

Slowly but surely, he made his way back to the land of the living.

The first thing he noticed was how sticky and gross he felt. He almost did not want to wake up so that he could be spared from seeing whatever was coated to him. His train of thought went down a rail of lewd possibilities as to what it could have been.

When his eyes finally did open, he first wondered why he had fallen asleep on the floor (you're not that old, yet). Then he saw the huge blotch of blood of floor. The blood that he was lying on top of.

He inhaled sharply as he got up quickly. The sudden movement made his head spin. His arm reached out to brace himself on the arm of the couch. He stared at the red stain with his mouth agape while his brain was twirled by a dizzying headache.

Malachy came to eventually and Amy was content to watch as the man began to realize what had happened.

Words crossed her mind, but they'd never make it past her lips.

For now, she'd quietly watch Malachy gawking at the couch with his back rather rudely turned to her.

He blinked his eyes heavily. There was a small groan as his free hand came up to his neck where the wound had been. All he felt was the caked blood.

Malachy straightened himself a little as he looked around. He was more like a crime scene than his living room. Then he saw Amy and he started slowly backing away.

"Get out," he croaked darkly. His mouth was dry.

He turned around eventually and as soon as he did, Amy would lock eyes with him.

"Wait, stay still."

It was spoken in a soft plea, but it would not take and, quite ironically, she'd be booted out of his house by some unseen force a moment later. The power would be enough to have her lifted off her feet and pushed back hard enough to break the door in its entirety in order to get rid of the vampire from a house she was no longer welcome at.

A grunt would snake its way past her lungs as she slid against the rugged ground before hitting a full stop.

Crimson flecks tainted her gaze as she remained sprawled against grass and stone alike, glad for the privacy Malachy's yard offered thanks to the relatively tall hedges. The entirety of her body ached, frustration boiled. Traces of anxiety mounted.

She'd drag herself back to her feet, stumbling to the side a bit as she struggled to keep her balance before moving towards the porch of his house. She was unable to enter it and that much was quite troublesome. She also didn't have her phone since it was in her leather jacket which was somewhere on the floor still as well as her heels, which... she couldn't care less about in the moment.

"Malachy, please." She croaked, the pain clear in her voice. "You're going to die in a week from now if you don't let me help." Anything. Anything to get him to come towards the door. She leaned against the door frame, the wood beaten up and broken and waited for any kind of response her gaze growing teary to add to the effect of devastation and remorse.

Malachy could hardly process the magical force that had kicked her out. All that he cared about was that she was gone and out of his sight. Shakily, he sat himself down on the couch. He was panting.

He heard her talking but didn’t listen to the words.

"You better fuck off, lass, before I call the police," he drawled loudly. His eyelids felt heavy and he wanted sleep and take a shower and forget everything.

But that was impossible.

He didn't listen.

"You're going to DIE in a WEEK," she repeated, voice broken still, but firmer, louder.

It was a good thing his place was secluded, so there really were no neighbors to worry about and the roads in Avondale at such a late hour were deserted. She bit the inside of her cheek, remaining against the door frame as she tried not to throw a fit.

"I can reverse it. J-just let me in for a moment, or- or even outside will do," stammering, she did everything she could to get him to listen to her, the pain that'd flooded her voice, the rasp that accompanied her words. Please. "I'll be gone afterwards."

Last ditch effort.

She wouldn’t listen but whatever.

He beginning to get frustrated. His phone was somewhere on the floor but he didn’t have the energy to get up.

"You should be gone now!" His eyes burned green.

The coffee table suddenly jumped up and flipped, landing on its top side only a foot away from him. All the books and magazines that had been on top were scattered across the bloodied floor. The vase had shattered loudly. It made the room look worse.

He glared at it, but it only made him feel more tired. As if he had gotten up and flipped it in rage. The headache was coming back.

Something was moving and breaking in the house.

Wood, glass, paper... It was all a mess.

She exhaled.

"Toss me over my jacket and heels and I'll be gone."

See? Here. You won, Malachy.

Just come closer towards the door. Not even outside.

He blew out a long sigh. His gaze drifted to her jacket and heels. Malachy leaned over to rest his chin on the arm of the couch and his eyes turned green.

He focused on the window, making it slide open a little. Then he glanced down at her things and made them fly out of the house.

It didn’t make him feel any better. Doing that. He sighed again as his eyes returned to their light blue hue.

This. Was not what she had expected, but it had to do.

Apparently, aside from being able to bend water he could also move stuff with his mind?

Unless his telekinesis had been the cause of the faucet's explosion to begin with.

The fact that he would not grace her with a chance at eye contact was frustrating in and of itself, but Amy knew that pressuring him any further at this point would get her nowhere. So, she'd collect her jacket from the porch and slide it on before wearing her heels and straightening out her dress some.

It was an unfortunate turn of events, but at least she had someone to turn to for help.

Things turned messy. He's not dead, but I slipped which resulted in a bloody mess at his house. I also happen to have lost access to said house since he booted me out, so... Yeah. I cannot clear the mess as it is now. Any ideas?

Sent as she was walking down the sidewalk, the blonde sincerely hoped there was something she hadn't thought of that could clear this mess.

Regina had in turn alerted Holly of Amy's little adventure tonight - the girl was a little inexperienced in her opinion, to be trying to keep a psychic donor, but she knew that it would be better for her to work this out herself. Sometimes a few slips were needed to humble a person. The blonde teenager certainly could use a little of that.

Hence the lack of surprise when she got a text late in the night.

A sigh, an eye roll. She thought a moment after the situation. If the man was inside his house, they wouldn't gain access to it tonight - he wouldn't be so willing to open the door. If the door was still standing. Holly recalled one such incident she herself had in the 20s, with the front door of a perfectly fine little house knocked off its hinges.

They couldn't leave him with too much information on vampires, though.

Come home, clean up. I doubt he'll make too big of a fuss at any rate, so we can go back in a week or two and attempt to catch him off guard. Wipe memories of the incident. Isn't any issue.

It was, a bit, but she didn't need an already stressed youngster causing more havoc by being called on for being an idiot.

Truthfully, Amy would accept being called an idiot.

She was self-aware, okay?

Sounds like a plan.

There was no need to say anything else over text; the finer details would be exchanged in person.

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