Author's Chapter Notes:
none
He's made love to her in so many different ways.

Secretly. On a balcony, him behind her, balls deep inside her. In an alley. Her legs wrapped around him, her muscles squeezing him to completion. In an abandoned building. Riding him at a gallop as the world, at least that small part of it, collapses around them. In his crypt, bent over a sarcophagus, her clit deliciously rubbing against the cold cement of a dead man's grave. Out in the wet grass of a cemetery floor after a vile kill and too horny to wait for someplace more private. In his bed. Tangled in sheets, bodies effortless sliding against each other. Lubricated by the sweat of her body, his come on her stomach, her own on her thighs.

But this - him hovering sleepily over her, head hanged in tiredness, eyes closed in that world between sleep and wakefulness - is her favorite way.

She feels more connected to him this way, because she too, is tired. Too tired to pretend that this... thing... between them is based upon nothing but lust. In moments like this when their soulless bodies communicate - in their own language of soft sighs, pants and breathy moans. And she is. Soulless. She feels it anyways. She understands how he can love her so much.

Because in moments like this, she loves him as well.





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