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Meier and Charlotte: A Beginning	By : thecert Category: +S to Z > Vampire Hunter D Views: 2844 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author's note: OK, this is the one with the sex in it.

Chapter 4
"What?" The word was breathless, shaken.
"We love each other, don't we? And now ... if we're ... if we're going to run away together—" she held him more tightly "—I want to be yours. Not Tom's. Your lover. For real. Make love to me, Meier, please. I want you to be the only man I'm ever with."
Once he recovered from relief that Charlotte meant sexual congress and not transformation or enslavement—what calling a human one's own too often meant among the vampire-kind—Meier found his tongue. "Of course, love. I'm very honored."
Charlotte's body grew tense and cooler against him, and Meier didn't blame her; he also found the prospect intimidating, however delightful to senses and soul alike. At last she started to pull away and softly said, "Just ... excuse me a moment, all right?"
Meier released his hold, but her voice had a flatness that made him uneasy. She slid off the opposite side of the bed, and he asked, a little tentatively, "What are you going to do?"
Charlotte didn't face him. "Take my clothes off."
Meier practically leapt for her—rather awkwardly, for he was not accustomed to mattresses—made a face-first landing in the covers, frantically scrambled forward and nearly had a similar encounter with the floor. Charlotte could hardly miss the sound of the scuffle and half turned just as he caught himself—and then caught her, around the waist. She gasped softly.
"Oh, love, don't be afraid. And don't ... why do you want to be apart from me now?"
"That's ... that's how things are done."
"Not between us. Charlotte, we make our own rules. We make our own pleasure. And I want to be with you. For all this." His hand cupped her face. "I want your pleasure. Your company. I won't be parted from you, not for a moment." Charlotte started a little when he picked her up, cradled her in his arms. "Come back to bed, love. We'll do what pleases us."
There was no threshold to carry her over in the traditional sense, and yet Meier knew he had crossed some threshold when Charlotte cuddled against him again and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He had to exchange kisses with her very carefully. He had fed well that evening—he always did before he saw her—but biting came far too naturally even to a sated vampire, and it was a delicate and sometimes unnerving balance for him.
"Meier," Charlotte asked after he had thoroughly tasted her lips and her forehead, "is it really true? We can do what we want?"
"Of course. What would you like?"
Charlotte looked down shyly. "To see."
Meier gave a little gasp of embarrassment. He sometimes forgot how much difference there was for humans between darkness and light. "Turn on any lights you wish, dear."
"It won't bother you?"
Meier silently vowed that it wouldn't. "I don't think so."
"I just want enough light to see." Charlotte rolled out of bed and switched on a reading lamp on her desk, then turned its shade so the glow bounced off the ceiling. It was enough light for human eyes, but not so much as to damage the delicious intimacy of all they would share.
"My turn," Meier said as she slid back into bed beside him. "If I may."
Charlotte smiled, even though she was puzzled. "Your turn?"
"To see." He touched the hem of her nightdress, carefully pulled it upward. Charlotte's smile broadened and softened as she worked it over her head virtually unassisted, and Meier suddenly learned a new and delightful meaning for the expression "an embarrassment of riches." She wore nothing underneath, and Meier drank in all that was suddenly revealed—the slender arms, the dark nipples, the rounded abdomen, the tuft of pubic hair, the length of her thighs and calves. Where on earth was a man to begin savoring it all?
"I'm going to kiss every inch of your body," he told her. "Every inch." And he gently pressed her back onto the pillow to commence operations on her forehead.
Sometimes Charlotte held him, sometimes she only touched him, as he made good his word, pausing to share at her mouth, brushing her neck so lightly it tickled, prompting shivers of anticipation as he made his way down to her breasts. Charlotte restrained herself—perhaps mostly in surprise—at his touch on the first nipple, but when he worked his way over to the second, it was too much, and she pressed her hands to the back of his head. "Don't—" Meier's eyes flicked up in concern, and she quickly finished "—don't stop. Don't go so fast. Please."
