Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - A Mother's Love part 1
"Forego being the height of style? Goodness, you do ask a lot of me..." Kris teased, fingering the sewn edging of the sheets with a smirk he couldn't contain. "Mmmkay. I'll just dig through your drawers, you go ahead..." he slipped off the bed, letting the covers catch at his waist, pinned with his hand like a long, flowing skirt from the ancient days, a heavy covering like that of the Greeks. Without turning, he moved across the carpeted floor, dragging the covers off the bed, the hand not holding the sheets lifting to stretch the fine muscling in his arm, his chin tilting back and from side to side. Kris sighed, a yawning sort of groan as he dipped, folding the sheets at his knees in a very lady-like manner; perhaps this was only to mock the refinement of a woman's vanity, or perhaps it was to indulge momentarily in it. Neither thought bothered him as he opened one drawer, grinning as he saw it was the sock-slash-underwear drawer of the dresser, and opened another, successfully finding a pair of cotton pyjama bottoms. Rounding on Lysander, he stood, looking just as amused as he could be. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go on... And leave the sheets were I put them, I'll fix the bed." Silently, he turned back towards around, dropped the sheet, and stepped around the wall, into the bathroom.
Var's eyes were upon the coffee maker, watching it filter heavy mud-brown liquid into the pot below. His eyes were dulled, thinking back upon the night before, and the night before that... The second night between them had been the best. They had gone out together, looking for blood as vampires would do, then came back literally falling over each other. That's when Edvard had been at his best; that evening, the vampire had not been in love, but in lust. He was acquainted with that worldly want, accustomed to what it incased. Love, well, that had been where everything turned sour. Edvard had been in love once before-only once. That was with his Master, and even that had gone awry... Maybe that was the reason the vampire couldn't fall in love-he didn't know how... But really, how complicated could being in love actually be? People everywhere were-or, at least, they pretended to be. Perhaps they weren't really in love. That thought brought forth another confusing wave of questions that he dammed as quickly as he could, shakily pulling down to more mugs from the cabinet. Both burgundy and chipped slightly, he lined them up, pouring one cup as the coffee finished and carefully turning, handing it over to Rosalind. "Your coffee... If this gets cold before Tyn wakes, I'll make another... have as much as you'd like of it."
It wasn't long until Kris had made himself at home in the bathroom, door left open, fiddling around to make sure he had all the shampoo and soap he needed in the shower. Slipping into the deep blue porcelain-done bathtub-slash-shower, he turned around, looking down at the knob for a moment. It was one of those that you had to tilt and turn to make the water come on. Warily, as though frightened of the cold water that might spill from the showerhead, he began to turn the little handle. Kris was pleased when pleasantly warm water splashed down his front. He sighed, letting the water wash over his face, down his neck, onto his chest, and lower; his arms folded over his body, too happy with his current situation to find any complaints. With his back to the waterfall and the curtain drawn, he began to sing. "It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I'm not one of those who can easily hide, I don't have much money, but boy if I did, I'd buy a big house where we both could live... If I was a sculptor, but then again, no. Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show. I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do; my gift is my song, and this one's for you."
Edvard looked longingly to the wall of the kitchen past his guest, or perhaps, it was his host, on towards the bedroom as though there were no walls at all. All he could think of now was apologising, begging forgiveness before he was forced to explain himself. It would be much harder, trying to make Tyn understand his need to be with another, worse off than himself, than to ask for mercy beforehand. Maybe then, after he had fallen to his knees and repented, he could make the other understand, make his mother see... make them both see that he cared; he just wasn't able to show it like other men might... He was unable, to convey the emotions he wished for, broken by love, for love.
Lysander was amused. Didn’t everyone have draws full of underwear? So he watched, hands on his hips, until he was dismissed, although his head and shoulders remained in the bedroom as the sheet dropped, his tongue running over his lips in appreciation, before he slipped back into the kitchen, pulling a pan from the hooks on the wall, and then opening the fridge, letting the words of the song drift over him. Why did he need a radio now? He had his own, personal and private singer, who was unashamed and beautiful. He would never need anything else, it felt at that time, as he pulled the large, speckled eggs from the fridge, and then a carton of orange juice, pouring himself a glass and sipping it down as he cooked, humming softly along to Kris’ singing as he picked up the tune.
"I… thank you." She said, taking it and sipping at the hot liquid, licking her lips as she swallowed it down, relieved that she now had an excuse not to have to talk. Although talking… she needed to ask questions, to find answers, but there was no way to phrase them, no idea on how to ask… she gave a small, lopsided smile, moving back into the living room and standing there, facing the bloodied wall, re-reading the words stained there, over and over, imprinting them on her brain. Her boy would never have done anything like that, now while she had known him, nurtured him. Things must have changed so much in his life, and she had had no part of it, apart from as a memory. A bitter memory, how could she be anything else? If Edvard had known, been told of Tyn’s abandonment, then it spoke volumes. In Tyn’s mind, she was nothing any more, just another adult who had thrown him aside, as his biological parents had done. She was just another of them, people who had promised him something, and giving him nothing, nothing at all. His parents, her, and now… what of this Edvard? What exactly were his intentions?
