She comes to me like a sunset warrior. Beaten, broken and bowed, but unshaken.

I can feel her on the other side of the door, a wall that keeps her from wanting everything and wanting nothing at all.

Until it opens on her wanting less.

Her skin glistens from her work of art. Her hands loosen their grip from the stake as she sees me. Not just because I can't hurt her, but because I won't.

I see her. Radiant, burning and unattainable, like the midday sun, until she's in my arms, and she's flesh and blood. Warmth and desire.

Our hands touch and our lips meet. And we're brought to life, both of us.

It's the colliding of worlds. The clash of wills. The eternal dance, sweet and slow, of kiss or kill, push and pull. Two merging into one.

Until we pull apart. It's like the ending of universes since the beginning of time.

Slayer. Vampire. Our bodies entwined like our fates are. We fit like the pieces of a puzzle. We're defined by each other, made for each other. To kiss or to kill.

We've played at both and chosen this. Just this. Nothing more.

I know her body. My senses are homed in on her. I can feel her strengths and her weaknesses, the way only a predator can, and I wish to please her.

I'm disarmed. Her hold is over my heart.

Her eyes are intoxicating. I come alive at her touch, I come apart at her kiss. Can I touch her without being burnt myself?

Vampire. Slayer. The chosen one and the killer of slayers. Hunters destined to meet. We move, merge and meld like natural enemies converging on the most primal sense of attraction.

I've known her from the beginning. Maybe that's why we fit well. Who knows you better than your worst enemy or-

Or your lover. Her hair is a golden halo sanctifying me. Her lips on me are my salvation. My hold on life. My life's meaning and sole purpose.

It's everything I want, and yet so much less than that. We were whole with each other, once, before this. And now, I have her, and yet I don't.

She wants me, but not all of me because I can not have all of her, either.

But for the briefest moment, we come close. Every time we meet, it's the promise of more and the promise of less.

The night is ours because the day never will be. Her heart is alive and beating, reminding us what we are and what we are not. Yet for a fleeting moment, I almost have her whole and soul. She almost wants all of me.

Will she ever...?

The question is hard. The answer is terrible. I lose myself in her instead.

We're together, but she isn't with me. I can feel her on the other side. Going away inside until she wants only less.

Without more, we're left with less than our actual selves. But without less, we're left with nothing at all.

I dare not ask, I dare not speak. So much better to have less than the possibility of more only to have it snatched away. Easier.

But I do want more. The familiar destruction, the sweet pain, the comfortable misery. All of it and more. Because passion is fire and fire burns as much as it warms. And without it, we're truly dead.

We're free, unleashed, and in the twilight of non-being. Her nails dig into my skin and the pain is sweet. Pain is real.

Like a thousand shards of a broken glass sculpture, she cuts me. Pain or pleasure, from her, I'll take it all. Without that, there's nothing.

And nothing is death.

Death. Her lifeless broken body, fallen from the highest tower. Her sacrifice. Death is her art. Her gift. My sorrow.

I forget it all in the heat of our comfort. I'm comforted. I'm alive. I'm with her.

But she isn't with me.

She makes me and unmakes me. She lifts me up only to leave me broken and bleeding. Maybe like her. And I can't help but love it all. It's the only love she will accept.

There's a shadow on her soul that's both familiar and strange to me. It strangles her from within.

Instead, I invite her to my world. Drawing her in, comforting her, merging her darkness in mine, and away from her warm glow. A place where our desires run wild. Where we're free. Where I have her, and she can give in, give up and be comforted.

A place.

We meet in the comfort of the night. The light of the real world is too bright and too harsh. It burns us both now. In these moments, we only have each other. Just us against the whole world.

I live for such moments. To be joined with her in the stillness of time and space. A limbo where there's nothing more, nothing less. Just this.

I almost touch her but she turns away. Anything more and it shatters the illusion. And I'm careful not to.

I don't mind. Besides, I'm used to the pain.

I'm in love with it.