Matsumae told her that she never wanted to see her again. Matsumae told her, and yet here she is, at the door, a smile on her face and a speck of blood on her cheek, the remnants of what must have been her latest meal.
"You shouldn't be here," Matsumae says, recovering her composure quickly. But she doesn't shut the door, nor does she try to stop Rize as she saunters in, surveying the kitchen with dispassionate interest.
"That's a rude way to greet a guest," Rize chides, sliding up to sit on a counter. Her skirt rustles as she leans back, crossing her legs languidly, like a large, lazy cat. Matsumae's eyes linger momentarily on her calves, shapely and slender like two sickle moons, before flickering away.
"My master is not at home," she says, "so if you have come to see him, your time is wasted."
"Oh, it's not him that I'm here to see."
The implication settles heavily in the pit of Matsumae's stomach, and she wonders what happened to her resolve from last night. Sending Rize away had been so easy then. I can't see you anymore; saying those words had been so effortless, it almost felt like someone else was saying them. She'd gone to bed at peace in her heart, this shameful liaison tucked safely away in the past where it belonged, with all the other frivolities that threatened to come between her and her duty to the Tsukiyama family.
Because that's what Kamishiro Rize is: a threat. And she knows it, too, her smile widening as Matsumae's hesitation drags on, the blood on her cheek like a little crimson dimple.
"Oh, Matsumae," she sighs, "don't you ever get tired of it all?"
Matsumae doesn't answer. She simply stares, transfixed, as Rize slips down from the counter, hips swaying as she stalks toward her, each move calculated with a delicate grace. If it wasn't for the gentle dip of her deltoid, the smooth, almost subtle bulge of her biceps, it would be easy to forget that this woman is an experienced killer. But so is Matsuma, so when Rize reaches her, cups a hand against her cheek, she isn't afraid.
"Always putting them first, restraining yourself, when all the while" - her other hand glides across Matsumae's abdomen, deftly undoing the button of her pants - "you're dying."
"I have a duty," Matsumae says, speaking with difficulty. Rize laughs softly, and somewhere in the reasonable part of her mind Matsumae is angered. She, who has spent years in the service of this noble family, to be derided by this foolish, gluttonous, younger ghoul - but her internal tirade is cut short as Rize slips her fingers behind the waistband of her trousers. Heat rises to Matsumae's cheeks as Rize presses closer, her eyes gleaming red in the dim evening light.
"There it is," she purrs, a hint of triumph in her voice. "You're so cute when you blush, I could just eat you up."
Matsumae's brow furrows, mildly irritated at being compared to a piece of food. "You're the one who can't stay away," she mutters back. "Don't you have any pride?"
Rize seizes Matsumae's collar, the gesture quick and dominant. "I take what I want," she answers simply, breath hot against Matsumae's ear. "And tonight, what I want is you."
Her fingers burrow into that sweet spot, and Matsumae's eyes close. 'I'll send her away tomorrow,' Matsumae thinks, but the thought is quickly swallowed up in Rize's kisses. Her mouth is warm and moist and sweet with the taste of human flesh.
Yes, Matsumae reflects, licking the speck of blood from Rize's cheek, tomorrow she'd send her away. And hopefully, maybe, Rize would come to see her again. After all, a stray cat comes and goes as she pleases.
-Fin-