Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - A Mother's Love part 3
"Mama… Eddy… Eddy said you were… worried about me. About me being with him."
Rosa didn’t even blink. "And I should think so too. What are you playing at, Tyn? I’m sure I never, ever brought you up to be so flippant."
"I’m not being flippant, mother. Edvard is very important, and I said he could stay here…"
"I have no objections to him staying. Goodness knows you have enough spare apartments in the place. You seriously can’t be making enough money to live on out of this venture of yours." She took a deep breath. "But that isn’t important. I have no objections to Edvard staying, and making himself useful. I have an objection to you sleeping with him Tyn. You know that’s sin."
The boy pouted, turning his head away and then back to her after a moment. "We’ve not done anything like that. You’re jumping to conclusions."
"You sleep together, in the same bed, don’t you?" Rosa said, the calmness of her tone becoming a little more distressed.
"Sometimes. But I used to sleep in the same bed as James, when I stayed at his house."
"Tyn, you were seven years old at the time. A child! And so was James. He was not…" her eyes briefly met Edvard’s again, "a fully grown man, with… perverted tastes."
"Mother!" Tyn’s tone was hurt now, seriously pained. "Please. Please stop it…"
Rosa did stop, letting her son’s voice fall back into a more steady, placid rhythm, before speaking again. "I’m trying to make you see, Tyn, that what you are getting yourself into is wrong. Do you even love him? Tell me, do you love him?"
There was silence.
Lysander’s fingertips moved over the indent of Kris’ hips, before pulling him closer, lips latching onto that flesh and placing kisses, and gentle bites over the man’s abdomen, before adding a few small love bites, careful never to actually cause pain, before leaning back onto the bed and pulling Kris down on top of him. "How nice to see you here…" he muttered, before rolling them both over, kissing Kris’ lips this time, and kicking off his own trousers, pressing skin to skin down the whole length of their bodies, and letting his arms curl about the singer’s back.
"I don’t think I’ve ever cared about any of the women I’ve brought back here." Tyn said simply, throwing caution to the wind. "I don’t even remember any of their names. Edvard is different. He’s staying here. If you want to condemn me for that, so be it." He swallowed then, the movement betraying his brave, unfaltering words.
His dead, emotionless face suddenly flushed, turning a dulled red around his cheeks, his lips parting. That was something, her, calling him a grown man with-how did she phrase it? Oh, yes, 'perverted tastes'. Even as his anger bubbled, relentlessly writhing at his insides with her foundless claims, her hurtful accusations, he was silent. He would not betray his lover's words, not his actions... Nothing. But he would also not let him stand there, being beaten relentlessly by the storm. Skulking out from the shadows, he moved to the chair, eyes downcast from Tyn's mother's, lips pulling back to show the pain his wordless moments of reassurance for the other man-or rather, the child before him. His hand carefully ran down the back of the chair and landed upon Tyn's shoulder, patting it carefully, his mouth dipping to press a kiss to the other's hair before he thought better of it. It didn't matter, Rosalind would find out sooner or later what their relationship meant. Love lead to things that would be most certainly ungodly in her eyes, so tender caresses were nothing now.
"Good to see you here too," Kris murmured, arms snaking around the broad shoulders, fingers playing into the valley of the other's back and up his neck, face broke into a wayward and yet coy smile. Laying there for a moment, relishing in the feel of the heavier, warmer body above his own, he sighed, shutting his long, dark-lashed eyes, tongue wetting over his lips. After a few moments of blissful silence, the young man leaned his head forwards, muscles in his neck pulling taught as his kisses met Lysander's lips, eyelashes fluttering against the other's cheeks. "You're perfect, you said, you're beautiful, you said... And now, now I say, you're the most wonderful thing I've come across, ever, and that should mean something..." he whispered, voice borderline with softly rolling emotions, butterflies fluttering in his stomach, causing that familiar light-headedness to take him over. "I don't want to scare you, you know... But would it... would it hurt so much... I mean... to say I might, well, might be crazy enough, after two days, to say I love you?"
Those childish eyes reopened, looking up into the sky-blue ones of Lysander, cheeks once more colouring that day, his lower lip catching between his teeth. The last thing the boy wanted was to screw something so wonderfully wonderful up, but then again, he couldn't, and never had been able to completely control his emotions and his words. "I, I," he said, hastening to choke down those foolish things he had said, wanting to catch them from the air. Yet, he couldn't, and he turned even redder, trying quickly to apologise, "I don't... let me, oh... I didn't mean, I-I..."
