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FIC: Honey Honey [Bride, Misery x Lowe]
Title: Honey Honey
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Bride by Ali Hazelwood
Warnings: Frequent references to and one somewhat explicit description of sex.
Characters & Relationships: Misery x Lowe
Summary: Some couples explored fetish clubs on their honeymoons, when they were in an exciting new place together far away from anybody who might recognize them. Kinky sex wasn’t really what shameful Vampyre fantasies tended to be about, though. // 2416 words
Author’s Note: Enjoy!
Honey Honey
Lowe’s “lifetime of Misery” did not start with a honeymoon. Even after the marking ceremony and their Properly This Time vow ‘renewal’ party, there was still too much shit left to shovel for them to just up and skedaddle like that. They would have been remiss as a Real Married-Mated-Sickeningly-Lovey-Dovey Couple not to take the opportunity when it eventually presented itself, though.
As in, one morning Misery held up the letter from his Swiss student society that had come in the mail the previous day and announced, around her straw and with a brief pause between sentences for one last long, rattling slurp from her dinner: “We’re going. I’ve already arranged for transportation, accommodations, and blood supply.”
He looked up from the eggs he was frying for breakfast, eyebrows raised high. “We are?”
“Yes. School reunion, honeymoon, potayto, tomahto.”
“Those are, in fact, completely different foods and variations on the expression both.”
“How would I know. Why would I care.”
They weren’t actually questions, but he answered anyway, one corner of his mouth ticking up a bit despite his attempt at an Are You Shitting Me? face. “It completely defeats the point of the saying, for one thing.”
“Bite me.” Smiling beatifically, Misery leaned her pointy chin on her hand. “I’ve never been to Europe. I hope it’s as rustic as it looks in the brochures.”
“The parts photographed for the brochures are, sure. But are you shitting me? A frat bro reunion? That’s where you want to go for our honeymoon. Is romance dead? Where did you hide the body?”
“Seeing your fancy school and meeting your exotic friends is just the start, don’t worry. I’ve got a whole three weeks mapped out for after. Eiffel tower, moonlit walks on the beaches of Italy, the works. Just wait till you see my itinerary.”
Three weeks of sight-seeing and internationally-flavored canoodling did not sound like the work of a single night. How long had she been thinking about this, reading travel brochures (more like browsing discount travel websites, let’s be real, but Lowe agreed there was no charm in putting it like that) without telling him?
Somewhat belatedly, Lowe took his eggs from the fire and turned off the stove. Then he crossed his arms. “Was I going to get any say in this honeymoon of ours?”
Misery ran her tongue along her fangs, lilac eyes fluttering unnecessarily in her trademark affectation of innocence. “Oh dear. Should I have let my Alpha make all the decisions?”
Hell no. He was perfectly happy to let her call all the shots. He would follow her anywhere, any time, but her first time abroad especially should be special, and she deserved to go anywhere and everywhere she wanted. He would help her sneak into the royal bedroom at Buckingham Palace and fuck her through the queen’s mattress if that was what she wanted.
But the look she was giving him was a challenge and an invitation for the here and now. So they abandoned the eggs and the itinerary, and the empty blood bag only barely made it into the right trash can, and he spent the next hour on top of her, locked balls-deep inside her as he mouthed at the mark at the top of her arched spine, and she wriggled around his knot and whimpered into a pillow stained green with his blood, and his fingers laced with hers where he pinned her hands to the headboard.
It was a great plan once they did get around to discussing it, though.
Lowe hadn’t actually meant to go to the reunion before Misery got her paws on his invitation and ran with it. He was touched they’d even bothered to send one all the way across the Atlantic, and the over the top gold-embossed stationery, borderline indecipherably curly lettering, and gleaming emerald green ink had definitely drawn a guffaw out of him, but come on. It was way too far away, and way too soon. But of course Misery didn’t stand for that kind of practical nonsense.
To kick off their honeymoon, Misery had pencilled in a full day to catch up with his friends before the day of the actual full-society reunion, and then the better part of the next day to let his hangover ebb away in peace. All while she only tenuously, theoretically grasped what a hangover even was. He would marry that woman if he hadn’t already. Instead he clumsily fingerfucked her in the bath and passed out in his Oktoberfest costume because the sight of him in it amused her so much.
