Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - A Mother's Love part 2
That first tiny shiver was like a loud, piercing alarm to the brunette’s senses, his arms wrapping around the smaller man’s shoulders, holding him close and turning his head, cradling Kris into his shoulder as a series of soft, reassuring kisses were place into his hair, each followed by a soft murmured word of comfort. What had upset him? There was nothing that Lysander could know of, not without seeing into Kris’ mind. He gave a moment, letting the silence (aside from the radio on the table) cover them, waiting for Kris to explain, but as no words came, Zan pressed another kiss to the dark hair, and decided it was best that he distract the beauty in his arms.
"Well, you know that rust is just an easier word for oxidisation, don’t you? When oxygen and air react with a metal…" As he spoke, his fingers drew tiny chemical patterns on the curve of Kris’ spine, tracing the chemical formula under those invisible doodles. "And you know that there’s water and metals in your body. So, every time you breathe, you’re introducing more oxygen into that mixture. You don’t rust as-per-say, not like… a car would if you left it outside for a couple of months, because there isn’t that much metal in you. Unless you’re a cyborg. But anyway… your insides oxidise very, very slowly, but over that time it’s noticeable…" he gently lifted his hands to Kris’ face, tipping it up so they could look at each other, face to face, and traced a finger over the corners of Kris’ mouth, and then over the cheekbones and the skin of his forehead. "Wrinkles, and liver-spots, and the sagging of skin…" the finger moved away, and Lysander’s eyes flickered back to the deep blue of his lovers. "In humans, it’s called ageing, instead of rusting." He breathed, and gently kissed the lips he had so carefully traced.
"Now…" Lysander said, tone changing and becoming much more light-hearted again, easing Kris off him and sitting up, stretching his shoulders. "I could do with a drink. What about you, lovely?" He asked, and in a mimic of Kris’ gently nuzzling, pressed the tip of his nose into the other’s cheek, before getting to his feet, singing under his breath to the song on the radio. "I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky,
Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity, I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva, I'm gonna go go go, There's no stopping me." He paused then, looking back over his shoulder, and smiled, returning to the sofa and tugging Kris up and into his arms, wrapping his hands low over the singer’s hips, lips brushing over his cheek and jaw. "I'm burning through the sky yeah, Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit, I'm travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man out of you"
Tyn pulled the sheets around him again, watching Edvard sink into the mattress, and then immediately curling up against him, letting Edvard stroke him. Tyn could remember, although it was hard to string the events together, kneeling on the floor with his head on Edvard’s knees, being petted in much the same way. But that must have been a long, long time ago… he scowled to himself, trying to remember what had happened since then, his mind so fogged with fatigue that he couldn’t make anything of the events again. Perhaps after sleep, things would be clearer, and if not, Edvard would help him. Edvard was good at helping him…
He yawned, pressing his face into the elder immortals’ hip, letting the fabric itch at his nose, finger’s curling into the excess material that clothed his lover’s thighs, nuzzling closer, and letting his eyes shut, his breathing becoming slower and more peaceful, his grip loosening on the trouser leg as he slept on, face creased into the same frown that marred it during his last few minutes of wakefulness.
There was perhaps 20, maybe 30 minutes before the light tap at the bedroom door, which had been thoughtfully closed when Rosa had left. Now, she was opening it again just a little. Peering within and then creeping inside, silent as angels. She stopped only a few feet beyond the door, watching the soft rising and falling of her son’s chest as he slept, a smile gracing her features, before she moved a little closer, not even looking at Edvard yet, fussing with the sheets until Tyn was covered completely from the shoulders down, the thin cotton tucked in around him to keep the warmth there. And then she looked to Edvard, moving around the bed to touch his shoulder, her face twisting for a moment before she breathed in, deeply, and muttered, "Thank you, Edvard… I owe you an apology but… I need to speak to you before my son wakes." She stepped back a little, her hands twisting around each other, her dark eyes moving from the floor back to the Frenchman, uneasy now with the feeling that somehow she had given her power in the house over to him. But no, she couldn’t have done that with a single apology. She was still the master her, with a reason to be here, a valid reason. She had done more tonight, she had saved her son. No, Edvard would still be subservient to her…
The immortal's head had tilted to the side as the pale shaft of man-made light filtered weakly through the darkness and then nearly disappeared again as Rosa entered. Golden eyes flickered, catching just a hint of the rays and turning it into a shimmer. His face was moulded into the smoothest pictures of delight and yet it was still darkened with a pale hint of concern beneath those cat-like eyes. The look on the vampire's face did not waver, even the intent stare did not dare leave, it merely flittered from Tyn's peaceful features, to that of his fidgeting mother's. Craning that long neck of his back to where the deep darkness of his curls contrasted with the off-white of the walls, he silently listened to Lady Rosalind's words, brain wheels turning slower by the moment. At the apology, he almost lifted his hand to wave it away, but thought better of it, not wanting to bother his poor sleeping love. At that, his face turned back towards the boy holding at his hip and thigh, fingers resting loosely over the now dried fabric of his jeans. One hand moved, carefully slipping his fingers beneath the boy's cheek and transplanting it back onto the pillows. Then, just as gently, he moved the hands, eyebrows furrowing together. He felt something guilty and dark flouncing inside his chest. Hadn't he said not long before that he wouldn't leave Tyn? Well... he really wasn't leaving, he'd just walk outside the bedroom door and leave it cracked where Tyn could see him lest the young man wake.
Slipping so perfectly from his perch on the bed that the mattress never even once displaced, Edvard stood, looking Rosa over for a second as he straightened his clothes, moving past her carefully towards the bedroom door, beckoning her to follow. If he had the upper hand in the situation, he did not flaunt it. Now would not be the best time to get mouthy with Tyn's mother-not that he would; she had done too much for him by saving her son. Edvard could find no fault in her now. Carefully blocking the streaming light from the living room bulbs, he made for her to pass outside the bedroom bounds and followed her, shutting the door most of the way and leaning back against the door frame. "Yes, madame?" Even if he was to treat her kindly, he was not going to apologise for his actions. There was no sense in it now. Before he could answer, the young man was pulled from the couch and into a warm embrace, swaying placidly with the beat. Kris's face leaned up against the coming affection, lips brushing over his face and neck and shoulders with a subdued eagerness. In the softest voice he possessed he sang along with the rest of the 'lala's', hands lacing together around Lysander's neck. His lips turned into a small smile, eyes
shutting as he continued letting his weight move from foot to foot. As the song ended and the silence crackled faintly on the radio, songs marred and stalled by the deep voice of the DJ talking about the weather and the traffic conditions before he too faded into commercials selling cars, insurance, and candles from some nearby shop. All this passed over Kris without leaving a single trace left for reference in his mind, body still rocking absently to the beat, mind still stuck on the repeating song in his ears.