There were no words in response, but his tongue caressed her nipple, then his lips again for some time before moving on, down across her belly. Even Meier wasn't equal to kissing his way through all her pubic hair (Charlotte had to stifle a giggle at the thought), but when she parted her legs further, he looked up into her eyes, then rubbed his cheek along her inner thigh with a gentleness that made something grow tight and warm within her. And then he was there, with lingering kisses that left her breathless and almost aching before he moved on to her thighs and calves and even every toe, and then her fingers and her palm (how beautiful that very mundane spot felt with his lips against it), up one arm and down the other, to fingertips and palm again.
He looked at her with an earnestness almost as deep as sorrow then—for he was going to turn her onto her stomach and administer his treatment to her back as well—but Charlotte reached out and touched his cheek. "Please, Meier. I want to see too."
"Ah." He looked down, a little embarrassed, and then embarrassed at his own embarrassment—for hadn't she been willing to expose herself to him? Disrobing was also a more complicated affair in his case: his attire was more extensive, and the cape had become, in a sense, part of himself; in its absence he felt not merely naked but incomplete. But Charlotte sat up and slipped her fingers under his neckcloth, and Meier realized how very much he wanted them under more than that. The great carapace of his cape came off, and then the coat beneath it, and—between kisses and caresses and nods of reassurance—layer after layer, a masculine answer to Salome's dance of seven veils. It all made quite a heap on the floor.
Meier's form was like his face—pale and austere, sleek lines with a slightly inhuman grace. Charlotte was too shy to want to kiss every inch of his body, but she snuggled against him where he sat. He gently pushed her hair aside and kissed his way down the back of her neck and along her shoulder, then pressed her to lie down again, turned her over, and began kissing his way down her back, his body now close to hers. For him it was a respite as well as fulfillment of his promise, for he was not accustomed to nudity and found Charlotte's gaze a trifle disquieting, for all the love in her eyes. But her shape and her skin and the beat of her heart were a world he could lose himself in. At last the richness of her scent drew out his fangs, and he had to clench his jaws together for a long, tense moment until he had leashed his beast once more.
Charlotte turned over, smiling, and caressed his cheek.
"You're safe," he told her softly, as much for his own reassurance as hers. "I won't hurt you, ever."
"I know." Her hand slid behind his head to pull him down. "Love me, Meier."
Meier pressed his lips to her belly, then lavished gentle circles of his tongue on the nipple he had neglected earlier. He kept his body against hers as he worked his way up, his erection drawing warmth from the flesh it touched. Once they lay truly side by side, he nuzzled her ear (eliciting a series of delighted gasps) and trailed one hand along her side, over her belly, and very, very carefully worked it between her thighs. Charlotte opened her legs to him almost reflexively, and he lightly stroked the length of her slit with the flat of his finger. He didn't dare attempt more intimate hand contact: his nails could work too much damage. But she was gloriously smooth and wet and heated where she pressed against his touch.
"Meier—oh, Meier—" Her fingers dug into him, and she softly whimpered in protest when his hand ceased its gentle ministrations. Meier gave her ear a final kiss and shifted himself to lie between her legs, penis hard against her pubic curls. She looked into his eyes.
"Love," he said softly. "Charlotte."
"Yes," she said, a response not only to his words but to his body, and she shifted beneath him so he felt that velvet warmth on his member. He wanted to say something—that he didn't want to hurt her, that he did want her so very much, that she was the most magnificent being on earth—but words eluded him, and he carefully guided himself into her, moving as slowly as he could. It had to hurt her; he could feel the pressure, smell the blood. But Charlotte held him tight in her arms, smiling with unforced sweetness.
"Yes," she finally repeated, gasping with far more ecstasy than pain. Meier cradled her head in his hands and pressed his cheek against hers for a long moment, relishing the warmth of her breath against his ear. Her belly tensed against his, the slow rhythm of her pleasure around him making him gasp in return. A tremor went through him, and for a moment his spine arced—not in climax, but in surpassing pleasure, nonetheless.
