3
Monday Blues
It starts on a Monday.
A Monday like any other. She's sitting on the rooftop of the dormitory, a bottle of bourbon in hand, head tilted back against the stones watching the rain-washed world. Clouds hung heavy and dark in the sky, blurring out everything into a sheet of metallic gray, the sound of thunder itself appears muted when faced with the endless drone of rain drops landing on the ground. If she were to stick her foot out, her socks would be soaked through in seconds. The thought is a tempting one, but she refrains the prospect of a cold not entirely worth it. Sighs instead and flops over sideways, pillowing her head on an arm. Lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a long sip, the resulting flash of heat turns her mouth near numb for a few seconds, just how she likes it. Brings her knee up to her chest, fingers lazily brushing along her own thigh and slipping under her skirt. She's not in any particular rush, the memories from earlier still fresh in her mind. The sight that had set her blood aflame and caused her to break out the bourbon from her stash. She sighs as her fingers dance along her panties, titillating herself with the skill of someone who has done so many times in the past, allows her eyelids to drift shut as she calls up that morning's events.
She'd been on her way to the library, book bag carefully cradled under her arm, and cat eared hood pulled low over her head, gaze firmly fixed on the ground. It hadn't saved her. It never did. The door to the fencing hall was open, as it always was when class was in session. Her feet had slowed of their own free will even as her thoughts begged her to speed up and she'd made the fatal mistake of glancing over. The fencing captain was demonstrating a move. Dominique de Sade, two years Vanitas' elder and her classmate by fate's cruelty. Once again Vanitas cursed the school councilor that had suggested she skip two grades and enroll in college early. If nothing else, it made obtaining alcohol far more difficult. Like a fool she'd paused in the doorway, eyes eating up the sight of Dominique in her work out gear. Legs to die for, thighs that she rather wanted to crush her, lean arms that flexed with the promise of power and a boobs. Hidden as they were by her sports bra, it hardly stopped the fool urge to mash her face into them. Vanitas swallowed, fingers digging into the doorframe as she watched Dominique put a first year on his ass with speed and skill, her training sword viciously fast. She laughed right after and Vanitas felt her heart accelerate to dangerous degrees, unable to look away as Dominique shook out her long mane of hair – the last five inches of it dyed rainbow – and stretched up onto her toes.
She was beautiful. Stupidly stunning. It was unfair. A stylish siren with eyes as brilliant as yellow tourmaline, except for when they flashed that odd red. Vanitas had yet to figure out the reasoning behind that, but on occasion when she was angry, Dominique's eyes turned crimson. Somehow it made her even hotter. Vanitas may or may not have intentionally pressed a few buttons just to see those gorgeous eyes narrow in fury. Noé had told her more than once that if she kept up her antics it was bound to backfire, but Vanitas had pointed out his own habit of teasing the hell spawn until he imploded, and the topic was dropped. Besides, what business was it of Noé's if Vanitas teased his sister until she grabbed her by her shirt collar and lifted her straight off the ground. Vanitas had quite enjoyed the experience – later in the privacy of her own room – at the time, she'd made a joke about low cut shirts.
Eyes suddenly meeting her own dragged her out of her lustful daze, and she'd stumbled back watching Dominique lick her lips as she'd stepped in her direction, sword still in hand. Vanitas done the wise thing and fled. Which led her to her current situation, sprawled on a rooftop, two fingers deep in herself, eyes closed as she recalled Dominique's graceful ass kicking. A moan escapes as she sinks in a little deeper and spreads her legs, skirt flipping back onto her stomach. Takes another long drag of booze, before setting the bottle aside. It's not enough to get her drunk, nowhere close but the faint buzz is refreshing. Shoves her hand up under her sweater and slides a finger between her bra and the barbell piercing her nipple. Makes a noise of exertion when the angle proves to be lacking and unsnaps her bra instead, the likelihood of anyone stumbling across her being so low that she feels no remorse in flinging it aside and firmly grabbing her breast. Like that, with her fingers pistoning back and forth and her thumb teasing her nipples, she slumps and chases her orgasm, sighing in relief when she feels it start to crest, a quiet word tumbling from her lips.