As the singing slowly faded, Lysander turned his head, calling out over the roar of the shower "Do you take requests?" he laughed softly, moving away from the pancakes which were cooking slowly over a gentle flame, swallowing down the rest of the juice as he pulled the bottle of syrup off a shelf, flicking off the lid and dipping some onto his finger, licking it off, before pulling down plates, flipping the pancake before removing it from the pan, and cooking the next.
Her words were interrupted, and her head turned around, mug slipping out of her grip as something in the room made a painful shattering sound, and followed by a small, animalistic noise of pain. "Tyn!" Her voice was panicked, genuinely frightened. The mug and it’s contents were left on the floor, Rosa already in the dark room, kneeling at Tyn’s side as he curled in on himself on the floor, broken glass embedded in his fist, his whimpers growing quieter as the red blood seeped onto the cream carpet, pooling around his hand, eyes shut tightly and tears streaming down his pale cheeks. "I want him back, mama…" She pulled him up, against her, hugging the naked boy to her shoulder, cradling him just as if he was a child again, not a grown man, shushing him and trying to stop his tears, letting his blood drip over the white blouse. "Tyn, child, please. Stop it now. Let me look at your hand… what did you do? You silly, silly boy…"
"Requests?" the voice called back Kris forgetting he was in the process of washing soap from his face and shampoo from his hair as bubbles dribbled into his mouth before he could splutter them back out, silenced for a second under the water stream. Swishing water in his mouth and then gargling, he shook back his head, spat out the water, and then cried back over the gentle roar of the shower. "Of course I take requests, silly... How do you think I pay for my expensive lifestyle?" his words were light, joking and yet, they held some truth. "What can I sing for you, beautiful?" the young man inquired, the familiar noises of a shower cut off suddenly. Wet feet pattered around on the inside of the tub, and then onto the tile outside. "Whooo! Coldtilecoldtile! Damn! Where are the towels?"
Edvard blinked, awakened from his visions of pleading for forgiveness by the pained whimpers floating from another room. He had barely noticed Rosa leaving his presence and was startled to find her gone, or rather, where he should have been. Turning the corner of kitchen and into the livingroom, Var cocked his head, looking towards the cracked bedroom door, eyes narrowed to see into the sliver of darkness. He could see shapes, or rather, shapeless blobs contorted by the lack of lighting. Dark on light, grays and blues and blacks all smeared as they barely moved. Feeling like he had just been bogged down by mud and marsh grass, he stared, barely breathing as he caught the words. Oh, his beautiful one... Was that his voice? Really? Could it be? Such pain.. And he was crying! And, and... she was shushing him! How dare she... How dare she... Didn't this woman know that tears were the most cleansing solution in the world?
The flouncing from the bathroom suddenly stopped, and then started again. "Aha!" Kris had found what he was looking for, and more than just a towel, mind you. Still waiting for an answer and dressed in Lysander's light-hued pyjama bottoms that barely stayed on his waist, the boy slunk from the bathroom back into the bedroom, hurriedly making the bed, a towel draped over his thin shoulders. It didn't take him long, even though there wasn't a lot of his efforts put into the bed-making. So, when he swaggered into the kitchen and let his arms snake about Lysander's waist, cheek resting gently in the groove of his lover's spine, he smelled of the man's cologne.
"Pancakes? I love pancakes... Especially with lots of syrup... and what is this cologne? Imari?"
Edvard could actually hear his feet being sucked into the quagmire-carpet as he slurped forwards, feeling sheepish and small as he stood outside the door. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything... He wanted to stop those shushing sounds, to keep her from quieting him. All that noise that spilled from her lips infuriated him, and he wanted her away from Tyn; mother or no mother, he wanted him to himself, away... "Tyn?" he voiced quietly, daring to move closer to the doorway, his hand resting upon the doorframe. He wasn't going to enter... but... "Love?"
Tyn’s sobs grew a little more pained as the words flooded though the darkness to him, and he clung more tightly about the woman’s shoulders, just as she beckoned Edvard in. "He’s here, Tyn. He’s here. You don’t need to cry. Sit up, come on…Edvard, put the light on. I can’t see what he’s done…" Rosa’s coaxing was beginning to have so effect, Tyn’s weeping beginning to slow, and stop, and as the light was flicked on, he whined again, like a child, pressing his face back into her shoulder, almost ashamed, both of his actions and his nakedness, cheeks flushing. "Eddy…" it was then the tears broke out again, and his whole body, thin and pale, shock with the force of them.