By the time she came out of her daylight coma, he felt much less like roadkill himself, and they got ready for the first item on her list. Which, like a bunch of other stops, she had initially marked in the itinerary as ‘1 of 2 options, TBD’, but then... huh, he thought, scrolling down the document on his phone... never updated as they hashed out the final details together. Oops? Though she’d told him to dress up nice; it didn’t seem like she was still unsure of where they were going.
Misery herself emerged from the bathroom looking like... uh. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what she was supposed to look like, though it was on the tip of his tongue. Still a little too hungover. Lowe (gingerly) cocked his head as he took in the stylish beige trench coat with the collar popped up, the huge, pitch-black sunglasses, the wide-brimmed hat, and the silk scarf tied under her chin.
“I... really doubt the sun is going to jump back out from behind the mountains to ambush you,” he tried.
“That’s what they want you to think,” she deadpanned. “Ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. The taxi should be here any minute.”
There was a hint of tension behind her flippant words, and more than a hint in her scent. But he let her have her flippancy. Surely she knew what she was doing.
The cab deposited them in front of an old, pretty building in what Lowe mentally categorized as the outer ring of the nightlife district, bearing an elegant black sign that said ‘Das lila Digestif’ in purple letters. A cluster of graceful white lines beside the name formed a stylized Vampyre woman’s face surrounded by swirling hair, one lilac eye closed in a wink and a fang peeking out from between the smiling lips. Classy yet saucy. Like a respectable lingerie brand, Lowe thought, signalling ‘this is an important part of a lady’s wardrobe, and yes tittilation is part of that, but let’s not make too a big deal out of it, either’. Artfully draped layers of velvet and lace purple curtains in front of the windows reduced the patrons inside to faint silhouettes. Even the door was lacquered purple.
“A Vampyre club?” Lowe said, surprised despite himself.
Misery made as if to shush him, but then shot another look at the sheer, in-your-face Vampyre-ness of the place and aborted the motion. After a quick sweep of the street, she took off the sunglasses, hat, and shawl, and stuffed them into her purse as best as they would fit. He bit his cheek to hold back any trace of amusement at the contrast her film noir urban camouflage had made with the veritable Bat-signal of a building in front of them.
“I never knew this was here.”
“It was the very first result when I searched ‘Zürich tourism Vampyres’,” she said in a very neutral voice.
“Ah.”
At best, he had been completely apathetic towards Vampyres when he lived here in his architect Simba, Hakuna Matata-ing it up across the Pond days. At his not-best, he would probably have gone out drinking and pissed on the historic facade on a dare from his fellow Weres if he’d known about this place.
That part of the good old days was better left in the past.
Misery hooked her arm through his and pulled him along, pushing through the door. A young male Vampyre who eyed Lowe only somewhat warily took their coats. They crossed a long hallway, the murmur of voices growing closer, and then they turned a corner into a dining room.
For a moment, as Misery’s grip tightened on his arm and she took a deep, shuddering breath, he couldn’t figure out why that thought caught on a snag in his mind. Then he did a double take. A dining room. For Vampyres. ‘In our culture, jacking off in public is considered less obscene than feeding in front of others, and there aren’t even words for how Not Done it is to consume anything other than refrigerated blood from a bag’, those Vampyres.
The space was filled with small round tables, all set a respectable distance apart, and many of those closest to the walls surrounded by silk folding screens for privacy. At the tables sat Vampyres – Vampyres! – eating – eating! – from bowls with spoons, or drinking from glasses filled with substances that were clearly not blood. Some sat alone, one table housed a closely huddled group of pale faces, and some sat in pairs, feeding each other spoonfuls of their chosen foodstuff in a bubble of intimacy halfway between the cutesy couple-y-ness one might find between Human or Were couples doing the same, and something closer to mutual masturbation. One wall was taken up by a long bar behind which featured a brightly lit glass-fronted fridge, warmer plates, and shelf upon shelf of labelled glass jars and carafes.
Lowe’s jaw dropped.
Misery pushed it back into place.
