Chapter Text
Exactly four hours ago, Agatha Harkness ran away from home.
It was a very simple decision, all things considered. Evil mother who hated her guts? Check. A thousand dollars in cash stolen from said mother’s special jewelry chest? Check. Packed suitcase, out the door while Evanora was at church – simple as that.
Then it started raining.
On her way confidently out the door, Agatha hadn’t really considered things like place to sleep for the night or way she was going or even umbrella. The world was her oyster and the world was, unfortunately, very wet.
In four hours she’d only gotten as far as downtown on foot, before the rain became too cold to go much further. Soaking wet and with minimal options for shelter (everything around here is office park), Agatha is crouched behind a dumpster in an alleyway with a small overhang, dry enough to stop her from getting any wetter. It smells a little bit like fish, but that she can handle.
She’s trying not to think too far ahead into the future – the empty, open future that faces her after a rash decision like running away from home. She’s trying not to think about her bed at Evanora’s house (hard as a rock and freezing cold it had always been, at least it was dry) or the next time she might sleep in a bed will be. Don’t think about money or what you’ll do for work or who’s going to love you now, Agatha says to the stars that she can see just beyond the metal overhang, just remember that nobody has ever loved you, anyway.
The alley is dark and the streets around are quiet and something is skittering in the shadows. Ironically enough, in Agatha’s current predicament, she much prefers thinking about getting eaten alive by rats.
But there are no rats.
Instead, there is a slight shifting in the dumpster at Agatha’s back. She holds very still. The dumpster shifts again – a little bump against metal, nothing too scary – until the lid begins to crack open.
Agatha stands up and takes a few steps away, hugging her abdomen with her soaked sleeves. The gap between the dumpster and the lid – a gaping black void – grows wider and wider until two blinking red eyes appear. Agatha’s first instinct is to scream or run but she doesn’t. She holds very still. Screaming and running make things chase after you – at least that’s what they say about bears, and it’s unlikely there’s a bear in a downtown dumpster but she’s not taking any chances.
The lid is finally pushed all the way up and clangs against the brick wall behind the dumpster. A lean, human-shaped shadow looms against the rain. Very gingerly, it climbs out of the dumpster.
“Good evening,” the shadow with red eyes says, and steps into the light so Agatha can see it’s a woman, a little older than her, in dark jeans and a green hoodie. She’s remarkably clean for someone who was just hiding in a dumpster. Her hair is tucked into her hood, but a few loose, dark strands have escaped to rebelliously frame her face. The woman’s nose twitches; it almost seems like a nervous tick. She takes a step, then another, closer to Agatha, who finds that all of a sudden she can’t move.
“What keeps a pretty thing like you out at night, all alone?” the woman asks. Her voice sounds like she’s trying to be seductive, reminds Agatha of the way strippers sound in movies, but she’s standing there like an antisocial nerd asking to borrow a computer charger. Both hands stuffed in her hoodie pocket. Red eyes blinking like a sleepy, intelligent cat.
Agatha squeezes her own torso tighter. “I’m running away from home,” she says, because never let it be said that Agatha Harkness is not one confident motherfucker.
The woman blinks again. Less slow and sensual, more confused. Agatha points behind her, to where her suitcase and ratty purple backpack from high school are hiding from the rain beside the dumpster.
“I see,” the woman says slowly. She glances from the packed bags, to Agatha, back to the packed bags.
“Why were you hiding in the dumpster?”
“What?”
“Why were you in there?” Agatha gestures at the big green metal tub. The woman just… stands there. Sways back and forth slightly. “It’s kind of weird to hide in a dumpster in the middle of a rainstorm. How long were you even in there, anyway? I’ve been hiding out here a least an hour and I never saw you get in, or heard you. Either you’re a super-ninja or weigh, like, zero pounds, or you’ve been hiding in a dumpster for more than an hour which is a little weird, I won’t lie to you.”
The woman slow-blinks at her. Her hands slide out of her pockets – her fingers are long and straight, Agatha notices, and nails nice and square. This is not of particular importance but Agatha sees it and, well. Those hands sit there in her brain as the woman makes a fist with her left and begins knocking it against the side of her thigh in a steady rhythm.