Edvard then regained himself, seeing this as good a time as any to step into the conversation. "Madame Rosalind, might I be privileged enough to join in this conversation? Or do I have no say in the whole matter? Personally, I think I do, I being the... /problem/." his voice faltered, and his eyes uncased there distaste for the woman for a millisecond before they blinked it back again. "I, like yourself, want to do what is best, for your son," he was not going to wait for an invitation any longer. "wish to address the matter of his happiness... Can't you see, that living forever is a long, lonely process? And if one does not go mad-for heed me, they so often do- then they kill themselves, or turn to more devious ways of living than being with someone of their own gender. God, if there is such a being, for he has not shown himself to me, cannot worry with us! He does not care of the ones so long damned... Why is it that Tyn cannot indulge into such innocent bliss as being with me instead of doing something even more drastic? Why is it so horrible what we are? Lovers keep each other forever, keep each other sane, happy!" And even as he had tried to contain himself, the emotions residing in the immortal's chest had began to leak, his voice growing deeper, louder with every syllable. There was no sense in what Rosalind spoke of! None! And by God and the Devil, he was going to make her see, with or without his sanity. Taking better hold on himself, as he had not yet began to scream or shout, but turn somewhat livid around his fast-moving lips, the vampire blinked, settling back behind the chair. "I... must apologise, I do not mean to be so... rude... but you must understand my position. You, Madame, are trying to take away the best thing I've had in nearly four hundred years... you cannot seem to understand what I feel, therefore, I must try and make you see.... Forgive me." he bowed his neck once more, fingers laying over the cuffs of each sleeve, eyes looking bleakly upon his lover's hair. If his speaking had been a mistake, he was readying himself to take responsibility for it.
There was little he could have done to stop the torrent of words, even if had needed, wanted to, he could not have silenced Edvard, but as the words, even the drawn out apology ceased, Tyn moved closer, catching one of Edvard's hands and holding it, palms held tightly together in reassurance and in comfort, but taking that for himself too. What Edvard had said was true; it was, because Edvard had said it. But there was a deeper truth to it as well, something stronger and unbreakable. It wasn't the issue of God, it had never been an issue of sin and god and truth, it was an issue of them, Tyn, and Edvard. It was about them, no third party or deity or person, for that matter, could involve themselves in something so private between the pair of them.
Rosalind said nothing, nothing through Edvard's speech, or acknowledged his pleas for forgiveness. He had spoke out of turn, spoke unduly. And spoken with too much passion and fire, something which the calm, composed woman on the opposite chair found most distasteful. She moved her hands from her knees, smoothing the folds of her skirts, before looking back towards her son. "And is that what you think?" it was a soft, gentle question, asked without the barest hint of distaste, of anguish. "Have you turned your back on what I taught you, Tyn?"
The boy's head remained tipped towards the floor, focused on his toes, which curled repeatedly into the carpet, and his grip tightened on Edvard's hand, as it had done when every question had been asked of him, as if instead of questions, they had been accusations. "No, mama…" he muttered, swallowing another round of tears. "I… I…" he paused, not sure what he was meaning to say. He did not believe, as Edvard did, that as soon as he had been turned, he had been denied heaven, even if he would not reach it in the same terms as a human might. He had been made this way, forced into it, against his will. He had not wished this to happen, and he knew, somehow, that what he was did not make him evil. He killed, but not for fun, not for the rush it gave to have that sort of power. He killed to keep himself alive, to feed, as humans killed creatures to stay alive. And he did not kill half as often as he should, because it did feel wrong to him. It had not been too long since he had been mortal himself, and he had lost non of his humanity in that time. Maybe, as the years, centuries passed, he would do.
But how could he, with his mother sitting opposite him, still the personification of purity, of pious service to her god. If her god had turned away from her, as Edvard had believed, she still served him. Tyn knew that. He was a product of her charity, of her humanity. Not anyone would take in a child, raise it, love it, and care for it just as much, if not more, than their own flesh. No, Rosa may or may not have been Damned, but she carried on regardless of that.
"Mama, I don't want you to hate me. I don't mean for that at all. But… god loves me, doesn't he? Because he made me… and if he doesn't make mistakes, then… I must be how he wanted me to be." He moved from Edvard then, letting his grip on the other's hand slip, and he crossed to kneel by his mother, letting her gently run her hands through the blue tangles, before sweeping the long threads from his face, ignoring his wince of discomfort as she revealed the scared flesh of that ruined half.