She gave him one of those looks. The kind where she was simultaneously refusing to show weakness and begging him to be on her side. The kind that said they had encountered an Issue, and no, Lowe, tearing out throats on her behalf was not the solution, in fact Lowe, put the Alpha tendencies down entirely, we are in public, I love you to pieces but you doing that here, in front of this crowd, would only embarass me in ways I cannot fucking deal with right now. Please, Lowe. Be on my side. God-fucking-dammit.
So he grinned and, putting his mouth to her ear, whispered delightedly: “I told you there was no way you were the only one!”
The worst of the tension bled out of her.
“You told me that,” she said, smiling. “And I believed you, because no-one is ever the only one, but believing is not seeing. What’s the German word for peanut butter?”
“Erdnussbutter.”
“Erdnussbutter,” she repeated under her breath. “Erdnussbutter. Erdnussbutter.”
They made their way to the bar, determinedly not staring at anybody they passed; none of the snacking Vampyres seemed to realize a Were had snuck into their speakeasy with how steadfastly they, too, were Not Paying Attention to anybody else. Lowe and Misery both faltered for a moment when they took their first good look at the Vampyre behind the bar, a slightly chubby woman with pepper-and-salt curls in a purple waistcoat with the establishment logo embroidered on it and a nametag reading ‘Claudia’. A Vampyre who’d gotten chubby. Lowe suddenly realized that, even after finding out about Misery’s thing for peanut butter, he’d just kind of assumed Vampyres were physically incapable of that somehow. Luckily for their dignity, Claudia looked just as surprised by the sight of them, her lilac eyes flitting from Lowe’s face to Misery’s and then to their linked arms, and the wedding rings on their fingers.
Claudia recovered first, conjuring a smile. “Grüezi.”
“Grüezi,” Lowe returned. “English?”
“Sure, English is fine here.” (Misery huffed out a relieved laugh.) “Good evening. What can I do for you?”
“What indeed,” Misery breathed, staring at the jars and carafes on display with wide eyes.
Claudia’s smile deepened into something more genuine. “This is your first time partaking?”
Misery hesitated, then blurted out: “I really love peanut butter.”
“We have peanut butter.” Claudia pointed out a jar labelled ‘Erdnussbutter’. “Among, as you can see, many other offerings. All our products comply with the European food safety guidelines for each of the Three Species and are guaranteed safe to ingest for Vampyres. As well as their plus ones, of course,” she added, inclining her head towards Lowe.
Misery kept staring, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Even accounting for his German culinary vocabulary being more limited than he’d ever realized, Lowe spotted sauces, spreads, dairy products, jams, broths and chunk-free soups, pâtés, whipped cream, frosting, varieties of hummus, puddings and even less solid desserts, even some soft cheeses. Plus a variety of ‘pureed this-and-that’ rivaling all of the above in numbers, which he realized (with a blessed lack of weird feelings involved) must be basically baby food. Every color of the rainbow, and every tier of the food pyramid; all of it suitable for people with no functional molars and a digestive system not used to anything but liquids. And that wasn’t even going into the truly envy-inducing drinks assortment.
He gave Misery’s hand a gentle squeeze. “So, did you want to come here for extra fancy foreign peanut butter, or are you looking to expand into other daywalker foods?”
“Take your time.” Claudia produced a leather-bound folder and handed it to her. “This is our menu. American Vampyres tend to be unfamiliar, but it’s simply a list of everything we offer, as well as the price per portion size. If you’re unsure of what you want, or would simply like to expand your palate, I recommend our taster platter. You can choose the samples yourself or let us put together a selection for you. Just let me know when you’ve decided.” She pointed out a tiered display at the end of the bar of bowls in different sizes, as well as a wooden platter inlaid with ten tiny ceramic saucers, and then retreated.
“Taster platter,” Misery said breathlessly. She seemed to have gotten stuck in a ‘clandestine whisper or under’ register. “Definitely the taster platter.”
Lowe remembered the obscene sounds she’d made the first time she stole his peanut butter, the almost pornographic sight of her sucking it from her own fingers. They were going to need a table with a decency screen. And a room, later. Definitely a room.
He couldn’t have thought of a better or worse way to start their honeymoon if he’d tried.
PSAN: If you, like me, are now sitting here thinking, ‘damn, now I want this to lead to food porn. and porn-porn.’ – yes! So, since I’ve proven useless at the job, who’s offering? *chin hands*
(Obviously, just telling me if you liked this is cool too. ;) )
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Bride by Ali Hazelwood
Warnings: Frequent references to and one somewhat explicit description of sex.
