I walked out of the shadows...And into a lamp-post (kills_jellyfish) wrote in amecorpsesprit,
I walked out of the shadows...And into a lamp-post
kills_jellyfish
amecorpsesprit

Chapter Ten - Kiss Of Life part 2

Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - Kiss Of Life part 2
Warning: NC-17 - intercourse and violence

 

Squashing the urge to flinch away from sharp fangs dragging, slitting over his tongue, Edvard's eyes flickered open, his own blood seeping down the back of his throat. As the other mouth departed from his own, he swallowed all of it, stemming the lessening flow completely as he put pressure against the top of his mouth, feeling it burn as it healed. "Devil spawn." he murmured slowly, a smirk slipping, oozing onto his lips and turning them into a full-fledge sneer. It looked out of place though, with the lusty look in his eyes. Leaning back into the other side of the couch, eyes following Tyn to where he stopped at the door frame, turning back to give him an indication of where to look for his lover. "Well, have fun." he retorted, lifting one hand to give a lazy wave as though he was not interested or intrigued in the slightest.

Seeming to slip slowly back into his reality, the youth took the drink offered, fingers having to lace around each other to keep his grip on the glass. He didn't answer right away, legs still resting on either side of Lysander's, back pressing in a very dazed sort of into the cushions of the sofa. With his eyes fixed on the pink-liquid swirling slowly in his glass, he took one sip, and then another, lips trembling along with the rest of his body. These tremors though, they were unnoticeable unless you watched the drink in his cup, ripples splashing against the crystalline sides. "Yes," he uttered at last, one last gulp slipping down his throat. "Drink?" Kris inquired, holding out the glass to Lysander, eyes slightly fuzzed, as if not trying to focus on the man straight ahead of him.

When the sounds of the shower began, Edvard couldn't keep himself from moving away from the perch he had settled into, feet carrying him into the bedroom, and then onwards to the bathroom door that had been left cracked. Silent as he could be, he stood outside the entrance, hearing clothes be brushed off and the sound of feet on the floor. Then, there was the pattering of wet soles turning around in a puddle of water gathering on linoleum. In the shower, finally. With his face tilting curiously to the side, his hand caught the knob of the door, pushing it inwards and stepping inside quickly, as if to shield his presence. However, he was certain he was already spotted, fingers slowly beginning to undo the buttons on the borrowed shirt. His mind and his eyes, were preoccupied with the slender shape behind the shower curtain, so they were of no help. The dull, lifeless pink was blurred, but still showing curves, lines... things that Edvard didn't mind. Letting his shirt fall into the heap where Tyn's clothes had landed, he began working off his jeans, and socks.

Forcing the cup into Lysander's hands, he let his forehead rest on the man's shoulder, hands tracing slowly up to his own, where teeth marks were imprinted red and slightly purple. Kris bruised very easily; some sort of flaw, that was, in his body that he hated. Fingers traced the crescent shape, eyes shut, body huddling closer to the other man's, trying to lay against all that warmth. With the cooling mess on his stomach, he let one hand drop, trying to rub it away slowly, not thinking of how anything they had done was wrong, too soon, slutty, or any of those things. He was doing good to just, not be thinking.

Tyn’s hands were raised to his neck, playing with the tendrils of hair as the heavy sound of denim hit the floor. He’d seen enough films to know that the curtain would flaunt his figure, the curve of his back and the dip of his stomach, his head tilted back against the rush of water just to highlight the effect. Var had taken the bait, and was now his. All his, and this was it. No more games, no more excuses and pay-offs and fumbles in the sheets. He was going for pure seduction, nothing but pleasure and pain and the satisfying of his own lust. And to pull the act off, he was going to have to be something he’d only discovered in himself over these last few days; the submissive. He was going to make himself irresistible, and if Var wouldn’t give him what he needed, then Tyn was just going to have to take. "You should come in…"

He took the glass, happily finishing off the dregs before setting it down and letting the liquor re-fortify his strength, also swaying slightly, his hands moving to around Kris’ waist, holding him gently. "Would you like to go to bed, love?" he muttered, fixing on the sleepy, serene face, pressed up against his own naked skin, before his eye could move to the mark he’d give which was being oh-so-carefully traced. "I’m sorry…" he moved, pressing his lips against the bruise and then hugging the dark haired man even closer. "I honestly didn’t mean to hurt…" his voice trailed, fingers stroking over the soft, damp skin, sweat laced and lust heated, although now cooling as they both recovered and moved with less friction, less speed. After all, the time for action was over, and it was now time for recuperation. "I think bed might be a good idea. Come on." He stood, and carefully lifted the other man into his arms, much like a bride would be lifted, it crossed his mind, and walked him into the bedroom, which was surprisingly uncluttered, but still here and there small pieces of computers were strewn, forgotten about.