Lysander gave a soft groan, pressing back against the damp, hot body, and reached his free hand down to unpeel the fingers from around his middle. "I’m glad that breakfast suit’s sirs needs." He replied in a rich, mock English accent, and dumping the ladle down on the worksurface, pulled Kris’ hand palm up, covering the fingers in the thick, sticky syrup, before using the length of his tongue to lick it clean again, before turning the hand over and planting several kisses over the back, and putting it back against the flat of his stomach. "What do you want to drink, love? Help yourself to whatever you feel like… juice in the fridge, tea and coffee in that cupboard, glasses and cups over there." He nodded to one side, free hand still resting over Kris’, stroking the skin over his knuckles, head tipped to the side as he let that pancake rest on the plate, making another.
Tyn uncurled from his mother, eye turned to Edvard, arms held out, although one was still rich with blood and deeply cut, although the bleeding was beginning to slow, and not because the wounds were healing. They were as open as they would have been, had he been mortal, but the truth was he was running out of blood. His pulse was deadly slow, and his breathing laboured as he silently demanded to be held by the older male. "Please mama…" he managed, not meeting her eyes as she tried to keep a tighter grip on him, her fingers stroking over his hair. " ‘Want to…want Eddy."
"Now…" Zan said, with a satisfied air, picking up both plates, the syrup dripping down the pile of pancakes and making lakes of sweetness on the painted surface. "There’s eggs and bacon and toast and things if you want them as well…" he added, setting the plates down on the small table that took up most of the rest of the kitchen-dining room. "I think this should fill you up though." He smiled happily, and returned to the kitchen to pour himself another glass of the orange, unfiltered liquid. "Tuck in."
The man's eyes drifted down onto Tyn, hand absently flicking on the light as he had been instructed. Seeing him like that, bleeding, naked, cold... it stung something inside of the vampire and he groaned-a pained sound barely escaping his lips before he bit it back. His eyebrows dipped sympathetically, eyes warming as he felt the bitter coldness nipping, freezing up his heart strings. "Tyn... Oh, god..." He made the feet between them disappear in two quick strides, body bending as he carefully cradled the young man in his arms, letting the bleeding hand rest on his shoulder along with the other, the elder male pulling him gently onto the bed off the floor and away from that woman. Folding one leg beneath himself, Edvard guided Tyn's face against his chest, pressing soft kisses over that dirtied, matted blue hair, golden orbs slicked with unwelcome agony. "I'm sorry, so sorry I left you here... I'm sorry... Oh, Tyn..." he shook his head, looking pathetically to Rosalind, still struck dumb upon the floor. "Find something to clean his hand, something to mend it..."
As his fingers were licked clean, the young man purred faintly, kissing that same tattoo over Lysander's back, eyes fluttered shut until the soft kisses to his palm were stilled. When he was released, Kris decided to get some juice, eyes lost on the other man, lips pulled into a goofy smile. "Mmmhmm. I bet it will toooooo... So, about that request, do you have one? Or do you like teasing me about it?" he chuckled, raising himself on the balls of his feet to reach up into the cabinet, thin, artistic fingers enclosing around a tall glass before he pulled it down. Leaning back against the counter, he poured the glass full of OJ, turning his head to the side and watching Zan, eyes looking him up and down and ultimately landing on the pancakes.
Turning his attention off Tyn's mother and back onto the boy, the vampire cooed Tyn's name, looking still ashamed and bedraggled, his curls hanging lank even though they had dried from the rain. Then, he began to observe the cut, eyes narrowing shrewdly at it. "You won't stop bleeding... Didn't you feed, my love? Would you like me to go and find someone? What can I do?" All Edvard could think of was trying to get Tyn better, to fix him. He, after all, like his lover's mother had said, had broken the poor youth. He was going to have to fix him. Trying to be soothing, the Victorian monster let his fingers run through Tyn's hair, feeling once again like the bad guy. "I..." but Edvard didn't know what he was.
Slowly, the singer took up a seat, setting the glass in front of him and watching the orangey-yellow liquid slosh against the side of the glass as a plate was set before him. Pancakes. That was the first breakfast he could remember. Except those pancakes had been chocolate chip, with strawberry syrup... His first foster parents were not big... health fanatics. Or... Well, they were just plain /weird/. Whatever, back to the present. He shook his head to clear the wandering thoughts and picked up a fork. "No, no, this is perfect. You know, no one has cooked breakfast for me in /ages/. It's /perfect/." When Lysander came back, he caught him by the wrist, dragged him over, and planted a syrup-sweetened kiss to his lips, seeing as he had quickly ravaged a quarter of his pancake. He was rather piggy when it came to good food; that was obvious.
She was on her feet as soon as Edvard’s sentence had finished, moving to the door to find what was requested, even though inside she felt that little good would come of fixing his hand if he didn’t get blood into him. In the bright, artificial light, he looked even paler, greyer, thin as a corpse and more then half way to it. It hurt her, deeply, to have that man swoop down and take her baby from her. Of all people he was not the one Tyn should have been calling for, desperate for in that state. Her son was dying, and he just wanted the man who had caused all this to hug him! She swallowed down a dry sob, bringing back a handful of objects, most of which she’d had to hunt around in the medicine cupboard in the bathroom for, but found them anyway; tweezers, a bottle of alcoholic cleanser, which would sting, but remove all the grit and splinters of glass from the wounds, and enough bandage. Her son was a fool.