Characters & Relationships: Misery x Lowe
Summary: Some couples explored fetish clubs on their honeymoons, when they were in an exciting new place together far away from anybody who might recognize them. Kinky sex wasn’t really what shameful Vampyre fantasies tended to be about, though. // 2416 words
Author’s Note: Enjoy!
Honey Honey
Lowe’s “lifetime of Misery” did not start with a honeymoon. Even after the marking ceremony and their Properly This Time vow ‘renewal’ party, there was still too much shit left to shovel for them to just up and skedaddle like that. They would have been remiss as a Real Married-Mated-Sickeningly-Lovey-Dovey Couple not to take the opportunity when it eventually presented itself, though.
As in, one morning Misery held up the letter from his Swiss student society that had come in the mail the previous day and announced, around her straw and with a brief pause between sentences for one last long, rattling slurp from her dinner: “We’re going. I’ve already arranged for transportation, accommodations, and blood supply.”
He looked up from the eggs he was frying for breakfast, eyebrows raised high. “We are?”
“Yes. School reunion, honeymoon, potayto, tomahto.”
“Those are, in fact, completely different foods and variations on the expression both.”
“How would I know. Why would I care.”
They weren’t actually questions, but he answered anyway, one corner of his mouth ticking up a bit despite his attempt at an Are You Shitting Me? face. “It completely defeats the point of the saying, for one thing.”
“Bite me.” Smiling beatifically, Misery leaned her pointy chin on her hand. “I’ve never been to Europe. I hope it’s as rustic as it looks in the brochures.”
“The parts photographed for the brochures are, sure. But are you shitting me? A frat bro reunion? That’s where you want to go for our honeymoon. Is romance dead? Where did you hide the body?”
“Seeing your fancy school and meeting your exotic friends is just the start, don’t worry. I’ve got a whole three weeks mapped out for after. Eiffel tower, moonlit walks on the beaches of Italy, the works. Just wait till you see my itinerary.”
Three weeks of sight-seeing and internationally-flavored canoodling did not sound like the work of a single night. How long had she been thinking about this, reading travel brochures (more like browsing discount travel websites, let’s be real, but Lowe agreed there was no charm in putting it like that) without telling him?
Somewhat belatedly, Lowe took his eggs from the fire and turned off the stove. Then he crossed his arms. “Was I going to get any say in this honeymoon of ours?”
Misery ran her tongue along her fangs, lilac eyes fluttering unnecessarily in her trademark affectation of innocence. “Oh dear. Should I have let my Alpha make all the decisions?”
Hell no. He was perfectly happy to let her call all the shots. He would follow her anywhere, any time, but her first time abroad especially should be special, and she deserved to go anywhere and everywhere she wanted. He would help her sneak into the royal bedroom at Buckingham Palace and fuck her through the queen’s mattress if that was what she wanted.
But the look she was giving him was a challenge and an invitation for the here and now. So they abandoned the eggs and the itinerary, and the empty blood bag only barely made it into the right trash can, and he spent the next hour on top of her, locked balls-deep inside her as he mouthed at the mark at the top of her arched spine, and she wriggled around his knot and whimpered into a pillow stained green with his blood, and his fingers laced with hers where he pinned her hands to the headboard.
It was a great plan once they did get around to discussing it, though.
Lowe hadn’t actually meant to go to the reunion before Misery got her paws on his invitation and ran with it. He was touched they’d even bothered to send one all the way across the Atlantic, and the over the top gold-embossed stationery, borderline indecipherably curly lettering, and gleaming emerald green ink had definitely drawn a guffaw out of him, but come on. It was way too far away, and way too soon. But of course Misery didn’t stand for that kind of practical nonsense.
To kick off their honeymoon, Misery had pencilled in a full day to catch up with his friends before the day of the actual full-society reunion, and then the better part of the next day to let his hangover ebb away in peace. All while she only tenuously, theoretically grasped what a hangover even was. He would marry that woman if he hadn’t already. Instead he clumsily fingerfucked her in the bath and passed out in his Oktoberfest costume because the sight of him in it amused her so much.
