The grave-whisps fall to the floor with a hollow clatter. Each tiny tuft of salt and air is as soundless and insubstantial on the ground as it had been in their mouths. It is the container that sings complaint as it rolls around. Bella catches it with the heel of her boot, treasure of the ancient universe. She stomps it flat with a squelch.

Her tail twitches, exactly once. Always the same tell before a pounce. Two joined seats shrink into the space of just one, though for Bella there is no seat at all. Redana's waist is hot against her thighs. Her hands clutch tight around her treasures and she leans forward, pinning Redana's arms against the seat back and trapping her under a form of physical perfection. Even now, she can feel that thumb rubbing the back of her hand. Her grin lights her face with predatory delight. 

Sheets of blue-black hair fall like curtains, cutting off the romance-play behind them. Her legs shift, and she sinks deeper into the trap. Her ears are filled with songs and traipsing music, her veins are filled with rushing lifeblood and [i]need[/i], her chest strains at the buttons of the dignified shirt now pressing its ample weight into the girl underneath her. 

In the end... the rascal corners the princess. In the end, permission is taken, not given. The journey gives them freedom that home could never manage. The princess is due to be married. She deserves the life she was born into, deserves things the rascal could never give her, not even after diving into the depths of the planet to pluck its greatest treasures as dowry. It matters not. In the end...

"What have you been doing? You never pay attention. Stupid girl..."

Her breath steams against Redana's face. Warm, wet, and rough, her tongue drags across the offending spot where salt and melted fat and chemicals have smeared across her skin near the corner of her lips. Salt and fat. The ghosts of the theater cling to them tighter than could ever be guessed from their empty nature. Tenacity. Every rough lick only motivates another one, and another, and another, the flavor stronger every time. And if... if her skin was such a treat, then her mouth?

Her fangs bite into those trembling lips. The flavor of blood mingles with the grave snacks and for once her pulse quickens rather than constricting at the sensation. She is gentle. Her tongue laps at the wound with as much affection as hunger, until her lips seal across the princess' and she sucks as if she means to steal the breath and life from Redana's body. Her secret assassin's form, revealed at last. 

Behind her, lyrics prattle on. Endless possibilities and boundaries unfolding. Bella moans overtop of the Ancients' masterpieces. Her hips shift and squirm, carrying her body across her quarry's and filling the theater with a symphony of squeaks and rustling, jostling fabrics. Her fingers close tighter still, to feel the circling of that thumb. 

It's foolish, is it not? In moments like this where she burns with the desire to record every tiny detail in her mind forever, her instinct within the space of every kiss is to let her eyes flutter closed. To swim in the smell and the touch of the moment, to savor the taste and ignore the beauty of the girl whose tongue she's got trapped against the walls of her mouth. 

She forces both eyes open. To catch the same silly fluttering of lashes happening across from her. To see the twist of surprise when her legs clamp tighter around her prey. To watch surprise melt away into barely constrained lust as their bodies touch [i]just so.[/i] To watch that determined thumb even now brushing the back of her hand as its cousin starts to struggle for supremacy, to free itself, not out of any kind of discomfort but to greedily steal away the buttons locking Bella and the true glory of her physical perfection away from the world. 

It is useless, Princess. You cannot overpower her. You will drown in this sensation until she has drunk her fill of you. Until you are clean of the influence of these insidious wisps. Until the memory of the conductor's score is enough to make your chest heave and your thighs squeeze close together.

Until she's paid you back. For what that little gesture across the back of her hand is doing to her. Until you have to ask her how the story ended.

So she can tell you that it doesn't matter. Endings are a sucker's game. Just a distraction. Romance, Redana. A real one. That's all your Bella is after. So don't let go.