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It's been a long day, and Anna-Sarah's tired. She takes as many classes as she can, and does her homework at school. It's better than home, and her foster parents won't let her move to on-campus housing.
Their car isn't in the driveway, and she sags with relief as she fumbles her key into the door and eases it open.
He chuckles. "'S all right."
A drop of blood runs down her inner thigh from a previous encounter with his claws; he licks it with his blistering tongue.
He hums cheerfully.
There are so many places on her body where he could put his mouth! And not nearly enough of them are burned or bleeding yet!
He pauses long enough to tell her, "I like it when you cry."
Then back to the torture.
...She starts crying harder, her body wracked by the sobs.
She clings to him, as much as she can from their respective positions.
He makes a sort of pleased humming/chirping noise and kisses his way up her leg from her knee to the crease of her hip, his mouth cooling off as he goes, so that by the time he reaches her groin the touch of his lips barely hurts at all.
She probably should still be badly enough burned that there's nothing but pain to be found here, but maybe he's cheating with magic, because in fact he and his shapeshifting tongue are coming up with a bountiful harvest of pleasure.
As soon as he manages to stop laughing and catch his breath, he goes right back to the fun stuff.
Mmmm she's tasty.
(And the pain of assorted injuries is slowly, slowly fading from the rest of her body, healing at an unnatural rate.)
Even better!
She puts the ruined remains of her hands on his head in an encouraging manner.
Awwwwww. That's cute. She's cute. He gives her hips a friendly squeeze, which she might not appreciate because they're still lightly burned and also he uses his claws a little.
He giggles briefly, and then focuses his attention back on the task at hand. At... face. Whatever.
It takes her longer to come than it would have if he hadn't clawed her hips, but not that much longer.
He gives her an affectionate nuzzle, then glances down at the floor, which has collected an enormous puddle of blood that's steadily dripping down the stairs.
"Why do I never get around to doing something about the mess until after there already is one?" he wonders rhetorically, and gives her a nudge that sends her floating into the middle of the space above the stairs. He takes off his clothes and tosses them through the open door of her bedroom, then hops over the railing and floats over to join her in midair.
The world comes apart around them.
It's almost like the whole stairwell is turning inside out and upside down. The walls ripple; the ceiling fragments like a kaleidoscope. Things shuffle around in ways they ought not to be able to shuffle.
He grins at her as the nightmare stairwell settles into its new configuration. They're still hovering in midair over the center of the stairwell, but now instead of falling away straight down below them, it starts out straight and then curves away like the trail of accumulated reflections between a pair of mirrors. And, in keeping with that comparison, it does the same exact thing above them—except that the direction of the stairs isn't flipped. They're just floating in the middle of an infinite slightly bendy stair tube. And the symmetry of the repetition is broken by the fact that their particular turn of the stairs is lined with oddly shaped fragments of window that let in a bit of light without allowing for much of a view, while the stairs above and below are shrouded in darkness.
"There," he says, "now when you bleed it'll just fall down the Forever Stairs without ever reaching your house."
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