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Oh, more than let him. She arches against him at the touch of his nails, her breath catching pleasantly. Breaking the kiss for a moment, she points to his hand in her hair and signs Yes enthusiastically. Hair playing? A little hair pulling? Yes, please.

In fact, as she goes back in for another kiss, she returns the favor -- slides her hand up the back of his neck to play with his hair.

Along the way, though, her fingers encounter the unexpected feeling of scar tissue. Her touch stutters, and she breaks the kiss again with a surprised look.

Max is delighted to see her sign 'yes.' His face lights up with glee. He loves playing with hair and will certainly enjoy hers. He is also a fan of it for himself but there's always just one small problem.

And she's just found it.

Max goes rigid when he feels her touch across the scar. And the smile is gone by the time she pulls away to look at her.

"I-it's nothing," he tries to reassure her. "Just an old injury. Nothing to worry about." There's a little too much fear in his tone for that to be truly believable.

The scar is no accident. It's the seal of his master. A round brand as large as a silver dollar that bears the burned but distinguishable shape of a griffin and a shield crossed with a sword.

Even a trusting dummy like Chell can see that that's a deflection. She takes her hand away from the scar, frowning, and reaches for the tome she'd discarded on the counter. She doesn't want to pull away, but she does need both hands and space to write -- god, do people who can talk even know how easy they have it?

Hurts Y/N?

He makes a frustrated sound when she pulls away, but he knows it's for good reason. The scar always leads to... this discussion.

He reads her words and shakes his head. "No, it doesn't hurt. It's just... bad memories."

He leans his hip against the countertop and reaches for his coffee, feeling suddenly cold.

Still frowning a little:

Me too
Want to talk about it?
You don't have to

"You too?" He looks at her alarmed. She did say she was tested on... god, did they really?

"I.. I guess I could talk about it a little. It's not a very sexy conversation."

She sighs and shakes her head no, agreeing with him. It's really not, is it. Never is.

She taps the sentence You don't have to again. Maybe the mood's already past saving, but she may as well reiterate. He doesn't have to talk, regardless of whether she gets to keep making out with him.

As for the rest -- she shrugs, leans down, and hikes one pant leg up past her knee. There's an old, old mess of scar tissue on either side of her calves, as if something was attached there and removed without much care. Then, straightening up, she reaches for one of his wrists with a quizzical look. Can she have his hand for a second?

"No, it's okay. I can talk about it." He sighs. "It's just not a good story."

His eyes go wide when he sees the scar tissue on her leg. That looks like whatever caused it must have been horribly painful.

"Oh, Chell..." he starts to say. The she reaches for him. He nods and lets his arm go loose so she can guide his hand where she wants it.

Eh, she was unconscious for it, it's fine.

The other set, though, she was super conscious for. She guides his hand under the hem of her shirt on the left side: there, under his fingers, he'll find healed-over scars from where something big clawed her.

Everything's healed up, and she doesn't show any discomfort when he touches them. To the contrary, her gaze is fixed on his face, and her expression is more rueful than anything.

Once she's guided his hand to her side, once she's sure he's picked up what she's pointed out, she lets go and picks up the tome again.

Shit happens to us.
We lived.
I'm sorry shit did happen to you though.

His brow furrows slightly when his fingers graze over her scars. His gaze meets her, and he's wearing an expression much like hers. Life can be so cruel. But the two of them are kindred spirits in this way, aren't they? They take the hits and they keep on going. They're survivors. They haven't been broken by it.

"Did happen," he says slowly, "still happening, I guess, technically."

He takes his hand back so he can turn slightly away from her and bend down. He taps the nape of his neck to direct her attention to the round burned coat of arms there.

"This is my master's mark. Remember how I said I work for a vampire? I do... but it isn't voluntary employment." Which is just a prettier way of saying he's a slave.

He'll wait until he's sure she's had a good look, then he'll turn around to face her again.

Her expression, when he turns back around, is a lot stormier than before. She writes her next question like she's mad at the page.

He marked you. Why?

Not like she can't guess. It's so he can't forget. Even -- especially -- when he's in situations like this.

He sighs, resigned to the anger. It's always like this. And they have a right to it. He'd be pissed too. He should be. But, really, he's just tired.

"Protection. Believe it or not. This," he taps the back of his neck, "means I belong to him. It also means that if any other vampires fuck with me, they'll answer to him directly. He's powerful. The threat has a lot of weight behind it."

Chell looks very dubious!!!

Did you sign up for that?

"No. I didn't sign up for any of it. But I don't have a choice if I want to live."

He sips heavily at his coffee. "I killed my master's sister. It was self-defense because she was going to drink me. But vampire's laws aren't the same as human ones. When my master, Erik, saw what I'd done... by vampire law, he should have killed me. He didn't. He decided to take me on as his servant instead. That was his mercy.

"But the problem with that is... vampires hold grudges. His sister had a lot of very devoted followers. They want revenge. They vowed that they'd find me and take it. Without Erik's protection, I'll be tortured to death by them. If I'm lucky. So, it's serve him or... that. All things considered, I'd rather have the damn brand on me."