Tyn mewed softly, pathetically, and moved closer, pressing himself right against Var, trying to steal whatever warmth he could, and then not moving, hardly breathing, his eye shut as he clung tightly, although the grip in his bloody hand was beginning to fail him. His chest was hardly rising as he breathed, his face still pressed into the slightly damp shirt, finger clutching helplessly. "Don’t wanna…"
"Oh, really?" Lysander muttered, licking the residue from that sticky kiss from his lips, and sitting himself across from the other man, picking at his pancakes and eating more slowly, seemingly gaining more pleasure from watching Kris then from the food. That couldn’t be helped though, Kris’ personality was one of those rare, bright ones that drew you in and kept you trapped. It wasn’t unpleasant, far from it. To feel wanted like this was bliss, pure bliss. "Pancakes are a treat, love. Think yourself lucky." He smiled, swallowing another mouthful of the juice, and then finishing off one layer of his pancakes, before his gaze moved back up to Kris, looking sly, as one foot moved under the table to start gently rubbing over the other’s leg. "I want to request something, yes. But not until later I think. You’ll need your strength for then, though. Eat up."
She moved back into the room, silent as death itself, and set the things down on the edge of the bed, near to Edvard, her eyes filled with tears that were wiped away before they could fall. This stranger was taking her son, stealing him away under the pretence that she was a bad mother. She had never, ever done anything, but was now watching her son die in the arms of a man who was wrong for him. Utterly and totally wrong, but there was nothing now she could do. She was helpless, and no words came to her throat. Desperately, she wanted to help, to save him, to do something, but Tyn’s whimpers were all only for Edvard, his breathing, slow as it was, pressed to Edvard, his arms clinging to that man. And for what good? Non. Edvard was just as helpless as she was, from where she stood. He wasn’t going to fix him, he was just going to throw him away, let him go, and be non-the worse for it…
"Don't want to? Why, love?" Edvard was seemingly baffled, only starting slightly as the objects were laid before him. The eyes rose to meet the bleeding ones of this poor, helpless creature's mother. He nodded carefully, a silent thanks at her wordless co-operation. "Now, Tyn... You're going to have to get some blood... Listen to me, don't start closing your eyes!" he took the young man's chin in his hand, forcing Tyn to look up at him, that single, droopy eye boring a hole into his own. "Pay attention, now, my love... Here, listen to your mother. You see? She brought you here, saved your from that alleyway; surely, you don't want her to see you like this? Come now, my darling, are you listening? You're going to have to feed on someone." As he spoke, he had warily grasped Rosalind's arm, drawing her nearer, pulling her to touch her son's face. "She's going to go and get someone for you, aren't you, Lady Rosalind?"
Kris smirked, looking over the tabletop, a hunk of that fluffy pastry drenched in sticky brown goo suspended in mid-air over his plate, nearly slipping from the fork tongs. "Mmm, you think?" he breathed, leaning his face to the side as he let the pancake poke into his mouth, lazily enjoying how it tasted as he shut his eyes for just a second, blinking them back open. Setting his fork on the edge of his plate, he took a rather long sip of the pulpy orange juice, feeling it sting at a cut on his gums. With a sigh, he relished in his breakfast, all ready gone, fingers sopping up the last of the syrup, licking it away in a very-dare it be said-suggestive manner. With the sugary malt gone from his plate, he looked over the salt and pepper shakers and napkin holder in the middle of the table, eyeing Lysander. "Is it just me, or do you eat slowly?"
The autumn-leaf pale eyes gazed into hers, wanting her to understand how he felt; but he saw no pity for him and it was unsurprising. His lips moved to the words, 'help me', unable to voice this request. "See, Tyn?" he turned the young man's face towards his mother, bumping the cheekbone with his nose-tip. "Tell me you can hold out until she gets back? I need you..." and then he saw Lady Rosa's face and he quickly changed his tune. "/We/ need you, Tyn. Plus, you haven’t' even had a chance to speak with your mother... Come now, keep your eye open..."
Zan allowed himself a laugh, finishing the second layer of his pancakes, and then, holding the next between his knife and fork, slid it onto Kris’ plate. "You looked like you enjoyed it, so you might as well enjoy it some more." He said by was of explanation. Truth was, he never had eaten much, and no matter how little he served onto his plate, he almost never finished it. A bad habit, an unhealthy one, but one that followed him around. It had never harmed him though, so for now there was no point forcing himself to eat what his couldn’t. Besides, the way Kris ate, it seemed that he was more needy of it then Lysander himself, whether that was true or not, he didn’t know.
He didn’t know anything right now, he was just too tired. Why wouldn’t Edvard let him sleep? His fingernails racked gently, weakly, over his love’s shoulders again, looking up into the face of his teary mother, why was she crying?, and felt her skin touch his own, and for the first time, it felt warm to him. He would have nuzzled it but his muscles weren’t co-operating anymore. He was like a doll, a life-size painted doll to be manoeuvred by others, animated only for them. Sleep, that was what he wanted. Edvard could come to, hold him, watch-over him while he did it, frighten away all the nightmares that threatened him. It would be a perfect sleep, and he could rest and heal himself, and wake up again into a world without rain, and then perhaps, if he slept long enough, he would be whole again, once again perfect and unmarked. And then everything would start again afresh, and he could spend his eternity in heaven.
