Her world was imploding.

Bit by bit, gravity faded away, and every particle started floating, no longer tethered to the ground. Annie was sure that soon, brick by brick, her pink house would begin to come loose, rising through the air like a sky lantern.

Yet, as she felt herself vanish, in the middle of Mitchell's room, the only thing solid where his hands and his steady voice.

"I'm here, it's okay," he said against her skin. "Close your eyes. Trust me."

Annie felt small like those nights at her Nan's place, hiding under the blankets and scared of the creaking sounds of the old house and the thunder outside. But she trusted Mitchell, hoping she could still go back to the time when she still believed in Father Christmas and the Easter egg bunny.

Annie trusted him, at that precise moment she'd believe whatever he had to say, that fishes swam in the wind and fire was cold, as long as he convinced her she would not disappear.

"What am I doing, Annie?"

"Mitchell," she begged disoriented.

"Just tell me, Annie," he asked again, and despite the coldness of his own body, his breath so close to her face felt aflame. "Concentrate."

"You're running your hands down my arms,"

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to feel something growing out of the ground beneath her.

"I am," he whispered next to her ear. "You can feel it, then. What am I doing now?"

His voice then became a distant mumble.

"You're kissing my neck."

If Annie felt before that every little thing not nailed down was about to start levitating with her, she didn't anymore. There was a pull then, of the earth claiming her.

"And now?"

Still, with eyes closed, she replied, and later she would berate herself for sounding so eager, like she used to be in primary school, hungry for praise. "Your hand, it's under my shirt."

He hummed his approval, and her heart fluttered.

"And can you feel this?" a certain malice was curving up the corners of his mouth, invisible to her behind her closed lids, but she could hear it in his tone.

"You're… tickling me. No! Don't do that please!" A level of cheeriness was coming back to her, and he couldn't quite understand why it always made something in his chest grow warm and soft. There were some memories from his past, vague and distant, but he thought that the laughter in her voice made him feel like he did when he was a kid and sometimes he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

"It's okay, I'm not going to torture you. You felt it, though, right?" Mitchell asked, looking at her dark lashes flutter open. "Ah! Don't peek. I'll know if you're cheating."

His arms snaked around her waist and started pulling both from the ground as he kissed her slowly. Once they were standing, his right hand climbed to cradle her neck while the other closed tighter around her lower back. He didn't have to again, but she felt the solidity of his body, every muscle determined against her.

She was earthbound then; a sensual part of it all.

Mitchell broke the kiss and set his forehead against hers. As Annie opened her eyes, she was welcomed by the intensity of his stare.

"What did I tell you about those eyes?" he said, letting his hands slide down to grab the edge of her tank top and slowly lift it up until he freed her of it.

"Can you feel the cotton against your skin? Is it soft?"

"Yes," Annie replied as she made her hands go to the first button of this shirt.

"What are you doing?"

Mitchell's words made her freeze and instinctively let go.

"No, I didn't say you should stop," he added, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. "I just want you to tell me what you're doing."

"I'm taking off your shirt," she answered.

"Can you feel the texture of the fabric?" He asked, and felt her merely nodding. "Tell me."

"I can feel it's old and worn."

"Hmm, it is."

Soon they had gone through the rest of the clothes, and with each item they took turns describing the sensations, every single one heightened by the need to put into words, to savour each one of them in their mouths and utter them against warm skin or tracing them with their tongues.

His hands went to her hips, and he nudged them to let him pick her up and have legs wrap around his torso instinctively. Mitchell walked effortlessly, carrying her while he kissed her until he leaned her against a wall. The open window was next to them, and even with eyes closed, Annie she could feel the draft. He parted from her just enough for his thumb to find a rapidly puckering nipple.

"Can you feel the cold coming from outside?"

His voice was deep, like a tremor shaking the earth.

"Yes," Annie sighed.

She had been caged all this time when she was something wild.

"Can you feel me touching you?"