Lysander let his fingers stroke confidently, but carefully, over Kris' cheek, his own blue eyes fixed on the young man's lips as the words drifted from them, his gaze only lifting once the words had faded. Now, there was no lust there, but something more conservative, more tender and thoughtful. "Kris…" he began, hands moving to hold the naked hips, holding them close to his own body. "I would be lying if I said that you weren't, possibly, the most gorgeous, unique creature I've ever come across. But… in two days, you shouldn't resign yourself… to me." Zan stopped, unsure of how his words were being taken. "I mean, love, that I want you to love me. But… don't tie yourself down." He lifted his head, nuzzling cheek-to-cheek with the younger male, and then pressing a gentle kiss there. "If you're sure, then that is a wonder, lovely thing. But don't say if you aren't sure. It's cruel to get someone's hopes up like that…""
The brunette smiled gently, kissing Kris' cheek again. "If your sure… then I'll have to invite you to live here… when and if you feel that that is what you want to do, because I'd… like to be with you, for as much time as I possibly can…"
The words didn't come as reprimands, as Kris had bargained for, but instead they were spoken with a true air of wisdom about them, solemness. He couldn't help but respect that. He knew, for certain, that this was something rather than a passing attraction. It felt so... well, different. It could be just him, his break from the norm, and maybe he wasn't sure? But oh, god, it felt so right. It felt so... so... perfect. It felt like he should have felt for all of his life. This was how he wanted to feel, each and every day. And surely, surely, something that felt so correct couldn't possibly fade. Lysander was, as he had noted before, a gentlemanly figure, something he had always looked for, something /real/, something unlike what he saw every damn day of his life. He wanted someone, something, solid to cling to, to give all of himself to, to tell all of his secrets to and to let draw pleasure back from him. That's all he wanted... Wasn't that what we all wanted? Someone who cares?
Bumping back Lysander's nose-tip with his own, he smiled, growing suddenly weary of words as the torrent of them died down in his mind. His lips were pulled back into a genuine grin, eyelashes fluttering his cheeks, emerald eyes peeking from behind them. "Words... they mean so little, when you listen to a whole bunch of them, don't you think?" he grinned, hoping the other didn't take it the wrong way, his candy-coloured lips pressing gently to the other man's. "I don't ever want to be cruel to you, babe."
As Edvard felt the grip slip from this hand, the solid coolness of flesh in his own, he leaned hard into the back of the chair, grappling to it for support. He did not hurt, like he thought he would, from speaking out of turn and in such volumes, but he felt a strange sort of stillness in him. So, there might have been a god. Perhaps, perhaps... Rosa's reasoning was right? Maybe, maybe they weren't damned from the time they died and reopened their eyes... maybe they made themselves that way... No. It couldn't be like that, his Master, his very first, his one and only genuine love, had told him the truth about their race, their souls. He would know. He would know more than some bible thumper.
A short, shocked twitch of the vampire's head brought him back, and he looked upon the scene in front of him. That emptiness bit at his insides, gnawed at every bit of him, tore at his veins. The throbbing in his temples seemed to multiply, ten fold, and he stared, cold and empty and lonely... And god! Wasn't Tyn just feet away? Wasn't the perfection of damnation right above him, him sitting there upon bended knee? It all felt so wrong! So wrong! And it stung, and it burned, and all that he could do was let his fingers lay over his brow to cool such a troubled pair of eyes.
Then, it stopped. It was an overreaction. Sweet Lord in heaven! He was losing his mind, there could be no other explanation. Could there? His lips were dry, and a tongue pressed heavily from between the lips to wet them-but it too was dry. His mouth opened to speak, but there were no words. There was a God, there had to be. Nothing like inner turmoil can jumble a soul and twist a mind so fast as a revelation of religion. There was a God, and there was his perfect shining angel sitting here in their parlour, turning her son back to her ways. There would be no competition. Their love seemed weak and sickly compared to the glue that could hold a mother and child together. Knowing this, Edvard might have prayed, but to what, he did not know. He had long ago forsaken his own soul and now he was lost. Forever a dark blot.
Rosa didn’t speak, her attention turned back from her son, to the slightly dazed looking man, and gently touched Tyn’s shoulder, her eyes moving deliberately back to Edvard, alerting her son to the strange change that had taken the third member of their party over. Tyn followed her wordless instruction, getting to his feet and moving back to the other, feeling very much like the ball in a tennis match, going back and forth, back and forth. Silently, he pried Edvard’s white knuckled fingers off the back of their sofa, and then curling those arms about his shoulders, his own moving about his lover’s waist.