"Drink?" he murmured at last, eyes opening as a huffy car salesman came on the air, barking about weekend sales came over the air waves. "What shall we drink? And... better yet, what shall we drink to?" Not daring to break their bodies apart, the singer just tilted back his neck to its full extent, eyes surfacing on the ceiling and then casting forwards onto Lysander's. "Maybe we should drink to not rusting... Or oxi-day-ting..." he continued, butchering the word with his somewhat southern accent. Laughing faintly, he tried the word again, "Oxi-dayy-ttiiing... Danggit. Maybe we should just toast to not rusting." he gave a definite nod and then leaned his nose tip against the nearest patch of Lysander's skin, grinning.
"Oxi-die-sation!" Lysander supplied, with another soft kiss to the top of Kris’ head. "Do you think it’s such a bad thing? Rusti… I mean, getting old. It can’t be stopped love, Unless you die before your time, then you’re going to get old." He muttered, moving to turn the radio down, clearly not enjoying the adverts, or the grate of the presenter’s voice. "I think… if you have something… or even someone to distract you from it… then it can’t be too bad, can it? There has to be a reason why people talk about ‘growing old’ with someone. I think," he smiled widely at this point, "it’s so you can look at them and think ‘I can’t look as bad as that’." Laughing under his breath, he lead Kris back to the kitchen, and opened one of the cupboards, scowling at the bottles inside, before pulling down three, setting them down. "Now, this is up to you. This… is a bit like Rosa, but fizzy, right? That one… is plain sweet white wine, and that last one is Chateau De Bleu. Red wine, it’s meant to be fruity, but I think it’s bitter…" he smiled, standing behind Kris and wrapping his arms around the youth’s middle, fingers playing with the waistband of the borrowed pyjamas, his chin hooked over Kris’ rounded shoulder.
"Edvard…" She began, moving to the sofa, and then turning, leaning her hips back against the leather arm, her eyes moving to his. "Look. I understand Tyn may… feel very close to you, and you to him…" she paused, unsure of how to phrase the words in her mind. "I have nothing against you, personally, you see. But I can’t accept… this. He’s a child, when things are said and done. And you… you’re an adult, Edvard, not to mention a man." She shifted, uneasily again, and lowered her voice. "It was always my intention that Tyn would marry. That he would settle down… now, clearly, this is just a fling, and neither of you are serious. Beside, you have to see this from my point of view. You certainly aren’t good for him, and you’d be much better off finding a young woman of your own." She folded her arms over her chest, the white fabric still stained with Tyn’s blood. "He’d be much better off in a relationship where his gender is not in dispute."
After a moment of silence, with Lysander’s fingers still playing across Kris’ abdomen and over the hem of the pyjamas, his face pressing against the skin of Kris’ neck, before lifting away and muttering softly, "Old Spice. That’s the cologne I use…" He muttered, and then nuzzled his face back into Kris’ flesh. The boy smelt fresh and new, totally different to anything else in Zan’s home, which sooner or later picked up the scent of his own life. Kris, apart from the undercurrent of scent, was unique and beautiful, even more so now as the sunlight streamed in through the window, catching the pale skin and making it shine like white-gold. "God, you are magnificent…" he breathed, gently letting go and turning Kris around, studying every inch of him, running his fingers over the youth’s body, mapping every part, over his shoulders and his chest and down over his stomach, skimming over his navel, and then tracing every rib, before moving both hands up to sweep over his shoulders and down Kris’ back. It was almost religious, the way Lysander’s hands lightly caressed the other’s flesh, his breathe held and his eyes damp, before he pulled Kris tight to him, arms wrapped around him and holding him in a close embrace as he muttered something into the boy's shoulder.
"I don’t mean to be rude to you, Escariot. I’m trying to do the best for my son. Any good parent would do the same, and I’m sure you would, if you were in my shoes. I have to think of Tyn’s future. He’s got eternity, but he’s not going to waste it. He’s going to give something back to the world, learn how to live properly. And at the end of that eternity, however it ends for him… I’m not going to let him turn into a sinner. You must understand that." Her voice had lost the soft, pleading tone, and although she was still talking to him as an equal, another adult, something about her stance had changed. Her back was straighter, and she was no longer leaning. Truth be told, she was a good few inches shorter then the male, but it made little difference at that moment. She was occupied with one thing, and that thing only, her eyes locked on Edvard’s form, trying to read it.
Perhaps it was spite that was welling up behind the gently hued eyes held so innocently behind those fluffed curls that had fallen into the vampire's face. Maybe it was regret? Or even, could it be, agreement? With a slight bow of and twist of his neck, the man who had no longer felt the woman's equal, or even on the same level with her, smiled in spite of himself, lips pulling back over less impressive canines, even though they did shimmer in the artificial light, making his actions seem even more deceptive than his fickle feelings. "Then you tell him, good Madame. Tell him what you think of me and our... what would be a good word? Rendezvous? Fiasco, perhaps?" he stared through his curls, head still tilted in a way that he was looking down upon her, but his eyebrows were raised and those orbs were positioned as though he were looking over a set of glasses. "I want you to tell him what you want for him. I have nothing to do with it, it would seem, wouldn't it? I can leave, would leave, if he was anything /but/ a child. Look at him, Rosalind. Don't you think he needed.. needs someone?" Edvard's voice bubbled and hissed like rubber left out on the asphalt on an ungodly hot day. His dainty hand raised, waving at the doorway. "Look at him!" he muttered, eyes turning upon the doorway to make sure his voice had not gone to loud and disturbed his sleeping beauty. "And you are no more sorry for what you've said than I am... Don't try to make things better with petty apologies. Not with me, at least." With the last reply, his eyes turned coldly upon the woman before him and he brushed back his hair, lips setting out of that soft smile they had formerly held back into his cold frown. He had been willing to be civil, but she had pushed the envelope too far. Much too far.