“I’ll be honest,” she says after a minute. “You’re throwing me off my game.”
“What game is that?” Frankly, Agatha’s been standing in the rain for too long, and she had just gotten her hair mildly dry. She stalks past the mystery woman, looking as self-important as she possibly can, and is surprised when the mystery woman just follows her and sits down, cross-legged, on the wet pavement by the dumpster.
The woman reaches out one long finger and pokes at the bunny keychain hanging off of Agatha’s backpack. Maybe she should have cleaned it out more after pulling it from the back of her closet. She makes an offended face; the woman retracts her finger shyly.
“I was waiting in the dumpster for dinner,” the woman finally says, making intense eye-contact with the puddle in front of her. “I hide in the dumpster every Wednesday and Sunday. There is usually someone around here who’s… suitable.” She looks up with eyes suddenly impossible to decode. “You must have scared them away.”
Agatha frowns, tapping her fingers against her arm. “Do the people in this town make a habit of bringing you dinner, dumpster lady?”
“The people in this town are my dinner.” As soon as she says it, the woman’s jaw snaps closed in fear. Agatha raises one single eyebrow, a talent she’s particularly proud of and saves for moments just like these.
“So you’re a murderer.”
“Um… technically-”
“Or a cannibal?”
The woman sticks her tongue out and shakes her head. “I don’t like flesh. It’s too chewy and… fleshy.”
“So what are you, a vampire?” Agatha snorts and shakes her hair out of her face as if to prove exactly how stupid that sentiment is. Then she notices the woman staring at her, unblinking, jaw shifted just a little bit so her sharp, pointy canines extend over her bottom lip.
“Third try isn’t bad, I guess.”
A sane person would probably make the sign of the cross and run for the hills, rain and baggage be damned, but Agatha has been not-so-fondly described as a “stubborn bitch” and also had an abiding interest in Bella x Alice fanfiction in middle school. She stands her ground. “If you’re a vampire, prove it.”
The woman cocks her head. “The fangs aren’t enough?”
Agatha shrugs. Yes, they probably are, but she wants to make this mystery dumpster woman squirm, mostly for the fun of saying I dominated a vampire years down the line and watching everyone stare at her, mystified.
“Okay.” The woman runs her tongue over her bottom lip, thinking. “What’s your favorite kind of candy?”
“Sour Patch Kids. The watermelon ones.”
The woman holds up one solitary finger, and in a blink of an eye, she’s gone. A green blur disappearing into the rainscape. She moved so fast there’s a light spray of mist on Agatha’s face; she wipes it away with her sleeve and by the time she’s done the woman is standing in front of her again brandishing a party-size bag of watermelon Sour Patch Kids.
“I shoplifted these.” She shakes the bag like it’s a dog treat. “My name’s Rio, by the way.”
“You could be a mutant with superspeed.” Rio grimaces. Fine, okay. Vampire. Agatha snatches the bag and tears open the seal, shoving a handful of sugary sour candy into her mouth. She chews loudly and with her mouth open because it seems like something that would piss Rio off. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“Usually, when someone tells you their name, you offer your own in return.” A smirk flits about Rio’s mouth, which will not do at all. Agatha swallows and jabs a finger at Rio’s chest.
“You said you were waiting in that garbage pile for your dinner. So why have you not devoured the tasty snack that pretty much presented itself to you on a platter?”
“I…” Rio trails off, looking Agatha up and down. From her beat-up Converse to her ripped cutoffs, to the long-sleeved lace top she stole from H&M three years ago. Agatha has a very outsized ego, but she still thinks she sees Rio’s pupils dilate just a little bit. She bets if she was a human she’d be blushing.
“I guess I wasn’t hungry anymore,” Rio says finally, meeting Agatha’s eyes – only they immediately flick away again. “You kind of caught me off guard.”
“Not a very good vampire then.”
“I’m a baby,” Rio says, then seems to catch herself – “not a- I mean, I’m an adult- in vampire years. I’m a baby in vampire years. I think.”