"The water’s lovely." Tyn finished, as the curtain drew back and the taller, elegant man stepped into the shower, his partner’s arms immediately coiling about his neck and drawing him into a deep, long, and hungry kiss. It was a kiss that could be described in a little story of its own; Tyn, the only survivor of a terrible boat disaster, waiting on a desert coast to be rescued, with only oyster, such a potent aphrodisiac, available to eat, and it was as if Edvard was the first human soul he had seen after three months on this exclusive oyster diet. He stepped back, pulling Var with him, against the tiled wall, the coolness making him gasp into the kiss, body stiffening and the tingling feeling in his spine multiplying. The whimper of need was soft, at first, but grew quickly as Tyn pawed, then clawed, as Edvard’s shoulder blades, bucking his hips constantly against the other as the water cascaded around them.

Lysander set his guest down on the bed, before fetching in the almost empty bottle and their glasses, setting them down on the dresser. "Would you like a nightcap? Something to drink before you sleep? I couldn’t possibly let you go home now, and you know it, Kris. Stay here, get some sleep, and have a shower tomorrow and then I’ll take you back to your place, alright? That’s what’s happening, anyway." He sat down, finishing the contents of his own glass, putting it down before both hands went to Kris’ shoulders, stroking the curve of his throat, and the he leant in for another kiss. "Get some sleep, love."

When his body touched the bed he immediately curled up like a cat, legs folding beneath him and his arms hugging over the knees, his fingers laced together, anxious eyes watching for the return of the other man. With one hand, he timidly wiped away at the black hair all shifted strangely out of place, trying to smooth it somewhat. Sitting up and straightening his spine as Lysander returned, the tired, half-hooded emerald eyes followed every little movement; the way he swayed as his arm turned out, sitting the bottle and glasses upon the dresser, the way he swung slightly when he turned, and how the man braced himself with one arm before the rest of his body followed him down onto the bed was seen, and remembered as if every movement was important in its own little way. As his lover spoke, the boy leaned his neck to the side, inviting the fingers that curled there and leaning slowly into the kiss that followed.

Coming up for air from that first kiss, the vampire groaned, water quickly running into his eyes, making him turn his head and try to blink the blurriness away. With one arm uncoiling from around Tyn’s body, it lifted, catching the showerhead like he would a too curious hand, and pushing the stream away from them where it wet his hair and his back instead of both their faces. With his body sliding quite well over the cold, wet tile, Edvard pushed his love back into the corner beneath the waterspout, lips pressing back to his in a hungry, needy manner, eyes shut as water droplets splashed from his curls to his forehead and down onto the bridge of his long, pointed nose. Without a thought, or really, a care, Var bit Tyn’s tongue, drawing blood as he did the same to his own, lips parting for a moment to show the other that they were both bleeding and that that love-bite had been no accident to be blamed on hasty kisses. Smirking with blood stained over his usual pearly-whites, his mouth dipped, lowering to latch onto the youngest man’s shoulder, teeth grating over skin there, making pink lines that did not yet bleed.

With a soft little yawn as their kiss broke, Kris quickly pulled back the coverings to the bed and cuddled beneath, drawing the sheets and comforter up to his chest, eyes still watching, waiting on the other to crawl beneath with him. He had turned down the prospect of a drink with a slow shake of his head as the question had been issued; he knew all ready that his head would be pulsating tomorrow-or perhaps, better yet, today. When his love had crawled beneath their covering with him, the young man carefully, yet effectively, wrapped his arms around Zan’s neck, lips pressing to his once more. Then, he scooched right up against him, body fitting so well against the subtle curves of the other man’s; letting his arms fall between them, one hand resting onto the curve of his lover’s hip, he let his still-warm face press against Lysander’s throat, lips unable to keep from turning into a smile. The boy’s hand guided one of the brunette’s into the small of his back, the other around his shoulders. ‘’Hold me’’ he stated simply, letting his eyes flutter shut as he huddled as close as he could to the man that had given him so much in so little time. After that, it took very little time for sleep to find him, as though the sandman had been merely hiding behind the dresser, waiting for the youth to shut his eyes.

Then his legs bent, his mouth dropping down to lick away the water rippling over the smooth muscles down Tyn’s chest and over his arms. Fangs still prickling at the skin, as if not sure just were to sink into the soft, delicate covering, he pressed a set of harder, more demanding kisses against his blue-haired lover’s collar bone. His tongue traced down, lapping the water from a set of hard, flat male nipples, catching each between his teeth for just a moment before moving on. Those gentle hands had turned to grappling on the other’s arms as Var drew up, another kiss keeping Tyn’s mouth satisfied and stifling those little gasps and other murmurs before his lips trailed to the other’s shoulder, nipping heavily at the flesh there. Seeing that if he nipped hard enough, he drew blood, and then he bit again, teeth finally digging deeper into muscle, tongue prompting the skin to bleed as much as possible and ease the hunger knotting his stomach and chest.