Kris watched, eyes latched upon that set of beautiful hands as they moved, stroking every inch of his showing skin, feeling its softness and rubbing at its scented paleness. With lazy eyes, he leaned into the embrace, nuzzling back at that brunette’s hair, lips parted to press imploring kisses at the curve of Lysander's neck, wanting his mental attention. "What is it that you say, my dear?" he asked, mostly breathless, his lungs burning with the lack of air and the emotions burning up at his insides. When the elder centuries had said that you could 'feel something in your gut', he understood. Your heart had nothing to do with it, your heart was only some saying. Feelings stirred at your innards, twisting your intestines and causing butterflies to flutter. His frail hands folded over the tight muscles that laid the other's back, fingers rubbing soothingly there. "You're...." he couldn't come up for what words his Lysander was. Decent, romantic, splendid... they all came to mind, but none of them fit; none of them downsized magnificent.
And wasn't right if one of them downsized magnificent.
And wasn't it a powerful word? No one had /ever/ said that to him. In fact, no one had said all the things that his new found lover had and actually voiced it with such conviction and earnest tones. "I..." he began, wanting to turn back to the drinks and not feel so awkward, but he could not, so he merely clung to the other, taller, larger man, kissing weakly at his shoulders as his knees buckled. God, he was going weak in the knees.... There had to be something the matter. "You.. you... have the most perfect hands I've ever seen..." he choked, feeling so stupid as he nuzzled in the hollow of Lysander's neck, fluttering his eyelashes, cheeks tinting deep pink. Kris... Very suave indeed.
"Tell him, later, when he wakes. I think we've both bothered him quite enough for the moment..." Edvard replied, turning back to re-enter the bedroom, opening and closing the door as he had before to keep the light from penetrating the tranquil darkness. As easily as a cat, he swayed over the carpet, socked feet barely making a sound as he moved, jeans brushing the sheets gently as he regained his seat, laying his body close up against Tyn's, his chin laying above Tyn's fanned hair. Even in the shadows, that old thought of how perfectly, artistically beautiful Tyn was came back to him. Now, in the darkness, the vibrancy came to him and the vampire realised, shadows and light did not steal his lover's vibrancy... The darkness had given him such a beautiful glow to begin with. More to calm his twisting, thrashing insides than comfort the sleeping form, Edvard wrapped one arm around the abdomen directly before him, snuffling the hair as he began whispering in the dark. "I love you... love you... love you."
"Wait! You don’t…" But the door was closed. Rosalind, third daughter of the long dead and forgotten (by all but her, at least) twenty-third Lord of Cleeves, and the grand-daughter of Anne of Cleeves, wife of King Henry VIII, let herself flop back onto the arm of the sofa, and let out a deep sigh. She had hoped the Frenchman would understand, she had prayed that he would, but of course, the French were all heathens, and that was the end of it. She was to receive no earthy-aid, cursed as she was, and Tyn would never listen to her, she knew that much. Tyn had not been a boy to do what he was told, too sly for that, even in his youth.
To her, however, was still in his youth, trapped forever now between adolescence and manhood. Rosa knew that she would see her boy as just that, a child, incapable of the situation she found him in, a relationship; an adult, sexual relationship, with a man, of all things! But Edvard, he would see this differently. To him, Tyn was a man, a consenting adult, capable of loving and, undeniably, of lusting. She had known that, and it had driven her to that hopeless appeal, which had fallen on uncaring ears. She sighed again, and flopped backwards, her eyes closed, fingers reaching to clutch the tiny cross she wore about her neck, stroking the tarnished metal. Her little boy… it was near impossible to think of him as an adult, engaging willingly in what he knew to be sin. He wouldn’t try to save himself, Tyn didn’t realise how much danger he was in, she realised, slipped off the leather and onto her knees, fingers still wound about the silver-coloured cross.
"Lord…" She muttered under her breath, and then fell into Latin, voice hardly above a mutter, "Indulgeo mihi , pro eego sin , quod permissum sin subterlabor mihi. Meus filius... Vos teneo quis tempero quod duco Vestri lux lucis... Addo dim tergum, servo dim ex diabolus ut es vomica dimatrus…" she took a troubled breath then, feeling the first trickle of tears stream down her cheeks, and drip onto the floor. "Tamen sit a bonus puer. Vos teneo ut! Dim nunquam vado obviam Vestri sensa , nunquam! Diabolus est temcamier meus filius , iustus ut is tempero Vestri filius. Commodo , abbas , commodo , servo meus parum unus."
She remained there, hands gripped together and her forehead resting against the seat of the sofa, crying silently, shoulders shaking, for a long time, before the strength returned to her limbs. She got to her feet, moving slowly and unsteadily into the kitchenette, tipping the jug of cold coffee down the sink, and proceeding to make herself a cup of tea, because God knew she deserved a little bit of pleasure in this horrible string of events.
Tyn shifted, dozing lightly, enough for him to shift back against the clothed form behind him, muttering nonsense as he turned over, pressing himself against Edvard and settling back down into a deeper, stiller sleep. With his injured hand folded over the pillow above his head, the other resting in the space between his naked chest and Var’s shirt-covered torso, the peaceful face showed no sign of the trouble his mother was suffering, nor of Edvard’s words, although perhaps the tiny smile suggested that, subconsciously, Tyn was aware of that declaration.
Lysander laughed, not cruelly, but softly, with the gentle tones of an amused man, wrapping his arms more tightly about the smaller male. "Thank you, love. But…" he let go, and tipped his head to the side, looking somewhat bemused. "You don’t have to compliment me. I’m only telling you what you should know, what you should have been told…" the fingers moved to caress his cheek, "by all the others…" and then he bit down on his lip, eyes becoming oddly damp, blinking that away as he bent his head. That light, soft kiss was the most tender he had yet bestowed, and it signified the end of their embrace.