Charlotte's palms pressed against his back, and those amber eyes, wide and luminous, sought his with a question. "Is ... is that all?"
"All?" What slowly spread over Meier's face would have been a grin on anyone else, but on him it was a smile so broad and true that his eyes twinkled with it. "Oh, love. It's barely a beginning." He shifted a little, waking new sensations within her so her expression nearly mirrored his own.
"Meier, what is it ... what is it I want?"
"I'll show you. I promise. I promise..." His voice went breathless then, for his pleasure drowned words—his pleasure, and his determination to pleasure her, however it tested his self-control. She was so soft and warm and alive, and she held him ... he moved his hips again, a little more now, gradually finding a rhythm, and soon Charlotte's body responded, keeping pace with him and, as it seemed, urging him on. Her eyes were still open, and he held that gaze, or it held him, for timeless moments when the world contained only their bodies and their bliss. But the world seemed too small when Charlotte finally moaned as fulfillment rolled through her; her eyes fell shut, and Meier pressed his cheek against hers, jaws clenched as his body lost itself in what they shared.
Their movements slowed and then their breathing. It was Charlotte who broke the stillness, kissing Meier's cheek and then, remembering the pleasure it had given her, his ear. Meier gave a soft mmm of contentment and carefully shifted over to lie beside rather than on top of her.
"Don't go," Charlotte said softly.
"I'm not going anywhere," Meier assured her. "We need a chance to breathe, that's all."
"Oh." She snuggled close to him. "Is that ... what it's supposed to be like?"
"If it pleased you."
"Oh, yes." At Charlotte's smile, Meier's throat went tight for a moment, and he tightened his hold on her as well.
"I didn't ... I didn't hurt you too much, did I?"
Charlotte shook her head. "It's all right. I knew it would. I'm glad it was you. I—" her eyes went wide, and she sat up with a gasp of alarm. Meier followed suit a little more slowly to see her inspecting the sheet more or less between her legs, where there were stains of blood and various bodily fluids.
"Love, it's all right," he told her, but Charlotte shook her head.
"You don't understand. How am I going to explain this?"
The silence was tense for long moments. This was something Meier had not anticipated and was ill-equipped to deal with, ignorant as he was of human customs, and unpracticed as he was at covert sexual liaisons. He could only offer comfort, and this he did, pulling Charlotte close and lying down with her in his arms.
"If this had been our wedding night for real..." she said at last.
"It has been. In our eyes, if not the world's."
"But that won't—oh!" Suddenly she giggled. "Oh! But what if everybody thinks it was?"
Meier's first reaction was to wonder if fear had unhinged her mind. "What do you mean?"
"What if people think Tom did this?"
"What?!"
"Meier, don't look that way." For something like rage animated those pale features at the thought of another man sharing Charlotte's bed, or even having been believed to. "Sometimes people ... when they're engaged, they don't wait until they're married ... to consummate it. If everybody thinks that Tom sneaked in the window and made everything all right between us, and I..." she averted her eyes, blushing. "Everybody will think it's all right, and Mother and Father will be happy because I'm not fussing about marrying Tom any more."
"Your ... betrothed might not cooperate in a lie of such magnitude."
"He won't have to. He was leaving today on a trip to Gallinas to hunt swamp suckers. Everybody will think he stopped by here to..." Charlotte giggled, "to say good-bye to me." She buried her face in Meier's chest, giggling almost uncontrollably. Then she grew serious. "But Meier ... can you take me away before he gets back? Because..."
Because this charade won't hold water once he does, Meier silently finished. He nodded. "I'll find a way, Charlotte. At least we have a reprieve until he returns."
And Meier resolved that he would make the journey to Gallinas and see that young Tom's return was delayed ... perhaps indefinitely.
They lay together, arms and legs entwined, mostly still except for their breathing. Just touching her and holding her was enough to reawaken Meier's desire; besides, he reflected dryly, Charlotte's family might as well think she was promised to someone virile. He kissed her hair.