As physically exhausted as he was, Lysander would not sleep yet. Emotionally too, he was fatigued; life sapped away by the roller-coaster of feelings he had endured over the last two, now three days, although it felt like a week. Hope, dread, longing, lust, fear, excitement, exhilaration all had a part to play in the slump he now found himself in, but sleep was a long way off. He held, as he had been told to, and studied the sleeping face of the youth in his arms. The way in which Kris had needed to be… cuddled. That was the word, cuddled, after their rendezvous, and even the way in which he had clung to Zan’s shoulders during sex had been endearing. Cute. There was no other way to describe it, even if it needed further description.

Lysander watched, Kris’ slow, relaxed breathing pressing the bare chest against his own, and he gently eased the boy closer, arms still tight about the slim back, stroking over the smooth skin of the singer’s back. Having looked at the tranquil features and the messed-up dark hair for half, maybe a full hour, Zan let thoughts and strange daydreams distract him; although daydream was hardly the right word to use, but that was what they were, as he didn’t let close his eyes to slumber. Odd fancies of a relationship based on these night meetings, dinners out and walks to parks, only undertaken after sunset, as if his chosen partner was some nocturnal beast and allergic to light. Or perhaps Kris was really some extraordinary thing that would transform, in the light, into some blinding, godly creature like an elf or sprite in works of yore, and the reverse of one of those horrific transformations the like of Stroker or…

He knew he was approaching the realms of fantasy, in fact, he knew he had gone through all the boarder checks and was now happily wandering through that odd, serene and surreal landscape of dreams and stories. However, it satisfied his drifting brain for a while, before it was at last too tired to even remain in that easy state, and with heavy lids closing, Lysander fell asleep, still holding Kris to him.

With every passing moment that fine, sharp set of fangs pierced flesh; ripping easily through muscle and nerves and sinew and veins, Tyn’s eyes remained shut tightly, his arms about Edvard’s shoulders. His hips had stopped bucking as soon as the contact stopped being light and playful, and was now so serious. Trying his hardest to make no sound, although soft whimpers of pain broke from him, the smaller immortal tried to pull away, the last fragments of human, instinctual fear forcing him to bend, his body, twisting away, although the more sapient mind only held on, letting Edvard take what he wanted. Why shouldn’t he, after all? Tyn had given himself over, handed his soul and his life to Edvard on the proverbial platter, and what Edvard choose to do, and what not to do, was not up to him. "Master…"

His nails scraped a little more, then relaxed and went limp on the other’s shoulders, letting this new wave of thought control him. This was his master, and Tyn himself had allowed, had encouraged this. It wasn’t… that painful, anyway. It hurt, and he could feel his heart fluttering wildly in his chest, pressing so hard up against his ribs that it felt they would snap, but that feeling slowed as more of the crimson liquor was sipped from his veins and his heartbeat slowed, becoming sluggish.

"…Eddy, stop…" he managed, weakly, hands moving to gently push the eager mouth and snake-like teeth away, the tiles that he was backed into now covered in cold sweat as well as fresh, clean water. He whimpered as blood coursed down the paler, grey-tinged skin of his shoulder, before the wound healed fully although slowly, having to turn his head fully to the side to see the flesh pull together, leaving only a scar. He didn’t pull away from Edvard, although the instincts told him to, to get away, but he didn’t unwind his arms, and he didn’t bother with any reproachful words or looks. Instead, he moved his lips to the corner of that blood-soaked mouth, planting a kiss there and then letting his gaze move to the refined, elegant jaw, tracing it with a fingertip, before it moved to Var’s chin, not allowing his stare to meet Var’s amber eyes. For a moment, his own lips parted, as if he was about to speak, but he didn’t, blinking that one eye as if to clear his mind, and leaning move heavily against the wall and on his lover, hand falling from the pale face to rest on the tile at his side.

The vampire was pushed away, reluctantly letting his jaws loosen and release the bleeding flesh. With a rapidly heaving chest and dilated eyes, the man's arms moved from where they had been restraining to where they were now holding, cradling his love. As his breaths came to him in short, laboured gasps, the amber set of eyes made no attempt to move, the lips and face slack even as the tenderly icy set of Tyn's kissed at them. When the younger had pulled back, away from him towards the cooled tile wall, Var had moved with him, his body sandwiching the blue-haired young man between them. Funny thing was, it would be hard to tell which of the two bread slices was the coldest.