Rio shoves her hands back into her hoodie pockets. Agatha notices now that her fangs sort of hang down naturally, giving her a little bit of a pouty look, and the hunched set of her shoulders and her baggy clothes make her look a lot smaller than she is. She’s kind of cute, actually- well. Hmm.
“I’m Agatha,” she says before she can take it back. “Agatha Harkness.”
Rio smiles with all of her teeth. “Agatha Harkness.” It rolls around on her tongue. Agatha refuses to acknowledge that she likes the way it sounds.
Agatha kicks at the ground. “So now we’re even.”
“I’m sorry you don’t have anywhere to go,” Rio says, pivoting away from Agatha’s displayed underbelly, thankfully. “At least, I assume you don’t, since you’re hanging out by dumpsters.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Agatha confirms. “Unless… you don’t live in this dumpster, do you?”
Rio makes a face. “That would be gross.”
“Okay, so you must have… like a house. Or an apartment. Or at least a cave or something.”
“I have a house. Sort of.” Rio shrugs. “Why do you want to know?”
Are all vampires this obtuse? “I want to go home with you.” When Rio visibly flinches, Agatha changes tack. “I mean, I have nowhere else to go, and it’s raining, and I don’t really have the funds for a hotel. I’ll stay out of your way. It can only- maybe only for a week.”
“How do you know I’m not going to eat you?” Rio says quietly. Agatha just shrugs.
“You haven’t already.”
Which is a good point. Rio tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it. Her fangs don’t seem to cut her own skin, which is fascinating and makes Agatha want to poke and prod her sort of like a dead frog in biology class.
“I’ll sweeten the deal.” She takes a step closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in Rio’s brown eyes. “If you let me stay with you, just for a little bit, I won’t tell the town there’s a vampire hiding in their midst snacking on the dumpster divers.”
Rio hesitates. She looks Agatha up-and-down again warily. “I’m not… very good with company.”
“All I need is a blanket and pillow. And maybe a shower.”
Agatha reaches out to brush her hand against Rio’s wrist, just barely visible between her sleeve and her hoodie pocket. Rio jolts, snapping back, and Agatha thinks she’s ruined her chance – until Rio pivots on a foot and starts walking – abnormally fast – out of the alleyway.
“Fine,” Agatha hears her call. “Follow me.”
---
Agatha pesters Rio with questions all the way back to her… wherever it is she lives.
Do you really drink people’s blood? “Yes.”
Do you spontaneously combust in the sun? “That’s a little dramatic. It’s like a really bad sunburn.”
How do you feel about God? “He’s fake. If you stuck if a cross in my face I would hiss at you.”
Are you allergic to garlic? “Enough with the questions.”
Shame, because Agatha was about to ask how many major historical events have you lived through and she really wanted to know the answer to that one. “Baby vampire” could mean anything from just-turned-yesterday to lived-through-the-Great-Depression and she’s curious.
“We’re here,” Rio says before Agatha can gather the courage to ask anything else. They have stopped at the foot of a small hill, where there is nary a livable space to be seen. Just a water maintenance shed, and Agatha’s pretty sure Rio doesn’t live in that. At her confused look, Rio jerks a thumb behind them, up the (unreasonably steep) hill. “It’s back there. But before we go any further I need to trust you.”
Agatha cocks her head. “Isn’t it me who really has to trust you in this situation?”
Rio gnaws on her lip again, and that’s when Agatha clocks it – she’s nervous. Shifty eyes, wringing her fingers in her hoodie pocket. “I know this might seem like a game to you,” Rio says, and Agatha is surprised by the hardness of her voice, hadn’t known she was capable of actually being intimidating, “but this is my existence. And it’s very tenuous. And I’m trying to do you a favor but that comes with a lot of risk for me, so it would be very nice of you to- well, actually, it would just be common courtesy. To promise me that you won’t go running to the cops-” Agatha shudders dramatically – “the second you see my teeth. Or something. Okay?”
It's a nice little impassioned speech, but frankly, Agatha’s way too into the idea of being the only person in town who knows there’s a vampire lurking around to do anything drastic. And she really does like how nervous Rio seems. It’s good for the ego.
She shrugs. “I cross my heart and pinky-promise not to reveal your little secret.”