"So, which one shall we open for this toast of yours?" Lysander prompted, rubbing his hands together in a perhaps overly enthusiastic display. "Pick one. Or we could finish off the Rosa, if you want. I know you rather liked that one." he paused, looking Kris over again, running a careful hand over his forehead. "Although if you’re still feeling a little delicate…" he muttered, and planted another gentle kiss to the soft lips. "We can leave it for a while and enjoy a toast tonight?" Lysander’s smile had become secretive and shrewd, but he did not continue his words, only moving to pull the fridge open and investigate the contents.
It was true, the cupboards were far from bare, unlike his landlord’s, but he shut the fridge quickly, without revealing that fact. A little lie like that, that there was nothing edible in the house, would suit his purposes, and he’d be able to lure Kris out of the apartment, and into some classy restaurant in a better end of town.
*Lord, forgive me, for I have sinned, and let sin escape me. My son... You know what has tempted and drawn him away from Your light. Bring him back, Lord, save him from the devils that are plaguing him... He is a good boy, Lord, You know that! He would never go against Your teachings, never! The devil is tempting my son, just as he tempted Your son. Please, father, please, save my little one...
His cheeks coloured faster than a fly can cease movement in its frail wings and land. Pink burnt all the way to his nose-tip, lips parting carefully to speak as Lysander broke away. Funny thing was, he choked on all the words that might have dropped syllable by syllable from his lips and hinged his jaw back, eyes fluttering over the kitchen, body leaning heavily back against the countertop. Did... Lysander know what he was? But... but was that the reason he felt so weak? So... pained? It couldn't be. That didn't bother him... or at least, he didn't think it did. It never really had before; a job was only a job. Doing his best to rearrange the features upon his face, the young singer stared hard at Lysander's stooping back. "I... whatever you want... But I would like /something/ to drink... You wouldn't happen to have any lemonade or something, would you?" he inquired, his voice returning in weak intervals as he scooched along the edging of the work surface, moving back towards his love and the refrigerator.
Edvard listened half-heartedly to the fuzzed Latin muted by the door. He had never been all that good with Latin, since his teaching had been done by himself, but he knew it had to be a prayer. He caught snatches here and there, enough to know that he was a devilish temptation and that Tyn's mother was a religious nutcase. Shifting in his place, his mind took over the same old battle that goes on in many minds all around the world, living and undead. Is there really a God? And... if there is-or was-would he listen to a damned soul anyways? Weren't vampires, werewolves, and whatnot just dark inkblots upon his clean canvas? Weren't their names faded and scribbled out in the Lamb's Book of Life? Surely they were. God cared nothing for those who were damned; he gave no second thought to those gone forever from his light, cast only into the darkened shadows. Leeches. That's all they were. They took away from his chosen ones, the ones that still had a chance to redeem themselves, to pledge their lives for something that they couldn't see, couldn't feel... something fuelled only by faith and faith alone.
Was there a God? Edvard didn't know, nor did he care, when it was all said and done. Holding softly to the boy, the man, his lover, in his arms, Eddy scooched closer, nuzzling that set of lips with his own before shutting his eyes and locking his hands over the limp spine. There would be no thief dare try and steal his Tyn away in such a feeble state of slumber. Not that woman, not the devil, not even God himself... He was to have Tyn, and him alone. So long by yourself can break a thin string inside, make you cling to the last best thing you've had until you either help it thrive or crush it within your grasp. Is there a God? Would he understand?
Like a small child, he slowly wrapped himself around Lysander, looking up into those oh-so-blue eyes, lips pulled into an apprehensive smile-as though he wasn't certain it was the best thing to do. His hands took up on Lysander's hips and his chin hooked over the man's shoulder. "But you know, you really do have to most perfect hands I've ever seen..." he took one carefully as it was pressed between their chests and broke apart from him, taking that one hand perhaps twice as big as his own and laying it palm up, fingers tracing the shallow lines.
Lysander’s fingers twitched involuntarily at the soft caress down his palm, which sent a strange, but not unpleasant, shiver up his naked spine and made the down-like hair on his neck stand on-end. "Tickles…" he muttered in a little voice, as his shoulders hunched, eyes closing. After a moment of this torture, Lysander’s free hand caught the wrist of Kris’, pulling it away and planting it on his own hip, the tips teasing at the prominent bones. "You’re so perfect…" he breathed, in the same, low, whimper-ish tone, moving closer to run the tip of his nose over the red cheek, and then up the shapely jaw, laying kisses in it’s wake. "…I’m surprised no one snapped you up before, took you away on a private jet to their tiny, beautiful desert island," Lysander’s voice dropped again, lips and tongue playing over the curve of Kris’ pierced ear, nibbling gently at the skin beneath, "and kept you there to be worshiped, like some sort of tribal god…"
His hands slid off Kris’ hips, moving to pull a glass from the cupboard, and setting it down on the work surface, his eyes veiled by dark lashes as they glanced back to the smaller male, a smile visible on his lips. "I’m being serious, Kris. Someone should have taken you away from all this… normality. It isn’t…" he made a small wave of his hand, searching for the word, "this isn’t you. You belong in films or fairytales. In fact… you’re the guy. The guy… love songs are written for. The beautiful ones in videos that don’t belong with everyone else. The ones that deserve more, you know what I mean, don’t you?" he asked suddenly, straightening up from where he’d been pulling a cigarette from a packet, and using the gas-hob to light the end. Taking a small drag, he purred; a noise of pleasure equal and almost surpassing sex, before holding the cigarette out, wordlessly offering it to Kris. "By lemonade, do you mean, clear, fizzy carbonated drink, or the freshly-squeezed, pure lemon-juice, water, and sugar mix that enterprising 11 year olds sell on the pavement?"