Even with the stolen blood, the Victorian monster was no warmer, only more distant, more... beastly. He was not, however, unresponsive in all aspects; his mouth moved, lips slowly pressing into a bloody smirk after a few moments of silence only interrupted by the warm rush of water plinking upon the shower floor after falling so quickly from the metallic head. "Master..." he murmured, in tones that even a vampire would have trouble deciphering. "How powerful a term..." With eyes still averted from Tyn's face, Edvard leaned his head to the side, curiously observing the blue and cream chequered wall... and never even seeing it. What a name his lover had bestowed upon him. How... how magnificent it would seem. And now... now that he was Tyn's /Master/ -or so he had been called-did that mean they were /really/ lovers? Before they had merely been partners; perhaps even borderline lovers... but not quite. There had been no proper making of love or really amazing display of affection besides the heroism shown... This was it; the candy-coated lies and pet names from the raven curled man had become reality... So why not put the name 'lover' into context?

With a twist of that feminine and yet masculine neck, the glassy orbs turned upon the face of the other, the hands that were resting upon Tyn's hips shifted. The right hand lifted, index finger pointing out and landing carefully upon the blue set of lips, seeing how oddly they contrasted with the dull grey of the skin, his own fleshy pink... or at least, as much as it could be for a dead man. "You are... undoubtedly, the most perfect creature I have /ever/ seen..." that fingertip, ceasing its unhurried smoothing of skin, lifted to brush back wet bangs that concealed a gaping hole where that other eye should have resided. "And even, if you feel... even slightly imperfect, than it is merely a lie, a misleading streak of your vanity. You are /everything/ that I want... Kiss me." The hand slid from brushing back the damp bangs onto the that oh-so-wonderfully sculpted jaw, lifting the young man's mouth closer to his own, his eager senses flooding all the rational thoughts from his mind as their lips touched again.

The command was just that he didn’t dare disobey, the words preceding that having almost stilled his dull heartbeat. Tyn craned his head, muscles moving in time with the light pull of Edvard’s fingers, until his mouth gently brushed over the taller mans. It was his intention not to do anymore then that, the fright in his body almost paralysing as it was, but the taste of blood on his Master’s lips stirred the hunger in his belly, and he let the kiss linger, waiting for Var to take what he wanted.

He wasn’t comfortable; feeling very much the rabbit in the notorious headlights. There was nothing he could do, even if he remembered he possessed free will. Why should it be otherwise, when his man had him so completely and totally as his mercy? This beautiful, elegant man, who seemed to be more suited to the nobility then dirty meat-markets in the slums of the city. What was he doing here? With Tyn? Those words, they washed over him in the steamy room, made his skin prickle as if they were droplets of boiling water. Were they true? Or just words, said to ease Tyn’s tense mind and body and make his enslavement so much easier. It didn’t matter. Tyn had submitted, and any further action would just seal that verbal contract. Didn’t every elder Vampire, the old, tradition men and women from long ago, didn’t they keep… others? As slaves or servants or toys, whatever they were called, these elders were always surrounded, weren’t they? With younger vampires, ones that they had turned, or adopted as their own? Like family, but shields at the same time? He remembered reading that somewhere, under the sheets with a flashlight. Maybe that was what Edvard wanted. Dante had Miroslav, didn’t he? His little enslaved lover, devoted and dutiful no matter what his master wanted…

Tyn’s lips trembled slightly against the blood-painted mouth, but he didn’t pull away, raising his hands to carefully rest on Var’s shoulders, supporting himself as he kept the kiss going, tongue slipping from between his lips to lick over his Master’s, trying to take back some of that blood and re-awaken his pulse. He could almost feel it get slower as memories of Dante rekindled in his head, and subconsciously, he linked his lover with that other monster from long ago. He gave a soft whimper, eye flickering up to try and catch Edvard’s.

As small, tired and helpless as he felt, and as cold as the older man was against him, there was a peace in the situation. His fear was prominent, but the sound of the falling water and the coldness pressed around him, the steam… it all reminded him of those beautiful, serene paintings, the Japanese mountains and the natural hot-springs and the snow. He could almost even see it, but he blinked and it was gone.

"What… what do you want from me?" He managed, fingers moving into the damp ringlets, curling around them.