He finished, not bothering to mop-up the pool of sugary stuff left at the bottom of his plate, pushing it away and then standing, picking up both plates and his empty glass, dumping them in the sink, and turning the hot water on, planning to leave them to soak rather then do any proper washing up yet. Then, he moved and pulled Kris up, hands winding around his back, holding them together, close as he possibly could, and looking into those beautiful blue -or were they green, it was hard to tell- eyes, before his lips brushed against the other’s licking the sweetness from him, trying to take the very essence of it, not the synthetic sweetness, but the natural, pure sugar that seemed to make up the whole of Kris’ physical existence. If he could devour him now, while they were both together, both free, then when, or if, the parting came, he would still have a piece, a slice of this incredible creature, to call his own. "Stay and watch the rain, love…" he muttered, their lips still lightly touching.
Tyn’s blank eye blinked, slowly, as his head was turned from his lover to his mother, before returning to bury in Edvard’s shoulder. She was crying, but everything else was lost to him. Even Eddy’s words were coming slower now, as if filtering through water before reaching his brain. "We don’t have time." Rosa muttered quickly, softly, in semi-archaic French, gently letting her hand slip from her son’s pale, distance face, and began to roll up her sleeve. "Unless you want to do the honours, I’d ask you to hold him still. And talk to him, please. Just keep him occupied"
Once again, Edvard did nothing but obey. She was right; even though the elder man had quiet, unquelled fears of vampiric blood intake, she was right. He couldn't help it now, this was the only way. It would have been more proper, perhaps, more /fitting/ that his own blood was given back to Tyn from Edvard's veins... but... This was the way it was going to work out, it seemed. With a batting of his eyes, Var softly kissed the face buried into the slightly damp, crumpled fabric of his shoulder. "Are you sleepy, my love? Yes? Well, soon you'll be able to sleep. I can stay here, with you... but first things first, Tyn... Come now, open your eye and look at me, dear." As careful as though Edvard were dealing with the smallest of children, he reached under, gently taking the blue-haired man's chin, and turning his face to face his own. "You have to let us help you, sweet-heart. I know it's a lot to ask, but won't you stay awake for me just a few more minutes?" The last sentence was whispered under the Frenchman's breath, his lips barely moving as he let his nose-touch bump at the other's in an affectionate way.
Slender and slightly paled, Kris moved gently in Lysander's grip, grinning against the touch of the other's lips. "Mmhmm. The rain." his chin lifted, slowly nuzzling his cheek against the other man's, fingers that had been wound around the brunette’s neck weaving together to play through the soft crumples of brown hair. Pressing a soft kiss as payment for breakfast to his lover's lips, the young man rocked back on his feet, taking up his previous height. One of those frail looking hands slipped, catching Zan's arm and guided it away from his back, taking the palm against his own, bringing it slowly to his lips. They danced across the knuckles once, feather-light touches, warm and soft and still sugary from his tongue; but then, as unceremoniously as you pleased, the boy turned, pulling Lysander towards the living room. From there, he turned his back on the couch and then leaned backwards, folding one leg beneath him as his eyes stayed upon Lysander's.
Turning his eyes upon the prepping mother, Edvard's hands moved to Tyn's arms, holding one in a restraining, and yet still comforting way. His other hand was stroking the boy's cheek, whispering soft reassurances into his ear. Turning the boy's head with one long fingertip, the eldest man smiled slightly. He was going to be all right.
Tyn was going to be all right... This would fix him, make him better. He was sure; and then... then when his mother left, Var could make his lover understand why he had done the things he had before. "It's going to be all right, my love..."
"Get your radio, beautiful." Kris said, letting his fingers go slack on the other man's arm and feeling them slide down the slightly furred length before dropping back into his lap. The emerald eyes were stuck on the blue ones as his other hand lifted, poking his love squarely in the stomach. "Mmmmm. Hurrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyy. By the time you go and find it, the rain will have stopped," he teased, leaning his head to the side and making a pouty face like that of a child's.
"I know exactly where it is, thank you." Lysander recoiled, hands moving to hold his sensitive stomach, and he stepped away, moving back towards the windows and the long desk-like surface that lined that wall, pulling open one of the deep draws, and pulling out a radio, old, but serviceable, the black paint chipped and flecked with drips from various stages of decorating the apartment. He pulled a set of batteries out of the draw next, fitting them, and then began to play with the dial, at first only getting the crackles and buzzes of empty radio-waves, like audio versions of TV ‘’snow storms’’, before looking over his shoulder. "Any particular station?" he asked, as he moved back to the sofa, setting the radio down on the table as he knelt on the cushion next to the childish-looking Kris, sitting sideways.