Rio nods once, almost to herself. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Um…” Agatha gestures down at her soaked Converse, then up at the muddy hill in front of them. The rain has slowed, but everything’s still wet, and frankly these are the only shoes she packed. “Is there, like, a paved road, or something?”
Rio bites at the corner of her thumb nail. (Internally, Agatha is wondering if this vampire has an oral fixation.) “Not really. I can give you a lift, though. I’m wearing boots.” To prove it, Rio lifts the leg of her baggy jeans to display, of all things, candy red Docs.
Agatha crosses her arms over her chest. “What does ‘a lift’ entail?” she questions, using generous air quotes.
Rio must think action is more than words, because she bends down, scooping up Agatha’s suitcase in one hand and gesturing at her hunched back with another. “Hop on.”
“I am not your spider monkey,” Agatha sighs, but clambers onto Rio’s back anyway. Slight humiliation is worth keeping her feet dry. Rio furrows her brow at the reference, but adjusts quickly, hiking Agatha up her back a little and steadying her hands under her thighs.
“Ready?” Rio is warm, a little damp from the rain, and smells coppery (which Agatha is only noticing because her face is pressed into the crook of the vampire’s neck. Of course). She seems to have absolutely no problem holding Agatha and her suitcase up, which is both mind-numbingly attractive and kind of satisfying, since Agatha’s spent most of her life being called “too heavy” by her mother (who famously refused to hold her as a child for fear of getting drooled on). She nods, digs her fingers into Rio’s hoodie sleeves, and off they go.
Given the whole Sour Patch Kids display earlier, Agatha knows Rio can move fast, which means she must be taking her time for Agatha’s comfort. The hill is steep but not long, and soon Rio is rounding a corner that reveals a giant, three-story woodsy cabin, with a dual-level balcony and a private dock onto the pond below. Agatha gapes.
“You live here?”
Rio snorts a laugh. “Not exactly.” As she passes the gargantuan house and continues down the hill, she explains: “I was hanging out in the woods and the old lady who lives here found me. She lets me stay in her guest cabin. She’s not usually here, anyway – I think she’s famous or something. She goes into the city a lot.”
True to Rio’s word, down a small slope behind the giant house is a much smaller, cozier-looking cabin. One story with a wide front porch that extends down towards the pond. The yard around looks wild, but from the neat arrangement of the dirt and the small stones scattered around Agatha can tell it’s cultivated. A hue pine tree gives the porch shade. Rio steps onto the wooden planks – old, but well taken care of – and deposits Agatha and her bags on solid ground again.
“Welcome… in, I guess,” Rio mutters, and pushes open the sliding door for Agatha to step inside.
She expected the home of a vampire to be dark, and she isn’t disappointed. The walls are wood-paneled, the overhead lights dim, and all of the furniture is a mismatched combination of navy blue, hunter green, and deep purple. It looks like a standard guest cabin (albeit a very colorful one), but Agatha can see bits and pieces of a personality sticking out – a stack of books on the coffee table beside an SNES controller, a blanket patterned with dinosaurs, a line of small potted succulents on the windowsill in the kitchen.
Agatha’s first instinct is to snoop – she sees the cover of a recently popular lesbian pulp novel among Rio’s book collection, and immediately wants to know more – but she currently has more pressing needs, such as dirtiness and exhaustion. “You do have a bathroom, right?”
Rio halts out on the porch, where she had been shaking herself like a wet dog. “Uh, yeah. I don’t use it much because I like the outdoor shower, in the back. Here, let me show you.”
Rio leads Agatha further into the cabin, kicking open a door and setting her bags down – “this is the guest room, as much as there is one, I can get sheets out for you later” – before showing Agatha to the spacious bathroom. Compared to the rest of the cabin it’s much more modern – glass-walled walk-in shower, marble countertop, and… oh yes. When Agatha kicks off her muddy Converse and sets her socked feet on the tile, she can feel the heat radiating up her ankles and into her body.
“Rio,” she says lowly, and Rio turns from where she was pulling a fluffy towel from a cabinet with a raised eyebrow, “why do you not use your bathroom if it’s quite literally the most luxurious in a ten-mile-radius?”