Tyn slept an hour, two, three, and four, without movement, or any sign of life, his fingers still curled around Edvard’s sleeve, stiff and oblivious to any attempts to remove them, just like a corpse. It was after the fifth hour had gone by, and the six was into its zenith, that Tyn moved, waking with the groans of one who has slept well, but would rather not wake. But he did, even if outside the sun was only just beginning to sink, he was stirring, and pleasantly surprised to find Eddy curled against him, after the argument they had endured the night before…
He paused then, not moving any more then to easing strained muscles, and began to strain his mind, dragging from the depths and deep corners of his mind the exact events of the previous day. As perhaps anyone who had submitted to the same events as he had, conscious or unconscious for the most part, the youth was indeed upset to find he could not remember the events that had brought him back to this apartment, or why he was undressed when Edvard was fully clothed. The last point seemed to be becoming a habit, at least, from Tyn’s point of view. Something was wrong, and he was going to find out what. He pushed himself up, or tired, only giving out a soft whimper of pain as the welts on his palm pulled open again, and his body slipped back onto the mattress, moving closer to Var was if the gently slumbering figure could make the pain stop, and the gentle spread of red blood stop soaking into the bandage.
There was a frail movement against him, soft and weak as a kitten's chest rising when it breathes. Edvard's mind slowly registered this, trying to remember whose bed he was in now. Had that evening before, with Tyn's mother and all just been a dream? Had Ethan's death been real? Or was this still the desperate young man against him? No, it couldn't have been.
In his head, he could feel the twitch of his internal clock, telling him it was sunset. The golden eyes moved behind their lids, mouth opening slowly to pull in a heavy breath as the lids over his eyes parted, blinking once or twice to accommodate to the near pitch darkness. "Tyn? Love?" the arm that had hours earlier curled over Tyn's body had fallen, and rested between himself and another body. "Baby, are you all right?" that same arm slowly snaked over the soft skin, curling around the other's shoulder, eyes now narrowed against the darkness. He shifted closer, letting his nose-tip take inventory, moving over the curve of the boy's cheek. He smiled, the familiar scent of cigarettes and blood hitting him. "Hey, babe. Did you sleep all right? Is your hand, oh, goodness, let me see it, love." his other hand had felt around, finding Tyn's and carefully taken it in his own, bandages damp. The vampire turned, levering himself up on his other arm and let his fingers flick on the bedside lamp-the one that was left looking somewhat out of place. The light flooded the room, weak and rather feebly trying to get around larger objects to fill in the shadows-and failing, rather miserably. With long dark places filling the hollows of Edvard's face, he tilted his head, eyes moving in the darkened shadow to look upon that ruined appendage. He frowned slowly, and then lifted his face to kiss Tyn's cheek, eyes catching expectantly upon the other man's as he pulled back a tad. "Hasn't it healed, my darling?"
"The product of enterprising adolescents, of course. Innocence is merely sugary water sold for dimes, I must absorb some of that... Isn't it sad how you miss the old times and clichés of such naivete?" Kris sighed slowly, eyes shutting as he tried to remember the times he had spoken of. The only time he could remember that vaguely reminded him of his innocence was the time he and his foster brother tried making cookies to sell out by their garage. That had been a mess. Leaning back into the arms reaching to the cupboards, he let his fingers curl into his palms, lips tipping upwards into a chaste little smile. Those had been the good times. Good times.
Waking from his daze as his eyes flickered open, he took the long proffered cigarette and placed it between his lips, a quick drag, and then back between his index and middle finger, body shifting into the hard edge of the counter top. The boy's eyes instantly lifted to Lysander's, and he smiled. "I think... I know what you mean. But I... never... I don't think I fit... into... fairytales and whatnot. You're just...." he wanted to remark about delusional, but he couldn't bring himself to it. Lysander was perfectly... well, perfect. Anyways, now his mind was stuck in gears between cookie dough and denying his supposed perfection. "You know what's better than cheesecake... and you... and you /in/ cheesecake?" One eyebrow raised, cigarette twitching in his fingers as he turned it around, giving it back to his love. "Go on, handsome, guess."
Lysander laughed, moving forwards and hips winding slightly, pressing himself against the smaller, darker haired man, careful not to brush bare skin against the cigarette. With those supposedly perfect hands he reached out, while stealing a nicotine flavoured kiss, and lifted Kris up, seating him on the edge of the counter and then moving to press himself between the slightly spread legs, taking several small, but deep drags of the shared fag. Ye gods, it was good to date a fellow smoker. Otherwise, he knew, he lover would likely complain, but, in reality, it would not of worked. Lysander would never be able to escape the need to brush his teeth every time he locked-lips with a non-smoker.
"That was more poetic then I expected from you" the bearded man said, carefully, as he moved away, leaving the cigarette in Kris’ delicate and small fingers, before moving to fetch a glass, and the cartoon of juice from the fridge. He stood still, pouring some, tasting that, before adding more to the glass, and handing it over, trying to figure out the answer to his little lover’s riddle, before his cheeks coloured in a soft remembrance of the coy, shy Lysander who has first taken Kris, or rather, Casper, to dinner.
"Me in cheesecake?"
With a soft, droned purr, Tyn nuzzled into the kiss moving around to place his lips on Edvard’s, making it last those few seconds longer. In those extra moments of pure delight, the uninjured arm moved about Edvard’s clothed shoulder, holding him still. Perhaps in that little, thoughtless movement, the youth had displayed all the forgiveness and all the compassion that he could, somehow, without saying anything, or even fully knowing all the facts. It was best sometimes, not to know everything, and be content, or to know everything, and be miserable, although Tyn himself was still too young to know that. At the moment, they both has too much on their minds as it was, and the whereabouts of his lover over the last few days were unimportant, he could have dined at the devil’s table or directed heaven’s choir while Rafael was on an errand, Tyn didn’t know nor care. He was here now.
He would always be there, when he was truly needed…
"No… it hurts…" he managed, tilting his head down to rest it on the older vampire’s shoulder, taking in his smell and the softness of his skin, breathing slow and shallowly, but otherwise normal, his eye closed on the semi-lit room, caring nothing for it’s contents, or what lay outside it. "It’ll heal. Maybe I’m just coming down with something. I used to get sick all the time when I was little, and it was cold, the other night… and…" his voice trailed off, realising this was a poor excuse, and an unbelievable one too. "I’ll… go out and feed… sometime." The words were muted against Edvard’s white shoulder, swallowing softly and pulling the bleeding hand from the other’s grip, to wrap it about the feminine back and cling to it. "Thank you. For bringing me back."