Tyn didn’t speak, or move against Edvard’s gentle manipulations, but that one, tired eye followed his mother out of the room, leaving them on their own as the gentle noises of kitchen draws and cupboards being search filtered in. It might have been the reactions from tired muscles, or from the sound of the cutlery draw rattling open, but his grip tightened, noticeably so, on Edvard’s sleeve, and his naked body pressed closer, curling into Var’s shape and trying to crawl into his clothes with that one, small movement.
She hadn’t done this before, not like this. She’d fed… one or two of the little one’s she’d turned, but not fed out of the need to, the need to save a soul from heaven, or more likely, hell. But Tyn was her son, not some fledging who had sponged and lived off her. Tyn had become strong, learnt for himself, and she was proud. What other immortal lived through his first week without a sire to guide them, to teach them? Rosalind didn’t know how Tyn had managed it, but clearly, he had picked up something from his time with her. After all, he had figured out what she was by the time he was 13, and that was no mean feat. How had he done the rest? By himself? She didn’t know. She wanted to, desperately, but that was not to be considered now.
He leant forwards, picking up the radio, playing with the aerial, glancing back up at Kris through lowered eyelashes, then smiling, turning his attention back to the radio. "This sofa’s seen a lot of action over the last 24 hours… next time, we should try it one the bed, I think…" Zan said, casually, setting the portable back down, and returning the honest, blue stare to Kris’ face, a smile breaking onto it as he lent forwards, sharing a gentle Eskimo kiss, his hands curled on Kris’ thigh.
Turning the knife over in her hand, she ran the blade through the hot water that spilled from the pipes, cleaning it carefully, the fingers of her other hand nervously caressing the tap, before switching it off, and moving silently back into the room, sharing a small, lopsided smile with Edvard, standing before her son, bending to kiss his cheek, fingers tightening on the wooden handle. "I promised I would look after you, little darling. I always will. Enough of this silliness now." And then, straightening up, ran the knife down over her wrist, dropping it down onto the sheets against the bottle of cleansing alcohol and the bandages, without even admitting a gasp. When there was a steady stream of the dark, thick blood, from the thin incision, she pressed it to the boy’s lips, other hand steadying her trembling arm.
Tyn’s eye, which was unfocused, and despite Edvard’s words, closing again and remained closed as his mother spoke, the sound of her voice distant and indistinct from all the noises around him. There was traffic, below and to his left, right, back, the sound of the buzzing of electric lights, the static from a radio, the noise of adults dealing with restless offspring, the sound of music from across the street. He recognised the song, but couldn’t place it. He wanted to move closer, catch the lyrics, hear the voices that followed about him, bubbling and constant, and closer, much closer, the feel of a heartbeat against his still body, and the drip of blood from his chin onto his chest.
He groaned, nuzzling closer to the warmth, the heat that was flowing over his lips, drops still missing his mouth, but now his was lapping, sucking hard on the laceration, swallowing all he could from it. Then more, filling his empty belly, and letting it seep into him, his hand, the uninjured one, moving to press the pale skin closer, the skin of the other beginning to slowly close around the glass still embedded in the flesh.
"Edvard…" the words were soft, not pained, but said with some difficulty, holding back emotion, whether it was tears, or pain, or something else, it was impossible to say. "I’ll need you to sort out his hand. It can’t stay like that…" and with that last word, Rosa tipped Tyn’ head away, examining the flushed cheeks and the blood that covered his chin as her own wound healed itself. "That will be enough to keep him safe for the moment. I can’t… give him any more just now. It’ll do, what he’s got." Her voice remained steady, although she sat heavily down on the bed, on Tyn’s other side, and took several deep breaths, before pushing herself back to her feet, and moving to the door way, muttering. "Clean him up… I… think I need a rest."
"Shhh!" Kris replied, breaking the Eskimo kiss slowly, as though he weren't sure that was what he wanted to do. "Rain and radio now, talk later...." he raised one hand, pressing a long, thin finger against Lysander's pursing lips, his own breaking into a mischievous grin. "Here, lay down... Come on now, do as I say..." The young man's other hand landed upon the elder's shoulder, pushing him back onto the couch, his neck laying over the arm of the devan, Casper's other hand dragging the legs onto the couch beneath him. Then, more like a cat than anything else, the boy shifted, sitting upon Zan's hips, back arching as he stretched once, moving to cover his body over the brunette's with some difficulty. When you're short and thin, you can't really cover much of anything, now can you? Quickly kissing that furred chin, the boy slipped to the side, as though he were laying over the back of a horse, and grabbed the radio, dragging it nearer like tall wildflowers he was gathering from the saddle. Lithe and certain, the small fingertips twisted the dial, the snowstorms clearing and turning into crisp, clean sound; both unadulterated by fuzz and commercials, the sweet sound of golden oldies floated from the paint-dribbled speakers. "Oh, listen...."