"Yes!"

She didn't need him to remind her to keep her eyes closed anymore, and Mitchell took a moment to stare at her. He knew that he had to be the skilful lover he could be. All those years of anonymous bodies and forgettable mouths. All that fodder for that moment of delicious sacrifice.

Annie was the earth goddess he'd happily immolate himself to have her senses overwhelmed.

He vowed to make her heart beat again if only for a few seconds.

If Annie was feeling lighter than air before, afraid of the earth losing its hold on her, she now felt so heavy and full. The air around them was thick and almost too much to bear. Her body ached with a primaeval need. Never before had she felt more alive or more human, with the grittiness and messiness of life, a life that wanted to expand and suffocate everything and everyone else left around.

Mitchell had done his job well. He could feel her near him, blooming and ready. Annie was pure instinct now; her body undulating and looking for relief. There was barely any space left between them, and her nipples moved against the soft down of hair on his chest. In between the valley of her breasts, Annie could feel Mitchell's silver ring, hanging cold and heavy from the chain around his neck.

Annie sensed herself becoming larger than everything around, she was almost sure soon she would be able to feel through Mitchell's skin and through every object in the room. Just as the subtle and constant movement of the world, their bodies were lining up to their rightful place.

She felt like the universe creating itself.

Her hands wandered without needing him to guide her with his words anymore; instead, he used his mouth to wrap itself around an eager breast.

In her blind search, she found him, and it took him every ounce of strength not to give in.

"Mitchell," Annie pleaded.

"I can feel you, Annie," he replied, almost gone, as her hand guided him home.

He didn't need an invitation to cross her threshold anymore.

His rhythm was slow, almost too slow to bear.

"Can you feel me, love?"

Annie could only nod and meet him stroke by stroke.

"Open your eyes now. Look at me."

Mitchell needed her to see into his eyes to plant an essential notion in her mind as he was running out of time to say it before he couldn't anymore.

As Annie opened her eyes, he spoke, "This is what's real Annie. Nothing else."

Mitchell's pace picked up, making them both pant.

"Say it to me, Annie. Tell me that you can feel this is real."

There were no secrets left in between them.

"It's real. This is real," Annie said, wanting to please him and give him whatever he wanted from her.

There were no more words after that as language was destroyed, used up, there was only what their bodies could spell and the messages that Mitchell's fingers wrote just above where they were joined.

Only Mitchell's name remained in Annie's mind.

And with the taste of it on her lips, she fell down her bliss, with Mitchell following soon after.

Annie felt she was made of the earth itself, rivers ran through her veins, and the creating wind was born among the curls on her head.

Mitchell took them both to the bed in a painfully sweet way. He was so careful, making sure to do everything in his power to let herself believe nothing would rip her away from his world. Still, the way his body clung to her, anchoring to the earth, made Annie wonder if he was just as fearful about someone taking her away.

Mitchell pulled the sheet over their bare bodies and under it, an idle hand traced circles on her thigh, making every ghostly cell of her body prickle.

After a while, both turned to lie on their backs in silence. Annie was counting and memorizing the water stains on the ceiling to try to avoid thinking about what had just transpired when she felt him push himself slightly from the bed. He reached over her to grab something from the side table on her side.

"Hello there," he said, smiling cockily as his chest rubbed against hers and his mouth was just inches away from her lips.

"What are you doing?" Annie asked when she noticed him grabbing his lighter and pack of smokes. "You're not going to smoke now, are you?" she asked with a frown.

"I'm most certainly are," he replied, putting a cigarette on his lips and sitting up to lean against the headboard.

"You can't do that!" she yelled as she sat up, mimicking his pose.

"Why not? It's tradition! You know, after…," he couldn't quite finish the sentence and felt silly since he had never worried too much of his choice of words, but with Annie it was as if he was back at being a teenager, snickering at innuendos.

'Christ,' he thought, 'I'm too bloody old to feel like this.'