Edvard winced inwardly. Even as the soft, forgiving caresses and gestures touched him, made his insides throb, he could not help but feel repulsed with himself. The truth must be spread, he could not lie without lying again and again to cover it up. Besides, lies could never stay secret unless all the occupants of the deceit were dead-and even then, it did not stay silent, now did it? "I... I did not bring you back, my love. I was.... your mother is here. She brought you home before I could. Tell me you don't hate me because... because I wasn't able to find you in time?" he could not bring himself to say anything to the contrary. He had not been able to find his small lover in time, nor would he have without the young man being cold, wet, and most certainly farther into death than he had been. He let the hand slip from his grip and he carefully sat up, sitting clothed chest to naked skin with Tyn, holding him as close as he dared. The master vampire wanted to keep him like this forever, keep him innocently beautiful and frail so he could be the redeemer forever and not feel like the bad guy again... But he couldn't stop it now. The ball had to keep spinning. "You're mother's here..." he said again, slow and in the dullest voice he had directly into the other's ear, pulling the covers up Tyn's back, eyes cutting to the door. "I'm sure she's in the living room, or at least... that's where I left her. Would you like me to... would you... Do you..." his thoughts broke, coming in laboured breaths, eyes shutting as he kissed Tyn again, begging silently for forgiveness that he might need to beg later.
Kris laughed, leaning his head to the side and licking the nicotine coating from his lips, fingers mindlessly twirling the cigarette before returning it to that pouted pink Cupid's bow. His lungs drew in another gulp of the noxious gasses with the vague thought of how bad it was for him and then it clicked onto who had brought him onto such a bad habit... Bleh, he just kept ruining his perfectly good thoughts like that, didn't he? Inwardly rebellious, he took another deep breath, expelled it, and then handed it back to Lysander who was now reapproaching. That was enough for him, those corrosive toxins wearing away at his lungs. "Poetic, you say? Very true, I find it too poetic for me too... Hold on an I'll revert back to my odd self..." a look of deep concentration passed over the singer's face and his eyes screwed shut for a minute before reopening them to find a glass of pallid sunshine lemonade before them. Carefully, he reached up, taking the glass and sipping down an appreciative drink of it.
"Lovely... Now, yes, you in cheesecake... Anyways, on with the question, do you know? Would you like to guess? There might be more than one answer..." a mischievous grin cracked his sweet features and he folded his legs before unfolding them against and using his calves hooked around Lysander's hips to pull him closer, fingers still laced around the glass. "Hmmmmmm?" he prompted, head turned to the side, eyebrows crooked.
"Mama?" Tyn repeated, his own tone matching Edvard in its lifelessness. But not in regret, his breath was checked, held, as if Edvard was teasing him, messing with him. But the sad look in the other’s beautiful yellow eyes told Tyn instantly that this was no joke. "Eddy…" he muttered, pressing a gently kiss to the other's cheek, frowning slightly in his desire to understand what was happening. "What’s wrong? Eddy…" he leaned closer, moving to straddle Edvard’s lap, letting the sheets slip down again as his one eye blinked as it search his lover’s expression. From the shift in position, it was clear Tyn was not going to allow Edvard to escape, and he showed no real interest in deal with his adoptive mother yet either.
Perhaps it was that Tyn’s brain was having trouble processing the idea that she was there, still existing in the world outside his memories, or perhaps, he was more concerned with Edvard, he new protector, or maybe both or something else. Thing was, he didn’t want to leave. Something about this, them being together now, undisturbed, was important, and it needed to be prolonged. Had Edvard mentioned it because he thought Tyn would feel better? Or because he was uncomfortable and wanted the blue-haired male to leave him alone for a while? Did Edvard think that Tyn was going to run off with his mother and leave the other there? Or was it different – Eddy felt guilty. Ashamed. Because he had not been there.
Tyn’s cheek was beginning to stain with tears again, and he lent forwards, pressing his head into the crock of the elder’s neck and sobbing dryly. "You… don’t need… I’d never hate… oh Eddy…" he took a deep breath, trying to quell the snivelling. "You are here, there. You’ve never been in the wrong place…" he managed, wiping his face on his arm, before tearing off the bandage which had loosened in his sleep.
"Do I get three guesses?" Zan asked as he was tugged forwards, taking the cigarette and flicking it towards an ashtray by the sink, still pilled with breakfast dishes, letting his now free hands land on Kris’ hips. "Things That Are Better Than Lysander Thornycroft, Covered in Cheesecake. An Essay in Three Parts." He began in a mock-professor drone, "Guess one; Lysander Thornycroft NOT covered in cheesecake. Or in cheesecake. Guess two; spaghetti westerns. Starring John Wayne. Guess three;" he paused, eyes darkening slightly as he pulled Kris forwards, grinding hip into hip, "you, in our bed, with me." Zan smirked, licking over Kris’ lemonade stained lips, before drawing back, his grip loosening his eyes returning to that soft blue colour, although his lips still held that devilish cast.
"If I guessed right at all, do I get to pick a prize? Because I have an idea…" he breathed, tongue roaming to dampen his dry lips in an overly sensual way, before moving back behind his teeth, keeping his gaze fixed on Kris, and his attention unwavering, although his fingers had begun to creep of their own accord, around to stroke at the curve of the other’s spine, fingers moving in long, light caresses down the hollow of the singer’s shapely back, and then ghost over the waistband of the baggy cotton pants.
"Comeoncomeoncomeon!" Lysander whined, pouting slightly, which made him look rather silly, and he seemed to realise this, stopping quickly with both whine and pout. "Did I win you? I mean, the prize? Tell me, Kris, don’t tease…"
"Tease?" the youth blinked, eyes taking on the same naughty stare they had before full of a practised pout warmed with something more. Something like desire. "I would never tease, I know not of these things you speak." Kris leaned forwards, lips touching the oddly pouted ones of Lysander’s and then feeling them slacken slightly into a small smile. "And I must say, you did come terribly close, however, I must disappoint you that perhaps it might have been the westerns... you silly boy." The thin, softly muscled arms slithered around Lysander's neck, pecking kisses over that frizzled jaw. "Hehe, your beard tickles, you know..." he whispered, like it was some sort of secret, eyes closing slowly with a sigh. "And yes, since you guessed so expertly, you may pick a prize, whatever pleases you." Tilting his dark-haired head back from the masculine curve of Lysander's neck, he bumped a brown bearded chin with his nosetip, eyebrows dipping mischievously as his lips kissed the other's lower lip, catching it between his teeth. "Rawr," he grunted, finally releasing that lip and tilting his face down, against the bare, downy-hairless chest, mouth dancing over the protruding clavicles. "Your wish, is my command." he said in a light, sing-song voice, downcast eyes shimmering playfully.