By the time she came out of her daylight coma, he felt much less like roadkill himself, and they got ready for the first item on her list. Which, like a bunch of other stops, she had initially marked in the itinerary as ‘1 of 2 options, TBD’, but then... huh, he thought, scrolling down the document on his phone... never updated as they hashed out the final details together. Oops? Though she’d told him to dress up nice; it didn’t seem like she was still unsure of where they were going.
Misery herself emerged from the bathroom looking like... uh. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what she was supposed to look like, though it was on the tip of his tongue. Still a little too hungover. Lowe (gingerly) cocked his head as he took in the stylish beige trench coat with the collar popped up, the huge, pitch-black sunglasses, the wide-brimmed hat, and the silk scarf tied under her chin.
“I... really doubt the sun is going to jump back out from behind the mountains to ambush you,” he tried.
“That’s what they want you to think,” she deadpanned. “Ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. The taxi should be here any minute.”
There was a hint of tension behind her flippant words, and more than a hint in her scent. But he let her have her flippancy. Surely she knew what she was doing.
The cab deposited them in front of an old, pretty building in what Lowe mentally categorized as the outer ring of the nightlife district, bearing an elegant black sign that said ‘Das lila Digestif’ in purple letters. A cluster of graceful white lines beside the name formed a stylized Vampyre woman’s face surrounded by swirling hair, one lilac eye closed in a wink and a fang peeking out from between the smiling lips. Classy yet saucy. Like a respectable lingerie brand, Lowe thought, signalling ‘this is an important part of a lady’s wardrobe, and yes tittilation is part of that, but let’s not make too a big deal out of it, either’. Artfully draped layers of velvet and lace purple curtains in front of the windows reduced the patrons inside to faint silhouettes. Even the door was lacquered purple.
“A Vampyre club?” Lowe said, surprised despite himself.
Misery made as if to shush him, but then shot another look at the sheer, in-your-face Vampyre-ness of the place and aborted the motion. After a quick sweep of the street, she took off the sunglasses, hat, and shawl, and stuffed them into her purse as best as they would fit. He bit his cheek to hold back any trace of amusement at the contrast her film noir urban camouflage had made with the veritable Bat-signal of a building in front of them.
“I never knew this was here.”
“It was the very first result when I searched ‘Zürich tourism Vampyres’,” she said in a very neutral voice.
“Ah.”
At best, he had been completely apathetic towards Vampyres when he lived here in his architect Simba, Hakuna Matata-ing it up across the Pond days. At his not-best, he would probably have gone out drinking and pissed on the historic facade on a dare from his fellow Weres if he’d known about this place.
That part of the good old days was better left in the past.
Misery hooked her arm through his and pulled him along, pushing through the door. A young male Vampyre who eyed Lowe only somewhat warily took their coats. They crossed a long hallway, the murmur of voices growing closer, and then they turned a corner into a dining room.
For a moment, as Misery’s grip tightened on his arm and she took a deep, shuddering breath, he couldn’t figure out why that thought caught on a snag in his mind. Then he did a double take. A dining room. For Vampyres. ‘In our culture, jacking off in public is considered less obscene than feeding in front of others, and there aren’t even words for how Not Done it is to consume anything other than refrigerated blood from a bag’, those Vampyres.
The space was filled with small round tables, all set a respectable distance apart, and many of those closest to the walls surrounded by silk folding screens for privacy. At the tables sat Vampyres – Vampyres! – eating – eating! – from bowls with spoons, or drinking from glasses filled with substances that were clearly not blood. Some sat alone, one table housed a closely huddled group of pale faces, and some sat in pairs, feeding each other spoonfuls of their chosen foodstuff in a bubble of intimacy halfway between the cutesy couple-y-ness one might find between Human or Were couples doing the same, and something closer to mutual masturbation. One wall was taken up by a long bar behind which featured a brightly lit glass-fronted fridge, warmer plates, and shelf upon shelf of labelled glass jars and carafes.
Lowe’s jaw dropped.
Misery pushed it back into place.
She gave him one of those looks. The kind where she was simultaneously refusing to show weakness and begging him to be on her side. The kind that said they had encountered an Issue, and no, Lowe, tearing out throats on her behalf was not the solution, in fact Lowe, put the Alpha tendencies down entirely, we are in public, I love you to pieces but you doing that here, in front of this crowd, would only embarass me in ways I cannot fucking deal with right now. Please, Lowe. Be on my side. God-fucking-dammit.