“Is it?” Rio glances around – at the deep sink, the lighting above the mirror, the shower bench – oh, Agatha’s in heaven. “I guess, I mean- I live kinda simply, I guess.” She rubs the back of her neck, glancing up at Agatha from the clumps of her still-wet eyelashes. “I’m glad you like it. Do whatever you want in here, I won’t mind.”
Agatha will be doing whatever she wants in here. Agatha will be masturbating in that shower. “I appreciate the permission,” she winks, and starts pulling her top over her head. Rio, purported killer of men, literally squeaks and reaches for the door handle.
“That’s- I’m- I’ll get you sheets.”
If Rio had normal blood circulation she would most certainly be blushing. As it is, she disappears from the room with another burst of that vampire speed that will probably take some getting used to. Agatha, uncaring, strips and steps into the cavernous shower. The water takes less than a second to heat up to a scalding temperature. Agatha could die happily here.
She spends something like an hour warming up and cleaning herself – there’s basic body wash and conditioner in the bathroom, but she makes a mental note to order some good bath products pronto, the house has to be livable, after all – before toweling off and padding down the hall to the room Rio had showed her before. It’s a bit more homey now than the dark, narrow glimpse Agatha had caught; the lights are on, washing out the dark wilderness outside, and Rio, true to her word, has put sheets and a pillow on the lofted bed. There’s a little ladder, and Agatha mentally calculates how many times she’s going to whack her head waking up from her night terrors. Then remembers, at least I’m not sleeping in the rain by the dumpster, and decides it’s worth it.
She digs pajamas and a fresh pair of socks out of her stuffed-full suitcase and makes her way back to the cabin’s main room, where Rio is sitting on the couch, huddled under a blanket, eating a bowl of pasta. “Hewwo,” she says around a mouthful of tomato sauce, “goo you mant some?” She swallows, then repeats. “Do you want some?”
It’s only just then that Agatha realizes how hungry she really is. She nods, and Rio disentangles herself to show Agatha into the kitchen.
On the stove, there’s a large pan with pasta in a creamy-looking sauce, tossed with spinach and garlic. Well, that answers at least one question. Agatha points as Rio starts portioning out a second bowl. “Did you cook this?”
“Yes,” Rio hums. “I like to cook. There are so many more ingredients and dishes available than when I was alive. It tastes a little… bland, sometimes, so I use a lot of spice. Sorry if it’s too much.”
She passes Agatha the bowl. The first forkful is immediately one of the best things she’s ever tasted – a little moan-inducing, honestly, but she keeps it to herself so as not to send Rio running for the hills again. It’s richer and saltier than most sauces Agatha’s tasted, presumably for Rio’s benefit, but she doesn’t mind it. “S’good.” She offers a thumbs up, and Rio beams proudly.
“Do you like movies?” Rio asks. “I steal Lilia’s – that’s the woman up the hill – I have all of her streaming services. We could watch something.” Rio gestures to the fluffy, presumably antique couch in the living room. Agatha takes stock – she definitely wants to finish this bowl of pasta, and she’s not as tired now that she’s showered – and allows Rio to lead the way.
They settle into opposite ends of the couch, Rio taking care to give Agatha space. She’s not sure if that’s a “I just met you” thing or a “I might get the urge to bite your neck” thing, but she doesn’t mind either way, because smelling Rio again might do something truly scary to her nervous system. In Rio’s space, the copper scent is so much stronger, mixed with a pleasant rain smell that somehow just fits.
Rio tosses Agatha the TV remote and relaxes into the couch cushions, spreading both arms over the back. Between arriving at the cabin and now, she’d foregone her hoodie for a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of flannel shorts, and Agatha gets distracted for a second by the distinct bulge of her forearms. Rio looks over at her curiously, and Agatha snaps out of it and puts Speed Racer on the TV.
Okay, so the altruistic dorky vampire is a little hot, too. Maybe Agatha’s attracted to supernatural creatures or something. Whatever. It’s really not that big of a deal.
“Can I ask you something?” Rio asks when Agatha is halfway through her food and Christina Ricci is being hot on the TV. Agatha hums indistinctly around a forkful of pasta. “Why did you run away from home?”