"Want?" he returned his mouth still pressed so daintily into that haughty set, eyes staring smugly down upon Tyn. "You. I want you completely, totally... won't you be mine?" Unknowing of the association that his small lover had strung him to, his kisses deepened slightly before he pulled back, licking the last of the blood from his mouth. "What do you want in return, dear? What shall I give of myself?" Edvard inquired, the tone of his voice deepening, heaving with the soft rocking of his hips. The hand had dropped from the jaw, moving to caress the shiny scar that he had left on that shoulder just a moment ago. Slowly, though, the golden eyes moved from where they too had been following the movement of his fingertips, eyeing that dingy-hued skin that greeted him with a small shiver of distaste to Tyn's eyes, downcast from his own. Like ice melting on the first day of spring, the smugness in Edvard's face oozed away, his fingertips lifting and catching Tyn's chin, unceremoniously forcing the young man to stare back at him. There had been a movement across that chiselled, blush-tinged face; the stern look of pride had dribbled into concern, which quickly iced back into something like contempt. What had he done? What had Edvard done, that was, to cause this? He saw none of his actions less than intriguing, even if it was on his part. This... this... reaction, this dislike for some unknown reason was making the blood-gourged vampire turn sour. So what else was there to do? Blood is like alcohol; it can effect everyone differently, make a placid man wild, turn a gentle man aggressive, and even morph the most sensitive creature into a bitter, nasty thing very much unlike their former self.

"What's the matter?" he asked, tongue sharp sounding. The blood had not been cleared from his teeth nor tongue, leaving both tainted deep red in a sinister mock of that soft pink palette. Here he was, growing angry for something he had provoked... Yet, he did not understand what this something was; well, of course besides a rather unwelcome reaction.

Tyn whimpered, trying to pull his face out of that grip, Var’s hand cold on his skin, making it almost crawl, but the coldness was not only lack of temperature, it was something more… more then that. A feeling, although not in the sense of touch. Something else, but Tyn’s mind had ground to a stop.

After barely a second of looking up into those angry, unblinking gold eyes, he had to look away, casting his eye to the curtain that billowed slightly as great stray drops hit it on their fall from the showerhead. How was he meant to match that look? To stare back, try and defy it? He knew he couldn’t, Var was always stronger, he had proved that when they had first meant, and then time and time after that. He opened his mouth, a little, taking all the give that could be found in the tight grasp of his jaw, taking a deep breath, glancing downwards at Edvard’s abdomen, his eye tracing every line of muscle, every way it shifted as the other breathed, as he gently, unnoticeably moved as his heat beat with stolen blood.

"No… No Master. Forgive me." He muttered, after swallowing hard. This had meant to be a game. A way of teasing Var, like gentle poking. Now he realised his error. Tyn’s childish name-calling had turned on him, like a playground bully, and somehow, the game had stopped long ago, but was now… now instead of being a game for fun, it was a game for conquest. It had turned from a friendly back-garden game of soccer to a premiership match in a world cup stadium. And Edvard was the home team.

Tyn took another deep breath, and although he knew it may have been wiser to try and escape now, while Edvard might still be able to remember this was a game, a sort of fore-play between them both, Tyn decided against that. He stayed put, and would let Edvard do whatever his temporary insanity called for, and then maybe… sneak away somewhere. Just for whatever was left of the night. If he could get away. Var was his lover still, wasn't he? He won't... knowingly hurt the boy. No. No, he wouldn't... would he?

Edvard's lips were showing his age, lips creasing the skin at the corners of that pouted little mouth, making his so well-hidden lines deepen. "Forgive you?" he muttered, looking disgusted at the request. Forgive him? Why? He was upset, for no good reason, and like a spoiled child, he was not to give in quietly. Perhaps this blood had gone to his head, turned all his proper senses into dulled, foolish ones. "Why?" he snapped, hand loosening his grip and instead lifting to lean into the cold, damp wall, palm pressing until it stung. "What did I do? I wish to know, you aren't, dear God, you aren't afraid of me, are you?" This last little revelation turned the look on his face to a wounded sort of facade. How had Edvard succeeded in /scaring/ his one and only? Perhaps he had gone too far, taking all that blood... surely it was much more than had ever been pulled from those veins before. Yet... Var had never done anything purposely harming to Tyn since they had become what they were... so why would he now? "You're upset... with me. Fine. I'll leave. Whatever pleases you." once again, that look of pained sadness was pressed away, emotions changing too rapidly to be normal. The vampire stepped back, slinging his curls back over his shoulders, fingertips searching for the curtain as Var averted his eyes, looking to the metal hooks above them.

"You have doubted me." came the slight sneer, Cupid's bow curling back in the most ugly manner. "You doubt me..." With a sigh, he yanked at the curtains curling beneath the paled digits, letting his head hang and move slowly from side to side, the words left hanging on the air, only marred by the steady pulsing of water. The vampire's heart was beating too fast, too hard for his ears to hear the water, the only thing in his mind the slamming of his pulse, pressed by immortal blood. He had been very immature to take all that life-sustaining wine; and now he was paying for it, chest contracting with the rapid convulsions of his lungs.

"Eddy! That’s not what…" he began, but the taller man was already stepping out of the shower. Without thinking, he took Edvard by the elbow, using what little strength was left to pull the other male around to face him, looking at him with a confused, hurt expression. Why was he the one being blamed? Why was he the one made to feel guilty? Hadn’t he given, given more to Eddy so far then what Edvard had given to him? Shelter, a home, and company and attention and trust. And not only that. Tyn had tried to protect him, to save him from Dante, had given up his eye for that.