Edvard watched through the process, transfixed. His gaze only broke when Lady Rosa began speaking once again, snapping from his gaze caught by that oozing blood flowing over Tyn's chin. Had the situation not been so serious and his thoughts so grave, he would have been tempted to kiss away that life-giving elixir, mouth salivating for a taste. Looking through half-hooded eyes, the elder man nodded to her, asking softly, "Can you make it to the living room all right?" He quickly supposed she could as she started that way, Var all ready beginning to get up, the young vampire cradled in his arms. "See? You're better now, my love... You can sleep. I'll have to wrap your hand... don't get upset, it won't hurt too much. Then I'll go see on your mother... Shh, I'll come back and keep you company while you sleep. Shut your eyes, beautiful..." The slow stream of reassurances came without hesitation. Edvard was keen on getting Tyn to sleep; you can only suffer and worry so much in your sleep, most of that over silly dreams that had no purpose.
Gingerly as was possible from the vampire, he moved on his feet, turning to face the bed, lover still held in his grasp like a tiny babe. He laid the man down onto the sheets, pulling the rumpled fabric from beneath his legs and then covering him with it to hide his nakedness and keep away the chill. "Are you warm enough?" he inquired slowly, hands already raking back the blue hair to plant a kiss upon the slightly fevered, damp brow. Sitting upon the very edge of the bed and feeling it move to comfort to him, he picked up the bottle, tweezers, wrappings, and rags, setting them out upon the bedside table. Then, he sorted them out, undoing the lid from the rubbing alcohol, and wetting the rag with it. Smiling faintly, he lifted the undampened end to Tyn's chin, wiping away the blood there. "I hope you feel better, Tyn... at least somewhat... I know that.. you can't feel all that good right now... here, listen to me... rambling on.." he hid a worried look behind hooded eyes supposedly gazing fixedly upon the rag as he took the bleeding hand in his own, dabbing the cuts to clear away the blood.
"Oh, listen to the rain, pitter patter, pitter patter of the rain, ooooh, listen to the rain, pitterpatterpitterpatter... " he sang along softly to the words of the radio, eyes upon the window as his cheek laid down against Lysander's chest, arms folding at his side, hands laying upon the bare skin of the other's shoulders. The rain was streaking the panes, looking grey and dreary, fogged with the warmed air inside, the chilly pressing hard against the glass from without. He was glad he was here, held so eagerly by this wonderful man who had fed him, let him wash, let him sleep in his house... And now, now they were laying upon the couch, wrapped up in each other. Then, all of a sudden, it hit him; there was the world, cold, wet, and uncaring on the other side of that glass... And here, here was his reality on this side of the glass, a warm, well-fed, relatively happy life... Kris couldn't suppress the smile turning his lips as the thought came to him. This was happiness.
Then, finished with cleaning, his eyes both open that exquisite face, the other upon that mauled hand, he began to tweeze away the shards of glass, still unaware of what his lover had smashed in his... well, what emotion had caused it, if any? "What did you break on your hand, dear? The lamp?"
Tyn’s lower lip was still held between his teeth, having uttered hisses of pain as the alcohol bit into the wounds of his hand, fingers trying to clench. He couldn’t though, Edvard’s grip prevented that, prevented him damaging himself anymore. And then the tweezers came next. His lover was the most careful of attendants, his voice soft and soothing, it still hurt. The thin glass had been partially covered by the healing flesh, and to remove it, Edvard had to break that flesh again. Not only did that exercise pain him, but the re-closing of the skin stung, and he shifted uncomfortably.
His hands rested on the warm, bare spine, fingertips teasing down the hollow, watching the ceiling. Kris’ singing was calming, and he let that drift through him as his eyes shut, letting the fall of the rain against the window, the radio, and Kris mingle together into the background as Lysander’s thoughts began to wash over him. Everything was beautiful; even the rain outside, as unfriendly as it seemed, had been created for a reason, and those droplets hanging to the glass were pure life, feeding the ground on which everything was based. He let himself smile, his partner’s hair brushing the skin of his chest, encouragingly real in Lysander’s new-found dreamy state.
Embarrassment was the first emotion he recognised as his consciousness became stronger, keeping his head turned away from the one remaining bed-side light, least it remind him of it’s now deceased twin. Or rather, the stylish black lamp, like a minimalist flower that bloomed towards the ceiling, was not dead, merely the bulb from it. The lamp itself had rolled away somewhere, but would be easy enough to find, and then the bulb could be replaced. Aside from the pain now, from the blood-loss and the stain his little… luxuriance had caused on the carpet, the act itself had been very satisfying. To hold the rounded bulb in the palm of his hand, as delicate as a hollowed egg, and to squeeze, feeling it crack and break under his fingers had given him a buzz, a kick of much-needed adrenaline. He didn’t feel guilty, why should he? It was a childish game that went wrong, and that was all. Now he was laying back and basking in the warmth of Edvard’s care, the very centre of attention.