Agatha chokes on her forkful of pasta.
Rio, because she is very sweet and not at all like the scary monsters or horny teenagers Agatha has read about in vampire books, places a hand on Agatha’s back and rubs her while she coughs. The way Rio is looking at her is so curious. Her eyes are doe-soft and a little wet looking and Agatha thinks about shrinking Rio down to pocket-sized and carrying her around, showing her all the wonders of the world.
“I- um.” She stumbles over her words. It’s suddenly very obvious to Agatha that because she’s never had a single person to talk to honestly in her life, she’s never really… had to talk about this. And she doesn’t quite know how to start. “My mother is a wretched cunt.” Rio nods in patient understanding; it encourages Agatha to keep talking. “I never knew my father and I grew up just her and I and it… it wasn’t very good. School was the only way I could get away from her. She sort of…”
She doesn’t know how to say the next part, doesn’t know if Rio will look at her with pity or not want her around, and it’s still raining outside. Agatha can hear the heavy pelt of it against the cabin’s windows. She hopes her flinching isn’t obvious, but it must be, because Rio’s hand moves from her back to her knee and squeezes twice. An encouragement.
“What happened, Agatha?” Someone with teeth that sharp shouldn’t speak that soft.
“She sort of trapped me,” Agatha sighs. “She told me that if I went to college, she wouldn’t pay for it, and then she told me that if I didn’t volunteer with her church she would kick me out because I wasn’t contributing. Any time I suggested applying for a job – I always said I would do it to support her, to buy groceries or something – she brushed me off or outright told me I wasn’t smart enough to get hired anywhere. Not even at the grocery store.”
As Agatha talks, Rio’s grip grows tighter on her knee; when she pauses for a breath, she glances up to see Rio’s nostrils flared as if she’s trying very hard not to scream.
“It just wasn’t a very good place to be,” Agatha says, sort of pathetically, as if that even begins to describe it. “I knew if I didn’t just… go, then I would never leave. And I couldn’t be there anymore. I was… suffocating.”
The air in the room feels colder than it did a few minutes ago. Agatha shivers. Rio tugs a knit blanket off the back of the couch and ever-so-carefully drapes it around her shoulders, and Agatha wonders in some dark, needy corner of her mind if this counts as a hug.
“I imagine,” Rio says carefully, like talking to a startled animal, “that it was very lonely for you there. And that you were unhappy. I am glad that you got out of that situation because even though I haven’t known you very long, I think you deserve happiness, and I think you are strong enough to find it for yourself.”
Agatha glances over. Rio’s fists are balled in her lap, and she’s staring resolutely into Agatha’s eyes like it’s taking actual effort to do so. Embarrassingly, Agatha feels her nose twitch. Heat building behind her eyes. To distract Rio from whatever her body is about to do to betray her, Agatha reaches over and punches the vampire lightly in the arm. “You munch.”
Rio chuckles lowly. “I guess.” Without asking, she inches closer to Agatha on the couch, and Agatha lets her. When Rio draws her shoulders up to her chest and leans against Agatha’s arm, Agatha doesn’t move away. “Since you told me something about yourself, I should tell you something about myself too.”
“It doesn’t need to be a transaction.”
“It only feels fair,” Rio insists. She hums, thinking for a moment, then sighs. “I grew up very lonely, too. My family didn’t have very much money, and both my parents worked. I know they loved me but they didn’t really know what to do with me. I didn’t get along with other children. I was very sensitive to things other people didn’t care about. Nowadays, they would have called me autistic, but we didn’t have words like that back then.”
Agatha’s reaches up and links one of her pinkies with Rio’s, like a quiet little I’m listening. “How old are you?” she muses dramatically, making Rio laugh.
“I was born in 1908. I never knew the exact day, so I decided on October 10, because I like October and I like the symmetry.”
“That’s nice,” Agatha says. She squeezes Rio’s pinkie. Rio is cold, but not awfully so – Agatha wonders if she herself is warm, if Rio is pressed so close to absorb some of that warmth into her. Distantly, she knows Speed Racer is still playing on the TV, but it feels like another dimension. “That makes you over a hundred, you know.”