"It's disgusting and unhealthy… and… and... disrespectful," Annie stammered.

There was something about them starting silly arguments about inane trivialities, perhaps subconsciously building a wall to separate them from what just happened between them.

"You and I are both dead, my dear. And I doubt it would make any difference."

Annie stared him down as he attempted to light up, and without smiling, one of her eyebrows rose to dare him to continue.

Mitchell sighed and took the cigarette from his mouth in defeat. He was a 116-year-old mass murderer, and Annie still bested him just with a stare.

"Urgh! Okay. But there's something I need to warn you about," he said, getting closer and looking intently into her eyes.

"What is that?" she asked cautiously.

"I have an oral fixation," he said with a lopsided smile while he snaked his arm behind her back and pulled her to him.

"You'll have to give me something to distract my mouth with."

Instead of waiting for a reply, he captured her mouth with his. They kissed without hurry, giving each other time to bask in the sensation, without the rush and desperation of their previous experiences. When they pulled apart, he kept his forehead on hers. Even before the new nature of their relationship, the forehead thing had started being a staple of their interaction. Some sort of intangible connection seemed to develop and feed off the intense stares of those furtive moments.

When the kiss broke, Annie moved to try to find a comfortable position. When he had pulled her, she found herself cradled in between his legs and securely wrapped in his arms. Besides the comfort issues, she felt an unbearable electrical current flowing through her veins which fed off the intensity of his eyes on hers. She needed a respite from it, to break the power of his stare and hide her own eyes, afraid that he'd be able to read every secret thought.

Mitchell smiled at her task of finding her place in his arms.

"Careful down there," he warned as her fumbling made the roundness of her bum brush against quite a sensitive spot of his. Annie froze in place, and he laughed that low throaty laugh of his. Mitchell then decided to help her by moving her like a doll until her back was flush against his chest. She relaxed and let her head fall against him over his arm, and he inhaled the smell of her hair in the crook of her neck.

After a few minutes, he rested his chin on her shoulder and finally spoke, "Are you going to tell me now what happened?"

Gone was the former playfulness of his voice. Mitchell had succeeded luring her to a place of calm and safety amid his stubborn arms.

She sighed sorely.

"I told you."

"Tell me properly now."

Annie stayed silent for a few moments, but Mitchell gave her time, running the tip of his nose slowly against her shoulder.

"I was walking, and I saw an accident," she said after inhaling and swallowing, loud enough for him to hear. "A car crashed against a pole. I went there thinking that I thought I could help, but they had all died. Three… They were three… I thought I could help them pass on, but they held on to me and tried to get me through their doors. It was like Saul all over again… But worse."

Sometimes she hated herself for feeling so helpless and always running to him for protection.

Someone had forged that nasty idea of her weakness in her mind.

Mitchell could feel the anger rushing inside him, but remained silent, afraid she'd stop talking.

"They were taunting me. When they couldn't take me. I told them you and George could see me and they said you wouldn't anymore."

"That is a lie. You know that, right?" He interrupted; offended at the implication that one day he'd let her disappear.

"But it's not. It really isn't a lie, is it Mitchell?" she asked, turning so she could see him over her shoulder. "I came home and couldn't hold the doorknob, and then you just went past me. You couldn't hear me either."

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," he begged for forgiveness, burying his face in her curls, making Annie feel guilty.

"It's not your fault."

Her words made him lift his head to look into her eyes again.

"I won't let them take you. And you'll never be invisible to me again," Mitchell vowed.

"You can't promise me that," she said, turning back on her side, pulling her legs up against her chest. Her actions making their connection break.

His skin felt cold without hers.

"I can, and I will."

"Thank you," she replied, always polite as she conceded, letting her fear go to a deeper place.

"I don't want you to walk around at night on your own," he said after a few minutes, gently pulling her back against him.

"Mitchell," Annie protested at the thought but not the action.