It might have been half an hour, a full hour, even longer, Lysander had no idea. One song faded into another, as did the soft strains of Kris’ voice, as the rain began to weaken. He didn’t notice it, until he opened his eyes again to check on the small male, letting his fingers side around to hold Kris to him, but when he did notice, it came as a shock. The rain had stopped. A pity, it had been relaxing, washing the tension from his body. It was of no matter now, but he missed it. Looking out the window, he could just about see the clouds begin to break, letting the light down onto the world. The sunlight too, in its way, was pure and refreshing, but the rain had been cleansing. He sighed happily, and stretched his neck, the pain developing from where it had been tipped back over the arm of the sofa. "Did you know that people rust, Kris?" He muttered, voice almost sleepy in its tone, soft and peaceful and utterly content.
"Mama will be fine… don’t go…" he managed, moving awkwardly to press himself close to Edvard. "Stay with me, please? I can’t sleep if you aren’t here…" with those words, he sat up, slowly and with difficulty, not moving the hand Edvard was working on, and pressed his chest to his lover’s side, clinging to him with that free arm. "Please Eddy…"
"Rust?" Kris murmured in equally sleepy reply, his nearly closed eyes lifting from where he had been watching the droplets of life course slowly down the windowpane, trying to make the bottom before the soft sunshine saw them and made them disappear. His face carefully shifted on Lysander's chest, the shapely little chin moving to rest in the groove of muscle there, eyebrows curved in curiosity, lips parted slightly in disbelief. "Really? 'Cuz I've been out in the rain a lot, you know, but I've never rusted... don't you have to be metallic to rust or whatever?" he blinked, emerald eyes still hazed. He too had missed the rain-even though he had not too long before attached a nasty metaphor to it. It /had/ been calming, soothing like some sort of drug coursing through his veins and causing his eyelids to sag. "Tell me how.... I want to know why I didn't rust..."
Edvard looked down upon Tyn, seeing him move to his side like a child and take hold of him, arm wrapping his body. The broken hand in his own was half wrapped, fingers poised in mid-air to continue on with their duty. "Tyn..." the vampire began to say, eyes shutting for a moment, face pealing with despair and yet, with an unbound adoration for this creature. Slowly, he continued to wrap the hand, eyes never looking back upon his work. As the knot was done with the gentle movements and caresses Edvard's body would allow, he lifted the hand to his lips and sealed the bindings with a kiss. "Of course, my love..." Var let his fingertips slide around that naked side, holding the soft skin of Tyn's back for just a moment. Then, when he regretfully let the young man go, he nuzzled at the midnight blue hair beneath his hooked nose. "Lay down, love... You need to sleep. I won't leave you..."
Kris let his body weight move slightly, arms snaking up Lysander's side to meet behind the man's arm, fingertips massaging at that sore neck. "Feel better?" he asked lazily, waiting upon his explanation of people rusting. The singer's lips turned from their curious expression to a smile as his neck stretched out a tad, kissing the coarse bit of beard nearest him on the other man's chin, nose tip bumping it appreciatively. The skin pressing against his abdomen was warm and ever so soft, with the slight curves of muscle beneath them lifting each time Zan would breath. And his hands! Oh what lovely hands his beautiful partner had. They bore no signs of hard labour, no cracked cuticles, no roughed pads, no chipped nails... It made Kris think rather unwillingly of a time all this was opposite before he could shun the mindless remembrance away; he had been catering to one of his boss's best customers, a tall, not-so-bad-looking fellow with greasy, greying dirty blonde hair and grey eyes. A chiselled jaw and a scar across his chest made Casper almost shiver with the power he seemed to have radiated, and the position amongst the street life he had taken. He must have worked hard though, as a child, the young man had decided, when he felt the large, almost lust-clumsy hands begin to strip him of his clothes. There were all the signs, busted fingers, crooked, broken nails, coarse, scratchy palms, and non-existent cuticles... Yes, the man had been a very hard labourer in his younger days, there was no doubt...
With a choking sound catching in his throat, eyes shutting quickly to try and kill off the image he was painting in his mind, Kris shook his head, to clear it away like splashing paint thinner onto a heavily streaked canvas. Quickly, to remedy the chills running up his body, he hid his face in Lysander's neck, eyes still closed, waiting for that soothing voice to speak to him, calm him, acknowledge him.
Edvard let the other lay back onto the matters, rearranging the pillows into a more comfortable position, pushing off his shoes with his heels. As he did this, Var had his slight qualms about not going to see on Rosa, but she was... old enough to care for herself. And surely, she could feel the heat moving through the apartment to tell that the sun had burst through the clouds, couldn't she? Surely she would shut the shades? He turned his attention back to Tyn with a soft murmur of his name. Edvard worried too much, that was all.... Maybe he could just... The man folded one leg beneath him, scooching back, spine against the headboard, Tyn's pillows against his hip. Words escaped him at this point, his eyes laying back down over the face of the angelic monster that was his own, so close to him. Tyn had called for him in his naked, cold weakness when someone so strong, so loving and protecting of him had been in his arms... Tyn had called for him against his mother's wants, and that meant something. It meant a lot. Slowly, he began stroking the boy's cheek, smiling faintly.