"Would you like to do it again?"
Charlotte looked at him with hope in her eyes. "Can we?"
"If you wish."
Her smile broadened, and she nodded. "Do you want me to do anything different?"
"Whatever pleases you, love. I'm very happy to be with you, whatever we do."
"I want to make you happy. I mean ... if I can."
She wanted to take a more active role, and Meier felt absurdly flattered and somehow proud of her. "Wherever you enjoy being touched, I do too. Touched, or kissed. I enjoy your kisses."
Her lips met his in a long but gentle kiss; there may have been a hint of a question in her eyes when they parted, but Meier's example must have made some impression: a series of moth-soft lingering kisses worked their way along his jaw, down neck and over collarbone, and Meier rolled onto his back, carefully pulling Charlotte along with him. He was stimulated almost to dizziness when she arrived at his nipple and carefully licked it.
"You don't have to be so gentle," he whispered, voice a little rough from pleasant frustration. Charlotte paused and gave him a half-wondering smile.
"You like that?"
"I certainly do."
"I didn't think men's nipples ... did anything."
"I like it when you kiss mine. It's very ssss—" Meier's description of the effect was cut short by the distraction of it, and in a lucid interval, he guided Charlotte's hand to manipulate his other nipple. After a time she must have grown tired, for she laid her head on his chest with a sleepy smile. Meier returned the smile, if not the sleepiness of it, and softly said, "Love, will you—?" and guided her hand down to his genitals.
This was new and somewhat intimidating territory for Charlotte, but Meier's smile—she had never seen him smile so much—was a great source of reassurance. His pubic hair was very unlike hers: it was white and soft, like the hair on his head, wavy rather than curly, half invisible against his skin. It did nothing to conceal his penis or testicles—they had a pinkish tinge, flushed with blood, and the former was mostly erect. Charlotte carefully cupped his scrotum in her hand, then gently rubbed her fingers over it, learning the texture. Her equally careful touch on his erection made him shiver—it was too much like teasing.
"I want to feel your touch," he told her, grasping her hand. He sat up beside her. "I'd like to try something, if I may. No, no—I need your hand, too. Here—" At first Charlotte thought he wanted her to stimulate herself, but his object was the moisture that had accumulated there and was making its way down to her thighs. It smoothed the way for her hands on his erection, and as she stroked him, Meier kept an arm tight about her, making low sounds of pleasure now and then. Finally he moaned as passion overcame him, seed spurting up onto his belly and chest. He stilled Charlotte's hand with his own and pulled her down to lie beside him.
"I didn't plan that," he said, a little self-consciously, once he'd caught his breath. "I'm sorry, love—that was selfish of me, to enjoy so much without pleasuring you. Forgive me."
Charlotte smiled shyly. "You liked it."
"Very much. But I don't want to enjoy myself at your expense. We are meant to share pleasure."
"It makes me happy to see you smile," Charlotte told him earnestly. "I want to make you happy, Meier."
"You are making me happy," he assured her. "Very happy."
"Am I?" She looked down self-consciously. "I didn't know if I could. I mean ... you've been with women before, haven't you." It wasn't really a question. That vampires were passionate creatures whose long lives afforded many opportunities for liaisons was general knowledge; Meier's age wasn't known to his human neighbors, but he was surely far from young and just as surely far from being a virgin.
"A long time ago," he admitted softly. "You needn't be jealous, Charlotte. That was all a long time ago. And I would rather have you than a hundred like the ladies I've known in the past." They had all been vampires, and now he realized that he had merely coupled with them, though sometimes with passion that bordered on violence. Charlotte was his first human, and what they had shared was lovemaking.
"Oh, Meier." She sounded close to tears, and Meier ruffled, then smoothed, her hair. "Is it really okay that we're doing all this?"
"I thought the world would believe your fiancé had committed an approved act of affection," Meier said dryly. He was still less than happy about the ruse Charlotte had planned, even though he understood its necessity. But Charlotte shook her head.