Hooboy. She hates that. She hates it! She barely knows anything about Max besides that he likes baking and he's kind, and still she hates that.

Still, it ... complicates the story. Frowning, she boosts herself up onto the counter to sit, and scribbles in the tome.

That's not fair.

How does he treat you?

Aside from burning brands into him, which seems unpleasant at best and sadistic at worst, and feeding from him, which seems enjoyable at best and a lot more fucked up than she originally thought at worst.

"No," he sighs. "It's not. But that's life."

How does he treat Max? That is a complicated question.

"He treats me like what I am, his favored Pet. I'm not his equal, and his word will always trump mine. But he isn't cruel. He does listen to me, if I ask for something. He treats me kindly, and he trusts me to run his household affairs. It's a cage, yes. But it's a gilded one. I could be doing much worse."

There is that one tiny (not actually tiny) problem though... and now that he's remembered it, he'll have to explain before they go further.

"I won't lie; he has done questionable things to me. There's still some things that will always be different between a human and a vampire. No one can live as their property for six years and come out of it without... some hang-ups."

Chell lets out a long breath, and reaches out to touch his shoulder gently. "Questionable things" gives her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. So does "pet."

I've been in some cages. None as long as you + not the same kind, but they make me mad.
What kind of hang ups?

She purses her lips, draws an arrow pointing to "not the same kind," and adds except here

He watches her draw that line and smiles. He agrees this is a cage and yet... it's the most freedom he's had in years. If he had his way, he'd stay here forever.

"When you're someone's slave, which..." he sighs, "I was. Having the luxury to say no is rare. My Master was kinder than most, but he still expected obedience. So, when you're expected to do things whether you like them or not, the best thing you can do is try to learn to like them. Or at least tolerate them.

"I've started to realize that I'll let people do things to me that, strictly speaking, I might not actually want or completely like but that I don't hate enough not to tolerate. And, well... I realize that's a breach of trust for a lot of people. No one here wants to be accidentally doing things to me that I don't one-hundred-percent want."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small business card. On one side, a list of kinks he's into, on the other a list of his hard no's. He holds it out for her.

"That's why I have this. If I don't have the mental fortitude to say no during, then I can at least state my preferences up-front for people."

Chell's eyebrows go up, and she takes the card and reads it, front and back, several times. Her expression turns thoughtful as she does, and after a minute she sets the card down so she can scribble a few lines.

This is a really good idea
I should get one

Qs?
1. Things you ♥ = things you need?
2. What things do you ♥ to give?

She's aware, as she holds out the tome for him to read, that this is getting slightly off the topic of "I'm a vampire's butler and/or sex slave because otherwise I'll be tortured to death" in favor of hornier topics, but it seems important. Important enough that he got cards printed.

"I'm glad you think so. It's still a little awkward for me to give them out."

Honestly, Max is completely fine with moving on from the topic of his vampire Master, especially if it gets them back into sexier territory. Maybe the day can still be salvaged.

"I wouldn't say I need any of those things to the point that I can't get off without them. I get off a lot faster if you do them. Especially if you pay attention to my neck." If she ever kisses him there or uses her teeth that will become immediately apparent.

"A lot of what I love to receive, I love to give, too. One thing missing on that list, though, is oral. I'm told I'm pretty damn good at it." He flashes her a mischievous smile, daring her to find out for herself.

She snorts.

You can talk. Writing is SLOW. If I had a card with "I like riding + hair pulling + vibrators" or "I used to be a test subject for a computer but I got out" things would be faster!

The mischievous smile gets a fuller laugh out her. She reaches out -- cautiously, still watching to make sure this is okay -- and runs her hand through his hair.

Oral, she signs, pointing at her mouth, yes. Big thumbs up.

"You make a good point." Don't mind him just committing a couple of those preferences to memory right now, while trying not to frown openly about the 'test subject for a computer' part.

As much as he wants to dive right into the topic of oral and maybe dive into giving it, too, especially with the soothing way she's touching his hair (the touch makes him sigh contentedly), he can't help a new question coming to mind. This does seem like the best time to ask it.

"You can just sock me if this isn't appropriate to ask but... why don't you talk? You can obviously hear me."

She shrugs, unbothered.

Born this way. Don't know what happened.

"Oh. Sorry." Okay he does still feel a bit bad for asking even if she doesn't look bothered.

BACK TO ORAL THEN.

"Anyway... uh. How about we get back to less talking and more doing other things with our mouths? You have my card so you can see for yourself, but I promise there nothing we've done so far I haven't been really into."

She chuckles, runs her hand through his hair again, and cups the back of his head -- well above the brand -- to pull him into a gentle kiss.

Before she gets too distracted, though, she wants to add one thing in writing.

Thank you for telling me

She taps the words "thank you" and demonstrates the corresponding sign.

OK to ask me questions too.

We're here, not there. Let's do what we want.

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