“I know.” Rio nods solemnly. “I can do math.”
“Over a hundred isn’t exactly baby vampire.”
Rio frowns at her. “Most vampires are thousands of years old, Agatha.”
Huh. Well, with that knowledge. Rio could very well be joking, but Agatha wouldn’t be able to tell, and it’s too easy to believe her. She shrugs and gestures for Rio to keep telling her story.
“I was… after I died, and turned, you know, it was very hard to get close to people. I sort of had to live on the outside. I didn’t have friends or family and it was very hard to even just have a conversation with a person without them knowing something was… wrong with me.” As Rio talks, she seems to shrink into herself a bit. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is, even though it was different for us, I can empathize. With loneliness.”
“I used to dream that some beautiful knight with long blonde hair and great tits was going to show up and rescue me,” Agatha muses. “She would whisk me off to a beautiful land where I could do whatever I wanted and we’d have really great sex and I would never be alone again.”
Rio blinks at her. “In my darkest moments I imagined turning into a wolf and spending the rest of my life running through the forest. It would be very freeing, I think.”
“Different strokes for different folks.” Agatha shrugs. “If it helps… I like your company. I know I sort of barged in, but I’m happy to stick around and make it less lonely.” The words almost get stuck in her throat. She’s not used to asking- well, no. She is used to asking for things, and equally used to being told no. Especially when said things involve her, and all the baggage she carries. “Plus, I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she adds to make herself look even more desperate.
Rio’s whole face crinkles with the force of her smile. Agatha has the strangest urge to poke her little fangs and say boop. “You’re very good company, Agatha. You’re welcome here as long as you want to stay.”
“You’re cute,” Agatha snorts, “has anyone ever told you that?”
Rio shakes her head with a self-conscious smile. “No, no one ever has.”
Record scratch. Double take. Agatha pulls back to look Rio dead in the eye. “Are you kidding me?” Rio just keeps smiling, shaking her head. “Has anyone ever told you you’re hot?”
Rio’s smile falters for just a moment. “Uh. No, not that either.”
Agatha's eyes scan roughly sixty-seven inches of toned, amber-skinned gorgeousness. Rio has a button nose and a perfect jawline and hair that falls in her face just right. She has dimples. She has biceps. Something is not computing. “Rio. How.”
“Well, I thought it was clear, but…” Rio reaches up to scratch at the back of her neck again, nose scrunching up. “I don’t really interact with humans very much. I- I’m attracted to women, I think, but I never really had a chance to… practice that, I suppose. It’s much easier to just not talk to people.”
“I’m bad at socializing, but I’ve still managed to fuck a girl or two.” Rio giggles at Agatha’s frank use of language. “Are you- are you telling me you’re a vampire virgin right now?”
“Is that a very bad thing?” Rio coughs a little into her hand. Agatha can tell the conversation has a taken a bit of an uncomfortable turn for her, but unfortunately for Rio, Agatha loves making people uncomfortable. Especially hot women that she wants to see flustered.
“It’s not a bad thing, it’s just surprising. You’re a sexy bloodsucker, I can’t imagine no one has wanted you to top them yet.” Once again, Agatha gets the impression that Rio would be blushing scarlet red if only she could.
“How do- am I-” Agatha can literally see Rio’s brain breaking as she tries to process. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t. I mean, I’ve never necessarily needed to, but- no one has ever asked me. And I didn’t think it was- I didn’t think I could ask anyone- Agatha, why are we talking about this?”
“Cause I think you’re hot,” Agatha shrugs, “and I would probably let you fuck me if you asked.”
Rio chokes on her own spit. “Agatha.”
“Sorry, forgot about the centenarian thing.” Agatha leans in close and puts on her most seductive voice. “I would let you bed me, Rio. You could touch me so sweetly I would learn a new religion.”
Rage-baiting achieved. Rio almost literally has steam coming from her ears. “O-kay, Agatha.”
Satisfied that she has turned her prey into a nice little puddle, Agatha scoops up their dirty dishes and carries them to the kitchen. “Do you have a dishwasher or are you too analog for that?”
