The distorted hiss and pop of a still spinning vinyl that has long stopped playing its previous melodies echoes in a room awash in the golden warmth of candlelight, where the smell of blood and sex has become overwhelming to even the most experienced of senses.
The once sharp mind of a commander and a leader is rendered to a blur as Caius is guided by hand into the soft mold of Sulpicia's body, his chest and belly still warm with the pleasant burn of alcohol and uncaring in his state of contented drunkenness.
Embers of a cigarette long burnt down to its filter scald her fingertips as she stamps it out beside her, and with a free hand gently tilts Caius's mouth to meet her own. Smoke spills into his mouth and bellows out into grey clouds through parted lips.
Sulpicia sucks his tongue between her lips, a coy hand sneaking down a trail of pale hair until her grasp is full with his length. Beyond the taste of ash is the lingering remnants of fermented fruits and molten copper that has Caius moaning softly into her mouth.
Beside them, their partners fair in no better conditions.
The fabric of the couch dips where Marcus lies with Athenodora draped across his broad chest, legs parted wide enough to accommodate the space that Aro occupies himself in, perched on his knees at her front while she rolls herself against them both.
Marcus lets his hand knead at her breast, a mind seemingly of its own as he seems otherwise occupied in lazy thought. Despite himself, Athenodora can already feel him hardening at the low of her back.
Aro, for all his charm and poise, finds it all forsaken in the erratic enthusiasm that is his intoxication. He makes clumsy attempts at passion, his nimble fingers maneuver at the breast Marcus neglects. A hand previously braced at her thighs works itself between them, long fingers sneaking themselves inside of her while his thumb caresses her clit. His mouth moves back and forth from her lips, her cheeks, her neck – all of it sticky and stained with a thick, unnervingly cold slathering of blood.
Aro relishes in lapping it off her like his life depends on it.
The music may have ceased, but an ensemble of heavy breathing and moans fill the air in its place, until the stillness of night turns to day.
This was supposed to be the final chapter of my previous fic, but I don't think I will be updating it more than what I already have, so here it is in its singularity.
Also smoking and alcohol in this because I care nothing for canon.