"Yes?"
Vanitas' eyes snap open as a hand grabs her wrist, stopping her right before the anticipated climax, and she can only stare in angry horror. Dominique de Sade stares back. Hair in a high ponytail, rain-dampened crop top clinging to her frame and hinting at a purplish bra. Basketball shorts riding low on her hips, her head tilts to the side, gaze an odd mixture of condemning and amused. Vanitas hadn't been aware that the rain had stopped but when she glances over the muscular shoulder, she sees the clouds lightening up.
"Well? You called?"
Her gaze snaps back to the figure as the grip on her hand tightens, but she can't come up with an answer, her cheeks burning bright red and too shell-shocked to manage anything other than a flustered whine.
That's how it starts.
On a rain-washed Monday. Dominique de Sade bending over her with a smirk that sends her heart into hyperdrive as Vanitas squirms and rides her own fingers, unable to look away from the crimson eyes that burn so brightly. She rides more than her fingers that day. On her back, holding her legs open as Dominique keeps her pinned against the ground, slamming into her with the precision and skill of someone who knows precisely what she's doing. The sounds the pegger makes are far less appealing than a flesh and blood dick, but Vanitas finds that she doesn't care, not when she's too busy wheezing out Dominique's name in between curses. Head pillowed by her own sweater, arms above her head, Dominique only needing a single hand to keep them pinned, and Vanitas can do nothing other than take it. She doesn't mind.
Relishes in every single second of it. Breath hitching when Dominique leaves bruises on her breasts, hips, thighs. Could very nearly sob when she's orgasms again and again and again, until she can't anymore. Lays there utterly spent, feeling as if she's never been better ravished, looking up through her eyelashes at Dominique's face. Her throat itches from the keens and whines she's released, her arms burn and she's sure that she'll be sore tomorrow, but for now she's satiated. She doubts that she has the energy to move, much less sit up and get dressed.
"Didn't take you for such a slutty bitch," Dominique says, mild as ever, as she sits down and stretches her arms, like utterly wrecking someone's pussy is a normal occurrence for her. "Moaning my name like that, you've been afflicted with a curse or something?"
She does however have the energy to kick Dominique's shoulder, hissing at her with all the strength she can muster. "You were convenient, that's all. Do you normally fuck strangers on rooftops?" The burning in her ears, as her cheeks alight with a fiery blush betray her despite her efforts to sound snappish and rude. Dominique's side eye will be the death of her, she's certain, especially when it comes with a lingering look as if the other is admiring her handiwork. And then she opens her mouth and Vanitas feels her heart stutter all over again at the sight of fangs.
"Do you normally jack off on rooftops?" Dominique asks, smiling with her teeth and Vanitas bristles, all thoughts of weird teeth forced aside in favor of irritation.
They exchange glares. Vanitas forcing herself up on her elbows just so she won't feel so small, and Dominique's lips twitch mockingly. "Small."
"I'll kick you," Vanitas warns. "I'll kick you right off this rooftop."
"After the pounding I just gave you, I doubt you'll be doing much moving," Dominique replies. The fact that she's correct is a double affront, but Vanitas isn't about to tell her that. Instead, she gathers her strength and stands, and if her legs wobble like a newborn foals that's no one's business but her own. Dominique whistles, and her cheeks burn even brighter, before she squeaks as a hand lands on her ass.
"What are you – hey!" Her protest dissolves into a flustered wheeze as Dominique's fingers grope her buttocks without a hint of shame, there's an odd sensation almost like a sharpie, and then they retreat with a pat that leaves the flesh stinging.
"Next time you want to fuck, call me when you're on a bed, pet," Dominique says and saunters off towards the staircase, within moments she's gone.
Vanitas is left standing on a rooftop, looking as debauched as she has ever been, cheeks on fire and a phone number written on her ass.
