Title: Till Death Do Us Part
Author: giorgiakerr
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Celine/zombie!Bulle
Rating: G? PG? I dunno! I’M NOT WRITING ZOMBIE PORN, OKAY?!
Length/Word Count: 455 words.
Summary: There’s something special about Bulle, something she can’t quite place…
Notes: I’M SORRY. IT HAD TO HAPPEN. Y’ALL KNEW IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN AND IT WOULDN’T LEAVE MY BRAIN TILL I WROTE IT AND IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE MIDDLE OF A LECTURE ON PHILOSOPHY AND ETHICS AND I TAKE NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS STORY. *breathes* *giggles* Also, I don’t really know anything about RiCe OR CeMax, so this is pretty much all just made up nonsense, as is most of the stuff in my brain. Alsoalso, I honestly didn’t intend to make Celine sound quite so stupid, but, well:

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Celine Laffort had had an eclectic set of lovers over the years. Only considering those in Essen, there had been Maximilian, Ingo and Richard. Three very different people, three people who could hardly stand one another, no less, but they all had one undeniable similarity – they were all, in their own way, incredibly charming. Maximilian’s easy, smooth lines, but she and he were like oil and water, coming together for the briefest of moments, but separated so easily. Ingo’s charm had always come from his exuberance and un-self-conscious foolishness, but she’d quickly begun to find it irritating and childish. Richard’s charm was precisely the opposite: mature, calm, sophisticated, but boring, somehow.

Bulle was none of this. There was something different about Bulle, something special. He wasn’t charming – not deliberately, at any rate – yet Celine found herself taken by him.

Perhaps it was his scent; that seemingly natural scent that reminded her somehow of the ocean. Or the fact that he never seemed to feel the need to talk – didn’t sing and rant like Ingo, or beguile like Max, or schmooze like Richard. Or the fact that he moved in a way that was both slow and deliberate, unlike Ingo’s lightening-bolt flashes of energy, or Max’s constantly-active hands, didn’t storm about like Richard. There was a sense of calm about Bulle’s slowness, and at the same time, a sense of vitality, of life, and sometimes when she looked at him, she would swear that he was ageless, immortal.

He was also a much better lover than Richard. More affectionate and more passionate, and she enjoyed the way he constantly nuzzled her hair with his lips, the way he looked at her sometimes like he wanted to devour her.

Sometimes, he’d even surprise her with food. Not champagne and strawberries as Richard had, or chocolates and strange teas as Max had, or sausages as Ingo once had – something he learned never to do again. No, Bulle had an amazing talent for finding the most unique flavours and textures that, even as a chef, she had never tasted. But he’d never tell her what they were, only smile ravenously, grunt noncommittally and nibble on the back of her neck in that way that drove her crazy.

Yes, Celine Laffort was head over heels in love.

The problem remained, however, that Bulle was not welcome in Essen. The ignorant populace had closed that door for him, for them, and she knew that if she wanted this to work, she’d have to leave. So when she packed her bags, preparing herself for this new phase of life, she didn’t have second thoughts, and as the cab left the city limits, she didn’t look back. Her old life was behind her.