“I do them by hand,” Rio calls, voice a little unsteady. “Leave them in the sink. I’ll wash them when you’re asleep.”
When Agatha emerges back into the hallway – blanket still wrapped around her shoulders like a protective cape – Rio stands there with her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels. There's a moment of silence between them that Agatha stupidly thinks could last forever. When Rio opens her mouth, it's with great care and forethought.
“Agatha,” she says, very seriously, “I want you to know that I am going to protect you.”
It’s Agatha’s turn to blink stupidly. “Okay, Rio.”
“No, listen to me.” Rio closes her eyes for a moment to resituate herself – and when she opens them again, they’ve hardened defiantly. “I- you throw me off, but I like that, I think. It’s been a very long time since I’ve spoken to someone for longer than three minutes, for more than to tell them I’m going to drink their blood. So. I think you are a very special person. I think what your mother did to you was cruel and unacceptable, and for as long as you want to stay here, I am going to promise you that you will be safe, and… welcomed. And liked.” Rio clears her throat, as if that speech took a lot out of her. “No matter what… feelings I might have. Or be having. Or have in the future. No matter my feelings, you’re safe.”
“Rio,” Agatha says quietly, stepping forward and reaching up to rest her hands on Rio’s broad shoulders. She brings the blanket with her so it wraps around both of them, entangling them in a warm little cocoon. A pleased noise rumbles in Rio's chest that Agatha can't help but smile at.
“Feel whatever feelings you have. I want you to feel them,” she clarifies, when Rio’s eyes go a little glassy.
“Okay,” Rio says, and very gently leans in. Agatha’s eyes flutter closed. She feels cold, soft lips press against her cheek; when they pull away, they feel like they leave a permanent mark.
“I’m not very good at this,” Rio says when Agatha opens her eyes, “but… I want you to stay.”
“I’m gonna stay,” Agatha agrees. She leans up on her tiptoes to press her own kiss to Rio’s cool cheek, and she swears she hears Rio make a sweet, high-pitched noise at the contact between them. A little electric shock zips through Agatha’s lips. It feels like a sign.
“I’m going to bed,” Agatha says when she steps away. “I’ll see you in the morning, though.”
“I’ll make you breakfast,” Rio promises, squeezing Agatha’s hand one last time before she slips out of reach. “Good night, Agatha.”
“Good night, Rio.”
---
Agatha takes the blanket to bed with her. It smells like Rio – copper and rain.
Her lofted bed is deceptively comfortable. The pillow is soft, the sheets clean. She falls asleep easier than she thought she would; the rain outside lulls her, the knowledge that Rio is just down the hall is a reassurance she didn’t know she would want.
In her dreams, Rio creeps down the hallway to Agatha’s room. She opens the door ever-so-slowly, making it creak on its hinges. Agatha sits up in bed, her hair wild. “Rio?” she says in a vulnerable voice.
Rio emerges from the darkness, eyes red, fangs bared. Gone is the nervous girl in the hoodie, replaced by something dark and dangerous and predatory. She stalks towards Agatha and her high ground. She climbs the ladder slow and steady. Each footfall on each rung rings hollow in Agatha’s ears.
Rio lays herself on top of Agatha like a warm stone-weight. She burns red in Agatha’s dream. Their legs tangle together, and Rio pushes Agatha’s chin up with a finger and captures her lips, her tongue sliding hotly into Agatha’s mouth.
In her dream, Agatha wants Rio to touch. She wants her to rake up her sleep shirt and pull her shorts off her body; she wants her hands all over, on her tits and between her legs and in her mouth. But dream Rio is oh-so-gentle with Agatha. She kisses her long and deep and rolls them so they are on their sides. She wraps her arms and legs around Agatha until she has no choice but to give in and succumb to Rio’s embrace, and then Rio noses at Agatha’s cheek until she bares her neck to her.
Agatha feels the delicate scrape of fangs against the skin of her neck. But Rio doesn’t bite. Rio presses gentle kisses to the spot where her pulse thumps, again and again, and holds Agatha until the dream fades.
Agatha sleeps better than she ever has in Rio’s house, and wakes up to the smell of blueberry pancakes.