"Oh, honey... don't cry, baby, I didn't mean to make you cry..." the words came in a hushed rush, mouth lifting to kiss away at the shimmering droplets of confusion dribbling down his sweet one's cheeks. The hands curling to comfort the other unlaced, catching the binding for Tyn's hand and dropping it onto the floor. The blood soaking it had no need to stain the covers any more than it all ready had. The other hand lifted the blue-haired boy's chin, trying to get that one eye upon his own as he desperately flushed away his own pain. "I don't want to see you sad, don't cry. Come now, don't... You'll make me cry...." his trembling lips carefully pressed to the other's, quieting any further words that might come to make him feel worse, and yet, make him feel all the better. He was forgiven. Forgiven! Redeemed by his only redeemer, loved by his only lover. How much better could he feel?
"Tyn, sweet-heart... Shh, here... Don't hurt your hand... Don't hurt it.." Edvard lifted the slightly oozing appendage to his lips and bestowed the most gentle of kisses there, trying to 'kiss it better'. "What can I do? How can I... make you feel better?" his voice was steadying with every thought, every syllable was sounder than before and his eyes were not so burdened. "Let me help?" Another kiss was bestowed upon the other, this one more to show his affection and need to care more than anything else.
Lysander smiled the smile of a truly pleased man, who had no clouds on his horizons. Only bright, clear skies as far as he could see, and he had the rest of his life to enjoy the world around him. Of course, those bright horizons were the walls of the little apartment, and the brightness itself was Kris, and to continue the metaphor, the rest of his life would only be the rest of the day, until they would have to part, if that was still what Kris wished to do. No matter, because the long afternoon ahead of them would be enough, to sustain him until they would meet again. Waiting, almost impatiently, for the glass to be drained, he lifted it from the small fingers, and set it down on the work surface. And then, with careful movements, he pulled Kris close to him again, and lifted him up, pressing his lips over the smooth jaw, mirroring Kris' own kisses. "Does it tickle?" He muttered, moving his face lower under the disguise of kissing the curved shoulder, but pressing the strands of beard up against Kris' skin, rubbing against him before moving back to press proper kisses over the pale skin, his hands still supporting the other man's body against his own.
Tyn moved closer into Edvard's grip, seeking all the warmth and friendliness and comfort he could. He was trying not to cry, truly he was, but it was not so simple. Edvard was wonderful, there was no other way to describe him; but gentle, loving, brave, all fell into that category. The tears were beginning to fade, and he was soon only felt with the laboured, shaky breathes as he recovered, still clinging, the pain in his hand forgotten. His mother was forgotten, for the moment, although it would be impossible to forget her for any length of time. Rosa had always been dominating. "I'm … sorry, Edvard." He managed, lifting his head to rub cheeks with the dark haired man. "I didn't… mean to. You'll forgive me, now, right? For… before. I…" he reached up with his unbleedling hand, running his fingers down that feminine cheekbone. "I hit you. Oh, Eddy… I'm sorry." He whimpered again, and buried his head into the collar of his lover's shirt, unspeaking, but not crying again. No, no more tears, not again. There had been too many tears shared between them, and not enough laughter and joy. Tyn wanted to change that. They were not characters in some Shakespearian tragedy, and Edvard deserved some peace, for all the hurt he'd suffered. No more needing forgiveness, no more tears, no more of it all. No more. Tyn didn't want it anymore, he wanted a cheap novel romance, and happiness and rose-tinted memories and… peace. He wanted peace.
"She's… here?" He added after he'd managed to fully calm himself, shuffling closer onto Edvard's lap, fingers still latched to the fabric of his shirt. "you… let her in? What did she say? How is she? Why is she here?" The questions continued, Tyn's perplexed frown firmly on his face, and lips slightly parted. He didn't seriously expect Edvard to answer all his questions, but he expected something. After all, the other male had seen more then he had, and must have spoken to her…
The eldest shook off the words of regret, the mark on his jaw long forgotten in the dark, in the hours past it meant nothing to him anymore. He had forgotten all the bitter words, the pain across his flesh. Edvard let himself loosen around Tyn, body holding him so close in his lap, fingers keeping the skin spread beneath them in a silent, soft embrace. Neither words nor actions would part them for a span of minutes, in the time the older vampire's eyes blinking back everything he felt in cleansing drops. He would not, /not/ cry... Or, at least, that's what he said to himself. He kept the promise after a few more long moments, the words of Tyn's query reaching his ears and being pondered through confused blinks of thought. "She... yes, she's here... She's well, I think, quite worried about you, that's for certain... worried about... us, our... /situation/. And she's here because, apparently," he sniffled slightly, clearing his airways. "Because she wants to break us off, and make sure you're doing all right, I would guess...." he let his head lift from the other's shoulder to glance sheepishly into the amber eye. "Would you like to have a cup of coffee before you speak with her? Something stronger, perhaps?"
"Ooooh! Yes, it tickles! Quiiiiiiiit!" the singer giggled breathlessly, half-heartedly trying to push the other's jaw away from his own, fingers running over skin from Lysander's shoulders to the curve of his neck, catching in the brown locks and giving a soft little pull. Then, the proper kisses returned, and he grinned like a Cheshire cat, tongue poking between his teeth, lips pulled back. "Ooooooh! You're awful, tickling me like that..." one thin, feminine finger prodded against Lysander's chest a quick kiss to the man's chin following. "Awful man, you."
