Title: Chardonneret
Author: Carmarthen (lacorneille@earthlink.net)
Fandom/Pairing: An*ta Bl*ke, Vampire Hunter; Anita/Asher
Disclaimer: An*ta Bl*ke, Vampire Hunter, Anita, Asher, Sigmund, and probably some of the dialogue belong to Laurell K. Hamilton. I only borrowed them and am making no profit.
Rating: NC-17 for relatively graphic heterosexual sex. If you can read Anita Blake, you can read this.
Spoilers: I don't think there are any, but if you haven't read Burnt Offerings or Blue Moon you might be rather confused. Set shortly before or after Obsidian Butterfly.
Summary: Anita/Asher PWP, hopefully plausible. I'm fond of the Sigmund bit.
Archive: My personal site (http://thewritegirls.populli.net/carmarthen); others ask.
Warnings: Het, dreamfic.
Notes: I wrote this on a challenge (under threat that if I didn't write it, the challenger would, and since she hadn't even gotten to Asher in the series, I could not allow that). I would not have written this of my own volition. Really. Anyway, some of the dialogue is lifted from Blue Moon, and I was trying very hard to imitate LKH's writing style. You don't want to know how old I was when I wrote this, really. My early-teenage attempts at writing smut cause me pain. So do the current ones, for that matter, but those are all pretty stalled, so I can't torture people with them. Thanks to all those who pointed out the difference in connotation between Je t'adore and Je t'aime, particularly Caliane.

Chardonneret

"Je t'aime," Asher whispered. He was kneeling over me, weeping, his tears leaving reddish tracks on his scarred face. "Je t'aime. Don't hate me, Anita."

I reached up to touch his hair, feeling oddly relaxed. Why did I he think I would hate him? His hands were spread over my lower back, helping me sit up.

"Mon chardonneret," I said, trailing my hand down the scarred side of his face. My goldfinch.

Asher stiffened and pulled away. My body felt cold.

"Non, ma chérie," he said gently, removing my hand. "Not unless you mean it." His eyes were pale, but still as human as they would ever be.

I rose to a kneeling position, my skirt bunching around my legs. "I do mean it."

He shut his eyes. "Tu craques mon coeur." You shatter my heart.

Asher's arms were around me again and he kissed me, gently, as if I would break. I returned the kiss as aggressively as I could without cutting myself on his fangs. One of his hands pressed against the small of my back, and the other rested just below my breasts. He froze, not moving farther. I didn't blame him, knowing my own tendency to kill or at least maim people for less.

"I won't try to kill you," I said, smiling.

Asher smiled back at me, sadness and disbelief still evident in his eyes. "Anita...mon amour...." He stopped.

I took his hand and brought it to my lips, kissing the palm lightly. "Tu es beau, Asher."

He kissed me again, his hands moving over my breasts and back. I shut my eyes and kissed him back, reaching behind him to untie his hair. It cascaded loose over his shoulders, raw gold waves in the dim light. I ran my fingers through his hair, savoring the weight and softness if it.

Asher was half-lying on top of me, his hands working at the fastenings of my dress and his groin pressed into mine. I resisted the urge to say something cliched, and instead busied my hands with his shirt and my mouth with his neck. I finally managed to slide his shirt off, running my hands over his chest and then bending to lick a line from collarbone to waist.

He sighed deep in his throat and slid my dress down to my waist. Cupping my breasts gently, he traced small circles around my nipples until I gasped. A hot, wet mouth followed his hands. My body ached, my skin feeling tight and warm. I writhed against him, trying to remove the rest of my dress and he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his lower body still pinning mine.

"Eager, ma chère?" he said, laughing quietly.

I couldn't remember the last time I had heard him laugh. His laugh wasn't as invasively sexual as Jean-Claude's, but its very rarity caused something to twist inside of me that almost felt like tears.

I smirked at him and let my hand drift over his stomach, as I kissed a line up his shoulder and neck to his ear. He hissed, thrusting his hips into mine. Then he moved back enough to allow me to finished undressing. His eyes were brilliant blue, full of something primitive, sex perhaps, but also other things. I fumbled with his pants until he took pity on me and peeled them off. I pressed myself full length against him, needing to feel skin against skin. His hands and mouth continued their gentle explorations. He kissed me, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I felt fangs press against my lips, but not hard enough to hurt. I came up for air first and then returned, trailing kisses down his jaw and throat to his shoulder, nipping lightly, and then lower, my teeth grazing his nipples.

He whimpered, the motions of his hands on my body becoming shaky and frantic. One hand slid gently between my legs, caressing me, and I strained against him.

"Asher," I breathed, my voice ragged. "Please."

He entered me slowly, almost hesitantly, emotions playing across his face. I whimpered and pressed up against him frantically.

"Je t'aime," he gasped and began thrusting, an easy rhythm that slowly grew faster and harder. Pleasure flowed over me like cool fire in a damp, tingling wave and I bit his shoulder hard enough to mark. Asher went rigid over me, his back arched and his face blank as he cried out.

He collapsed on me, spent. I felt relaxed and boneless, content merely to lie there holding him with my eyes shut. After a while, he stirred and started kissing me, his hands moving lazily over my breasts and sides.

His lips paused over the pulse in my throat and I froze as I felt the tiny prick of fangs about to break my skin. I pushed him away violently, curling into a fetal position. Asher's eyes were wide, their color electric, drowning blue. He looked beautiful and frightening and absolutely inhuman.

I woke gasping, clutching the sheets in panic, my thighs damp. I reached out blindly and encountered Sigmund's fuzzy body. Nice penguin. No fangs. God.

Normal people just get to enjoy their wet dreams. Me, I have to wonder whose wet dreams they are. Mine, Jean-Claude's, Asher's? I don't think I can take much more celibacy.

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