Perhaps he had given too much to a man he didn’t know. That was it. Edvard had been like this all along. Dante had probably planned this with him. How to ruin another life. Now it was Tyn’s turn to have anger billowing around in his near empty veins, unfounded but as strong as any form of lust. Var had plotted this against him, it had all been a trick! Just to hurt him, tarnish his already rotting soul. It hurt. From the tips of his fingers, through his very core the pain flowed like lava, burning and consuming him, and he growled, giving Edvard up that moment, dropping, and almost throwing the other man’s hand back at him.

Staring, honey-gold eye to that blood-rushed face, his fingers clenching with mute rage, Tyn’s other hand reached up, catching Edvard’s cheek and jaw before pushing passed him, out of the steamy room and into their bedroom, the sheets still unmade as he pulled on his jeans, and grabbed the first shirt his hand handed on; one of those tight, thin shirts with only three buttons, leaving his stomach and half of his chest exposed.

Looking at it now, it was a damn gay shirt, but he wasn’t going to change it now. It might help him pick someone up, or be picked up. And then someone who openly cared very little about him would take him home, and it would be too late for Eddy to claim him back. He would never, ever need Edvard again, hopefully never see him. Let him stay here, for all Tyn cared. He’d start again, from scratch… Thinking this, he grabbed his wallet, stuffing it into his pocket, and then reached for the customary cigarette pack and his lighter, carrying them though to the living room, and pulling a jacket down from the hook by the door, and raising his voice again, trying to keep the anger and spite out, making the words only cold and distant. "Don’t bother waiting up for me, Edvard." And then he pulled the door open, letting it slam back after him, stalking down the concrete steps, into the lobby of the building he owned, and then out into the cold air.

Var's head turned, moving with the hard strike that bit at the silky skin of his face, hot and flushed from the robbed blood. Shocked, his lips parted, eyebrows dipping as some of his reality slipped back-and was abruptly taken away again. My God, this blood was like a hallucinogen. Half in, half out of the shower, he stood, stark naked, water still spilling down his frame as he flaming eyes followed every movement of the other immortal. Waiting until the other had moved to the bedroom, the man stalked after, stopping silently at the doorway, a towel wrapped at his hips, his mouth set in a too-thin line. He was mad-and my goodness! He didn't even know why! He couldn't even see that all he was doing was wrong; all he could see was that Tyn was defying him, hurting him, denying him. That was what was setting the raven-haired vampire on fire; he couldn't have what he so dearly wanted. All these emotions that weren't even his were travelling pell-mell across his brain, making him sick as his body still heaved and ached. His hand clamped at the doorway, glaring a hole in the back of Tyn's skimpy little shirt.

Then, when Tyn evacuated the bedroom and moved to the front door, still staring nastily after his so-called lover. Pah! Lover! What was this wretch? This made Var silently grimace, beastly nature dragging him down as the youth stopped, opening the door and spitting the words at him; "Oh! Don't worry about that, Tyn! Don't worry about that!" he screeched at the slammed door, hair sticking to his jaw, his neck, his shoulders and irritating him even more. Oh no! Tyn wouldn't have to worry with Edvard waiting up for him; ha! Wait up for him! The thoughts were interrupted by a ghastly, animalistic cry, tearing from the deep vocal chords and spilling over the still-blood reddened lips. Turning on his heel, the monster stalked back to the bedroom, knocking whatever he could find over in his unfounded rage. He wasn't going to take this rejection lightly.

Finally settling to shred the towel he was using, the vampire flopped upon the bed, tearing it to pieces like a mad dog, using fangs and claws to rip every fibre. Once it was nothing but a fluffed baby blue heap upon the ground and scattered across the bed, the vampire regained his feet, looking placidly over his work, body still working overtime to adjust to the amount of strong blood rushing so hot through his veins. Then, with a measured sort of composure, he turned, wiping his hair from his eyes and fabric from his lips, heading to the dresser. From there, he opened it, looking for the clothes that Tyn had once fancied; too-tall and baggy jeans were gathered up along with his shirt that he had worn when the pair first met. The rip was still there, but it was unnoticeable unless you got close. Pulling them on in a feverish rush, the vampire seemed only to quicken his pace as he went. Hurrying to the bathroom, he turned off the water he had left running and then strolled back through the bedroom, his pulse still racing, chest still heaving but his eyes calmer, more serene... at least, that's how they looked.