He shifted on his hard perch, arms laying over and around Lysander's neck, the seventh vertebrate poking at the palm of Kris's hand. "Come on, now, pick your priiiiiiiize. And you can't tickle me, because that isn't fair." and then, like liquid pouring from the glass, he moved back, arms dropping from the other man's body, spine buckling and pushing his abdomen outwards and his shoulders together. He looked so much like a colourful rough sketch in an artist's tatty sketchpad that it was nearly unrealistic, watching him pout his pink-Crayola-scribbled lips and tilt his peach-shaded face, black spikes of hair falling onto his forehead. "Come now, slow-poke..."
"She wouldn’t approve." Tyn muttered into Edvard’s flesh, closing that one eye and sighing. He hadn’t expected this. Was it only a few days before when he had told Edvard of his mother’s betrayal and his own regret and distress? Now she was back, and as interfering as ever. To break them up? What was going on? He kissed Edvard again, looking more and more perplexed, and pulled flesh clothes from the cupboards, then moving to the bathroom, his steps barely steady, but purposeful, and he seemed unwilling to just sit now and be treated like an invalid, or a child.
His mother, for all the good she meant, and she did mean good -she would not try to break them up out of spite or any form of malice- did not understand. She tried too hard, she thought she was doing the best for him, but not by him. And although he loved her dearly, he found anger bubbling up in him as he splashed cold water over his face, and growled at himself, running his fingers through his messy hair. How dare she, how dare she swan back into his life after a half decade of no contact, or forced separation, leaving him when he needed her most, and then try and remove the best thing that had happened to him in the whole of his life! Tyn matched back into the bedroom, pulling on his clothes and making soft snarling noises, before turning to look at Var. "You didn’t pay any attention to her, did you? You’re going to stay, aren’t you, Eddy?"
He swallowed then, and bit his lip, not waiting for an answer, getting up and moving to the door, pushing it open, and then moving out into the living room, and then stopping dead, staring at the woman who had nurtured him, and then so suddenly disappeared from his life. Rosa seemed not to have noticed him, standing, facing the bloodied wall, a delicate cup held carefully in two hands, her head tilted slightly to oneside, and garbed in one of the rich, thick dresses Tyn remembered so clearly from childhood, her hair now loose down her back. "…Mama…"
Lysander poked the other’s stomach, gently, and then turned away, one arm crossed over his chest, the other balanced on that, the hand supporting his chin, surveying his kitchen as if he had never been there before. "A prize. A prize? Hmm, what to choose, what to choose…" he muttered, before turning quickly, pulling Kris off his perch and into his arms, "I’ll pick you then." He said, gently easing the other back to the ground, engaging in a long, slow, and deep kiss, his tongue pressing over those crayon-coloured lips, and then inside, lapping at the damp warmth, and letting his hands begin to slide under the loose pyjama bottoms. "I win you. For as long as you can stand me." He added, breaking the kiss, and then gently leading Kris out of the kitchen, his eyes dark and hungry, fingers moving to stroke the curve of the younger man’s hips, and press them both together. "Unless, I’m not allowed to claim you." Zan muttered, as they reached the bedroom door, pausing before they entered.
Kris pulled himself against Lysander's tall, heavy frame, feeling so tiny, too weak to deny him. "Oh, now what sort of prize-giver-outer would I be if I didn't let you claim me?" he gave a puzzled stare, one arm wrapped around the other man's side, slipping curiously over the gently curved muscles rippling down the brunet’s ribs. His jungle-lush eyes fluttered darkly, wondering if his passion even touched at Lysander's. Had he been so used to lust for so many years that the feeling eluded him, that this, this, mere thought passed over him without any consideration? Or was this even lust? Or was he confusing himself? He had never been in love, not with anyone. There had been brotherly love, by the man who betrayed him, and there had been family love, until they shipped him away to the next family... but there had never been partnering love, such as what he supposed vaguely, was this.
Either way, he would not deny someone so sweet. Not Lysander. No, Lysander could have him; all of him could belong to this wonderful creature. His body, his soul, his mind... If the man wanted it, then so be it. Let him have it, the singer had no use for the things, loneliness would creep into each in good time if he did not dispose of them in such a way. "No," he whispered, lips pursing into a smile, cheeks colouring again as he let his face press into the other's chest, lips barely moving as hot breath ghosted over the soft, finely coloured skin. "Take me, hold me, have me... all of me. I'm yours."
Turning his head, dazed as he was, the vampire watched his immortal companion moving with a fierce strength that he was sure relied on pure adrenaline and mixed emotions, fuelled like gas fumes. He was stumped, eyes flickering, head turning as the light of the living room burned over his face when Tyn opened the door. Rosa had made herself more tea, he could smell, and she was up and about. Probably milling around the apartment, fretting with something, no doubt... As quiet as untimely death, the immortal rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his lips and following the other to the door, stopping at the wooden framing. He would not impose, unless watching quietly was imposing... This was his battle too, if that's what it should be called. This woman was taking his baby away, or was trying, and that was unacceptable. Tyn was his now, and hopefully forever. She could not take him away, not even with her religious babble and her persuading, dominating ways. Edvard would see to that.
Lysander watched the thoughts flicker over Kris’ face, the thoughts and then the decision and then the flush. Kris was beautiful, and worthy of men much more impressive then this geeky computer nerd, but, life was made up of chances, and it seemed that, for once, the lottery had come out in his numbers. Now, better keep it safe, and secret, and not fritter his wonderful prize away…
He leant down, letting the words of his lover brush his skin, before tipping his head up and kissing gently, pulling Kris in, and towards the bed. Lysander, being in the lead, touched the wooden frame first, and sat down, now at a level with the smaller man’s navel, and now faced with the opportunity to satisfy some of the hunger in him, fingers beginning to slide the too-large cotton pants from around the other’s hips, breath held and his body on fire.
Tyn stepped into the room, not speaking again until his mother’s eyes moved to him, and then back to the slogan, her expression soft, and somewhat indulgent. "I gather you’re better, child. I’m glad but…" she took a small sip from the cup, and glanced at the other man, half-hidden in the doorway. "But I feel that you both are going to want to discuss something other than your health, am I right?" She set the cup down onto the coffee table, and then planted herself in one of the leather armchairs at right angles to the sofa, which Tyn, his body tense, sat down on, eye glancing sidelong towards Eddy.