The rush of sundown made the house convulse with activity. In the larder, minions ran from side to side, cleaning and sorting the many unfortunate souls unlucky enough to be trapped within the confines of the vampire's home. Upstairs, Drusilla hummed a tune that only she knew, while Spike lazily watched her spin, dancing with a blinded doll. Angelus made it his business to enter every room, making sure everything was up to inspection. Hard to entertain a meal when the house was in this state of movement but, by the time the first stars showed themselves, all but he and Darla would be gone, leaving them to a silence they rarely enjoyed.
As he made yet another trip up the stairs, avoiding the steady flow of bodies coming down, he caught a scent just on the cusp of his senses that drew him to Darla's chamber. The scent of peppermint oils overpowered the room, yet this was not what he hungered for. No matter how long she bathed, no more than the faintest breeze of mint would cling to the cool flesh of her body. No power on earth was strong enough to mask the aroma of power and lust that brewed in her blood. It drew him to her still damp frame like moth to a flame. Briskly he pushed several servants aside and, placing strong hands over the curves of her hips, traced patterns down her thighs until he was on his knees tickling at the backs of her ankles, his head resting against her shivering belly.
With a wave of her hand Darla banished the others from the room, leaving only a creature of her making and a desire that a hundred years together could only begin to sate.
Fingers - slender, delicate, and strong - first comb then tug at his hair, pressing him closer to her core. He resists, but only till he drags a plea from her unlocked mouth, the word he knew would come in time, with enough care.