One last glance around, one last look. He was going, leaving; this wasn't what he wanted, he knew that, even in this state. All he had done was make things worse, and so had Tyn. It was like rubbing salt in a jagged, festering wound... and then dousing it in vinegar. Letting his feet wander through the apartment, he made himself a calm cup of tea and then trundled back to the bedroom, digging through the drawers of the small, cluttered desk forgotten at one side of the room. With jerky movements and sporadic twitches, he found some crumpled white paper, unfolded and smoothed it upon the desk top, and then calmly slit his wrist...

It wasn't much longer until Eddy was pulling on a black jacket he had pulled from Tyn's closet onto his shoulders, damp hair still hanging lank around his still-rosy cheeks. His fingers ran over the knob of the doorway as he turned around, looking at the refuge he had taken over the last few days, thinking momentarily of the man he had seemingly broken until his anger stole away his thoughts and he tromped outside, slamming the door behind him. His head was hung as he made it down the steps, wondering briefly how much his love letter was bleeding on the fridge-front.

Tyn spent several minutes seething outside the apartment building, smoking and kicking at pebbles and rotten brick work. Bastard! Why had Var gone done and that? If he hadn’t… if he hadn’t made such a deal of the master thing… had been a little more caring towards the younger man who was, when all said and done, a virgin in these matters… He growled, tossing a burning filter into the gutter, and stalking down towards the neon-lit, busy red-light district, re-arranging his shirt as he went, tugging his jeans a little further down his hips, showing himself off for all he was worth. He was going to pick someone up. Or been picked up. And lose himself to someone who clearly didn’t care about anything, especially him. And then… then… Then he didn’t know. Go home and flaunt it to Var? He didn’t know. He’d show Var who was boss. Somehow, anyway.

He sighed, walking slower now his anger was dispersing, leaving him almost empty. He needed to feed. Then he’d go home, apologise. Do what he could to earn himself forgiveness. But he’d been stupid. He had no right, he hadn’t thought about what he had done. How foolish… he sighed again, deep and heavy, his breath not even forming mist in the cold, morning air. 2 am. The clubs would still be open, people going and coming and bustling about. He could find someone. Anyone would do. The first person he met. Yeah. The first one. Then home…

He had been right. The red-light district was heaving with people, men dressed as women in tight, tight clothes, linking arms with strangers and taking them home. He lit up another cigarette, and waited. It didn’t take long until he was approached, an older man, beautiful in dark jeans and open shirt, his brown eyes with that same openness that reminded Tyn of Lysander. Not naïve, or even innocent, but somehow… they displayed those exactly qualities. No lies, no deceit. He was honest, open with those he met, even if it was only for one night. He looked the sort that would have been happy in a relationship, if he could find one. Poor guy. But Tyn had promised himself. He didn’t want this man but… he would do. He would have to do. Tyn sighed inwardly, and allowed the man to drag him down an alley where several other couples were already in various stages of undress. Tyn wasn’t particularly happy but… he needed to get home. So as he locked lips with this stranger, who tasted strangely of things the youth couldn’t rightly place, Tyn decided. He let his lips move to the man’s shoulder, echoing the way Var had bitten him, letting the man’s moans keep him occupied as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of blood. And then licking over the puncture marks, he broke off, kissing the man’s cheek and then running, leaving the other pale, confused, and unsatisfied.

Tyn felt healthier now, happier, although worried. Had he gone too far? Var would have recovered by now, wouldn’t he? Var would forgive him, Tyn prayed. He could blame it on… on the lack of blood, on his tiredness, on something. But he knew he was relying on the fact Var would also have calmed, recovered. If he hadn’t… then Tyn would return anyway. It was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let Var bite him. He knew there would be consequences…

The door of the apartment building snapping shut behind him was something of an alarm to the confused creature, and he spun around quickly, surprised by the noise it had made. Like a frightened dog, he whined faintly, turned around again, and seeing the street ahead of him and sidewalk on both sides he moved uncertainly one step forwards. His head shook to try and clear the fog in his eyes and he moved to his left, a tad more certain than he had been just jiffy before. Of course, the man had no clue where he was going, but he was going to run there, that was for sure. The burning in his muscles pleaded for him to do so, begged him to loose all that pent-up rage and pain and ecstasy in a not-so-hazardous way... Running would work... for now.

Somewhere in his reeling thoughts, he considered feeding; but he knew immediately with the turn of his stomach that that would just be a unintelligent idea, so he kept running, scurrying off down empty alleyways like a rat when he saw people moving drunkenly down the sidewalk towards him. Jauntily striding, bouncing along, his innards jarred, and he turned viciously upon bulky, shadowy shapes. Lunging at them with a vile little cry, he settled to mauling trashcans, garbage bags, and raggedly discarded bits of furniture. They were pounced upon like catnip to a mutant-sized feline, and accordingly torn to shreds, Edvard sitting atop them as though something beastly had gripped him, making his thoughts turn to instincts of pure madness. Sadly, in one fit of rage, he had awaken tom cat, scruffy and fitfully street-worn. It screamed out from under one rather large dumpster, yowling like a cat would. This, of course made Edvard's last brutal show of inhumanity. In just a few quick movements, the poor little kitty had been half stripped of flesh, legs skewed and ripped from the seams, a head laying dismembered off by a black trashbag and blood coating the dirty pavement. Placidly licking the blood and hair from his hands, Edvard leaned back into the dumpster from which the animal had appeared, letting his face turn upwards to gaze at the night sky, concealed mostly by rising walls and the little dome city lights caused that would block out the stars.