So he grinned and, putting his mouth to her ear, whispered delightedly: “I told you there was no way you were the only one!”
The worst of the tension bled out of her.
“You told me that,” she said, smiling. “And I believed you, because no-one is ever the only one, but believing is not seeing. What’s the German word for peanut butter?”
“Erdnussbutter.”
“Erdnussbutter,” she repeated under her breath. “Erdnussbutter. Erdnussbutter.”
They made their way to the bar, determinedly not staring at anybody they passed; none of the snacking Vampyres seemed to realize a Were had snuck into their speakeasy with how steadfastly they, too, were Not Paying Attention to anybody else. Lowe and Misery both faltered for a moment when they took their first good look at the Vampyre behind the bar, a slightly chubby woman with pepper-and-salt curls in a purple waistcoat with the establishment logo embroidered on it and a nametag reading ‘Claudia’. A Vampyre who’d gotten chubby. Lowe suddenly realized that, even after finding out about Misery’s thing for peanut butter, he’d just kind of assumed Vampyres were physically incapable of that somehow. Luckily for their dignity, Claudia looked just as surprised by the sight of them, her lilac eyes flitting from Lowe’s face to Misery’s and then to their linked arms, and the wedding rings on their fingers.
Claudia recovered first, conjuring a smile. “Grüezi.”
“Grüezi,” Lowe returned. “English?”
“Sure, English is fine here.” (Misery huffed out a relieved laugh.) “Good evening. What can I do for you?”
“What indeed,” Misery breathed, staring at the jars and carafes on display with wide eyes.
Claudia’s smile deepened into something more genuine. “This is your first time partaking?”
Misery hesitated, then blurted out: “I really love peanut butter.”
“We have peanut butter.” Claudia pointed out a jar labelled ‘Erdnussbutter’. “Among, as you can see, many other offerings. All our products comply with the European food safety guidelines for each of the Three Species and are guaranteed safe to ingest for Vampyres. As well as their plus ones, of course,” she added, inclining her head towards Lowe.
Misery kept staring, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Even accounting for his German culinary vocabulary being more limited than he’d ever realized, Lowe spotted sauces, spreads, dairy products, jams, broths and chunk-free soups, pâtés, whipped cream, frosting, varieties of hummus, puddings and even less solid desserts, even some soft cheeses. Plus a variety of ‘pureed this-and-that’ rivaling all of the above in numbers, which he realized (with a blessed lack of weird feelings involved) must be basically baby food. Every color of the rainbow, and every tier of the food pyramid; all of it suitable for people with no functional molars and a digestive system not used to anything but liquids. And that wasn’t even going into the truly envy-inducing drinks assortment.
He gave Misery’s hand a gentle squeeze. “So, did you want to come here for extra fancy foreign peanut butter, or are you looking to expand into other daywalker foods?”
“Take your time.” Claudia produced a leather-bound folder and handed it to her. “This is our menu. American Vampyres tend to be unfamiliar, but it’s simply a list of everything we offer, as well as the price per portion size. If you’re unsure of what you want, or would simply like to expand your palate, I recommend our taster platter. You can choose the samples yourself or let us put together a selection for you. Just let me know when you’ve decided.” She pointed out a tiered display at the end of the bar of bowls in different sizes, as well as a wooden platter inlaid with ten tiny ceramic saucers, and then retreated.
“Taster platter,” Misery said breathlessly. She seemed to have gotten stuck in a ‘clandestine whisper or under’ register. “Definitely the taster platter.”
Lowe remembered the obscene sounds she’d made the first time she stole his peanut butter, the almost pornographic sight of her sucking it from her own fingers. They were going to need a table with a decency screen. And a room, later. Definitely a room.
He couldn’t have thought of a better or worse way to start their honeymoon if he’d tried.
PSAN: If you, like me, are now sitting here thinking, ‘damn, now I want this to lead to food porn. and porn-porn.’ – yes! So, since I’ve proven useless at the job, who’s offering? *chin hands*
(Obviously, just telling me if you liked this is cool too. ;) )