"I mean, we're doing so much. Both of us. I didn't know we could."
"But you do like it."
Charlotte nodded. "I thought I was supposed to just let ... well, my husband—do what he wanted to, and then it would be over. I was just supposed to lie back and let him. But it's not like that at all."
"It certainly isn't. Do humans believe that?" If they did, Meier thought, it was a wonder the race had survived.
"It's all anybody's ever told me."
"I've told you we make our own rules," he reminded her, but he softened his words with a smile and a caress. Charlotte snuggled close to him and her eyes dropped shut. In a few minutes she was asleep. Meier had been given to understand that this could be a manifestation of a human woman's sexual satisfaction—vampires were of course incapable of sleeping between sunset and sunrise—but considered it more likely that she was simply tired. It was late, and Charlotte had been through a great deal, emotionally as well as physically. It was nonetheless touching that she trusted him so; and she was so beautiful in repose, so desirable in her naturalness and warmth, so sweet as she lay against him. Somehow that strengthened his resolve in a way his own promises had not: he must take her away to a place of safety, where his swinish rival and her pig-headed father could do her no more harm. He wished she could be at his side while he slept through the day, for surely he trusted her as fully as she did him. Perhaps the day would come when she could.
Charlotte eventually woke; even held against him as she was, she reached out to touch his face and murmured his name.
"I love you," Meier told her softly.
"I love you too. I didn't mean to fall asleep."
"You're beautiful when you sleep. I wish I could lie beside you every night and watch as you slept."
"Oh, Meier. I wish we could be like this forever." The last word sparked anticipation into her eyes. "We could be together forever, couldn't we? If you were to make me like you..."
"Shh. Charlotte, don't think of it. I wouldn't wish this existence on anyone. We're dying off, being hunted to extinction or simply fading away for lack of..." he averted his eyes; it was not a congenial topic to his kind, "for lack of some inner resilience. It is a lonely life."
"But Meier, we wouldn't be alone. We'd have each other."
It was an aching temptation. Charlotte had a point: no matter how much he loved her or how well he guarded her, her life span was finite. She would die, and her death would leave him even more alone than before, bereaved as well as isolated. But if she were like him...
Meier slammed a heavy mental door against the possibility. Humans could become vampires, but the process transformed their personalities as surely as it did their bodies. Bloodthirst became their prime motivator, and even those who retained some measure of their former gentleness—dare one say humanity?—never properly escaped that craving, but at best were torn apart by conflicting urges. True nobles were born to the bloodthirst and thus became acclimated to it in a way the transformed could not. Even for the born nobles, there was no escaping it fully—as Meier was often reminded in his contact with Charlotte—but bearing it in their formative years made it less an obsession and more a companion, if not always a welcome one.
"We wouldn't, Charlotte," he finally replied. "You wouldn't ... be my Charlotte anymore. And I would miss you so. Don't ask that of me. Please, love. Please."
Charlotte couldn't protest when he begged, especially when he kissed her again and again and held her close, hands sliding over her skin with a fervor that bespoke quiet desperation—and, after a few minutes, renewed desire. There was no need for words; Charlotte wrapped a leg around him, and Meier let himself be pulled into a double embrace as his sex pressed into hers, clung to the warmth that surrounded him, lost himself again in all she offered so freely. Before, their love had left room for leisure and gentleness; the impulse and heat of this second, more certain coupling made a shield, however short-lived, against the uncertainties of the future and the fears its prospect inspired. The very intensity of the act brought them to climax almost literally before either of them knew it; that Charlotte's cries didn't waken the household can perhaps be laid to some guardian power having more concern for passion than for propriety. This time Meier didn't pull away as his ragged breathing slowed but continued to hold and be held, jaws clenched, cheek pressed tight against her hair, heart too full for words or even wishes, fulfilled as he had never dreamed he could be.
End Chapter 4
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Meier and Charlotte: A Beginning