It was then that what was happening gripped him, the cleaning of his right hand paused momentarily, tongue still resting upon the skin. With an appalled look stealing over his face he knew that it was too late to go home as the half-recalled memories formed in his mind. Had he really said and done those things not an hour ago? Was it possible he had been so... heartless? The clean left hand lifted and traced over where he had been hit earlier, just recalling the stinging over his jaw. He flinched, pulled abruptly from his daze. He couldn't go back. Not now. Not like this.

So what would he do? What should he do? Do what he had always done; there had been a routine in Edvard's life before Tyn came along... Maybe... he could revert back to that pattern of life for a few days... weeks... months. He most certainly didn't have the courage or the lack of brain-cells to return now. So, he got to his feet, shaky and completely rattled. Brushing back his hair, he cleaned his hand instead upon his shirt-tail, looking up and down the alley to try and decide which way would be the closest to a bar and perhaps even a sink where he could wipe the gore from his face and hands.

The streets on the walk home were quiet, even though there was no less traffic on them then on other mornings. Tyn just didn’t notice the cars he almost walked into as he crossed the road, nor did he notice the groups of men, and women, walking in the opposite direction, even though the flecks of blood over his barely-pink skin made him the centre of conversation for some minutes. He didn’t notice, wouldn’t have cared. He was cold, and he pulled the leather jacket closer about his torso, buttoning it up and keeping his hands in his pockets, footsteps quick, but still dragging on the cold pavement, feeling ever so sorry for himself.

He would go home, and fix everything up with Var. He would apologise as many times as sanity would allow, and then maybe Var would forgive him this time. They would learn from this incident, it would bring them closer. After all, how were you meant to know where the boundaries were if you never pushed the walls to find out? You wouldn’t, and that would certainly not be forfilling for them. Better this way. Now he had fed, he saw things more clearly, he knew what he was going to do, how he would fix this all. That would make life better. He smiled then, pulling another cigarette from the pack and lighting it, sucking on it slowly as his walk became more of a stroll, enjoying the cold air, the laughter around him and the hazy warmth of that after feeding glow. Of course, he had just linked himself to that man, whoever he was, by feeding and then leaving him alive. But he probably had no idea what had happened, apart from being turned down, so clearly there was no harm. Not yet. It was called Nobility’s Kiss, he knew that much, and now he’d have to solely feed on that mortal, until he died, or turned, and on no one else. He felt guilty, perhaps this slow death was much more inhuman then feeding to fully satisfy his hunger, quench it, leaving his victim dead. But he couldn’t have done that, not in the mood he had been in, and not with that particular man. Poor, sweet Lysander. Maybe, one day soon, he’d get a boyfriend. Although Tyn felt that by then, Var would probably have learnt how to properly use the Sky facility on their TV.

He smiled to himself, and pushed open the lobby door, taking the steps quickly and pushing open the door, the paint cracked slightly from the slam he’d made, no doubt.

"Eddy. I’m back. I’m sorry. I was thinking, that…" he stopped. He couldn’t feel Edvard, couldn’t sense him around, couldn’t hear, and couldn’t even smell him. He swallowed, moving deeper into the house, and glanced into the kitchen, before moving back to the wreckage in his room.

Furniture tossed about, draws left open and clothes hanging out, the bed still unmade and covered in spreads of blue that looked like the fall-out from an explosion at a rag-doll factory. He stared. Unspeaking, unblinking, unthinking, and then raised both hands to his face, curling them into fists before boxing the sides of his head, until he felt dizzy and slumped back against the door frame. Why hadn’t he expected this before? Var had been… angry. Enraged, and out of his mind. He wouldn’t have stuck around, not for anyone. He was gone, and only the tinniest hint of him remained in the air. With a whimper, Tyn followed that scent, back into the kitchen, tearing the paper from under the magnet that held it, and glanced with horror at the streaks of blood that covered the silver surface of the door, forgetting everything. That was Var’s blood, likely the blood he’d stolen from Tyn. He’d given something back at least then. Even if he hadn’t washed up his cup; one of the white ones with the fine, hand-painted edging in the rim, one of his mothers. He picked it up from the side, and let it drop, and smash, in the sink. 


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