"I'm serious. What would George and I have done without you? What if we never even have known what happened to you?"

It was now his turn to show his helplessness.

"It's not safe for you to be out on your own. You're not going out," Mitchell said finally like he was casting a prophecy to stone.

This was the way he dealt with his fears; the way he had been taught a man should, more than a century before.

"You're going to tell me what to do now?" She asked defiantly, and he laughed internally at their ever exchange of roles.

"You know what I mean," he said, trying to appease her.

"First of all," she started to explain half turning to look into his eyes, and making the sheet around her chest slid down slightly.

He immediately cut her off, "Yes, I know, I know. I am not your father."

And looking down at bare breasts, he added, "And thank God for that."

"Mitchell!" she yelped, looking away in embarrassment.

"You're blushing," he stated the obvious, and she could hear that annoying male smugness.

"I can't blush, I have no blood," she countered.

"No you don't, but I know you, and I know what your eyes look like that when you're invisibly blushing."

"Okay fine, I'm blushing. Not all of us can be suave and worldly like you. Check on me in a hundred years when I'm your age. I'll be all cynical and cold and collected."

"No," he said, placing his hand on her cheek to stop her from looking away. "I want you to still blush when you're my age. And with a little bit of luck, I may still be around to make you blush then."

Her heart skipped, begging for a promise.

"Anyways, you know what I'm thinking just now?" he asked, not waiting for a reply. "Pity we don't show in a photograph, I could show George that you have no problem touching poor leper old me."

He was smiling smugly, and Annie couldn't stop a smile from blooming on her face as she swatted at him without conviction.

After some silent moments, Annie spoke, "Should tell him about this?"

Annie's question made Mitchell feel something odd in his chest, a feeling he did not recognize.

"Well," he replied instead, distracting himself, "you told him you were never going to talk to him about your sex life and I believe you didn't want to hear him talking about his or mine…"

Neither he nor she completed the thought.

It was a minefield.

"Mitchell, can I ask you something?" She finally said, relaxing once more against him while his fingers wrote unintelligible words on her inner thigh.

"Anything."

"I need you to be honest. Brutally honest, if necessary."

"Ask the question already, Annie."

"Can you really feel me? I mean, I know you can feel me, feel something, at least, but," Annie stammered, and after a deep breath she asked, "Do I feel real or am I really just an echo?"

Mitchell wondered if he would ever be able to erase that fear.

All of her fears, really.

"Annie, look at me," he asked, and she complied. "I really can feel you."

"I thought vampires were too vulnerable to the cold. That's why you wear your gloves all the time, right?" Annie said without waiting for his reply. "And I'm as cold as ice. You told me that time when we kissed by accident that I felt like someone who had just come in from outside. That's not normal, that's not real."

He recognized the voice inside that was torturing her, not letting her believe it was possible.

"Annie, we're light-years away from that kiss. Yes, at first it feels a little cold, but then it changes. Believe me," he said, and his eyebrows rose high, "you're anything but cold. We wouldn't have this if you were."

'This,' a new word for what they couldn't name.

"You believe me, right?"

Annie stared for a while, and without conscious thought, her hand came to his cheek, moving slowly against his stubble. Mitchell had to close his eyes at the contact, and, bringing his own hand to cover hers, he pulled her palm to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

"Yes," she finally replied.

Opening his eyes, he spoke, "Why don't I believe you? What's on your mind?"

"Someone told me I feel squishy."

"Who?" he asked, feeling his anger rise again, with that imperative need to find her tormentors.

"Tully," she replied, knowing the sole mention of his name would unleash his anger.

Mitchell's jaw locked, reawakening an old fury.

"Was it when he scared you?"

"Yes."

"You're real to me. Jesus Christ! You're beyond real. You're perfect."

He finally saw the flicker of hope in Annie's eyes, and he held her closer, trying to have her firmly rooted to the same ground as him.

Praying internally that he'd be able to keep his promise.