"Eddy, it’s alright. I’m not going. Mama knows that I wouldn’t leave you. I couldn’t. I love you, you know that, don’t you? I told you before, and I meant it. I really do. Mama didn’t mean any of what she said. You aren’t a pervert. She knows that. You love me, don’t you? You’ll stay with me forever, won’t you? And stop me being lonely or going insane or… or anything, won’t you?" He rocked up onto the tips of his toes, and planted a small, gentle kiss on the high-boned cheek, careful not to go too far. He needed his mother on his side. He knew that. But there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Edvard right now, he worried about him, and about the expression on his beautiful face.
With a line of kisses over Kris’ jaw, Lysander smiled; moving one hand to brush through the other male’s hair, teasing the tendrils into spikes that flopped over as soon as it was released from between his fingers. "Words are silly things." He agreed, and began to place other kisses over the other’s flesh, more heated, passionate meetings of lips and skin, leaving hot trails over Kris’ neck and collarbones, moving lower, before pressing simple, almost innocent kisses back to his shapely mouth, easing Kris down onto his back and pressing down on top of him. Lysander’s eyes had grown darker again, narrowed slightly as they lazily, hungrily, surveyed the man beneath him, lips parted slightly, and his breath hot as it slid over Kris’ throat.
Rosa watched the exchange silently, not nodding or speaking when Tyn prompted her, turning her head away to face the bloodied wall once more, re-reading the lines once more. "Does anyone want a cup of something? Tyn? A coffee?" She asked, getting to her feet, and moving to the kitchen doorway, without waiting for his answer, giving the two men privacy as she shut the door with a soft click. "That means she doesn’t think you’re that bad, not really." Tyn provided, although it probably wasn’t true. But Rosa had left them both alone, willingly, and that meant she must trust them, or respect them a little. She didn’t have to approve, Tyn considered, but as long as she was no longer voicing her disgust, then that was almost as good as a blessing. Whether Eddy would understand that he didn’t know.
Lysander’s face nuzzled into the crock of Kris’ neck again, hands moving to stroke the slender sides. His fingers traced each rib, before his short nails scratched playfully at them, and slipped back down to stroke the tender, sensitive skin of the young man’s inner thighs. While his teeth and lips beginning to nibble at the skin and then brushing back up to the boy’s ear, nipping at the lobe, Lysander began to speak again, voice low, deep, and horse with lust, "You’ll let me make love to you tonight, won’t you? I’ve got something special planned. A treat. For you."
The young man's eyes were shut, adoring the soft bed beneath his naked skin, the way it rubbed at his frizzed midnight hair, and how the sheets played against his clutching fingers. His lips were parted in silent appreciation of Lysander, his lips, his hands, his voice... all of him was the sweet dream you wake up to, remembering, thinking of all day. That was Lysander, his love. The words, the invitation, the question, it almost caught him off guard, emerald eyes flickering, tongue pressing between the kiss-dampened lips, neck twisting to meet the brunette’s gaze, eyebrows twitching and then resting back in place. How on earth would he say no? What a silly question it was, anyways.
"Oh, yes, of course. I was not lying when I told you to have me. All of me." his fingers moved from their place in the faintly-scented sheets, cotton and pure white to Lysander's shoulder, stroking the skin there until the finely painted fingertips roved over that chiselled, furred jaw. The singer twisted gently beneath the other's weight, their bodies warmed with desire, their hearts both pacing faster. Another kiss was given to the man, lips barely leaving the other set before he met them again, and again, murmuring the gentleman's name, candy-coated bow still touching Zan's as he did.
Edvard leaned heavily into his shorter, younger counterpart, eyes flickering shut as the words came to him through the haze. "You won't leave," he repeated, laying his face into Tyn's cheek. "You can't leave me. I won't leave you, ever again. I promise, I was a fool, and idiot, and imbecile. I won't leave you, I love you. I love you more than I can say, and I'm... scared of being alone. But I... don't want, to break up... anything with your mother and you, it isn't right, it isn't fair." And as he spoke, the words became more jumbled, and his arms clung tighter, like a drowning man to a life raft. He couldn't, wouldn't let go. "And I don't... I don't..." the immortal sighed then, shaking his head against Tyn's neck, sniffing faintly to regain his thoughts.
He took a moment, just standing there like a child, holding to its only protector, its only provider, his mouth unhinged, breath coming in shaky pulls like one that wishes to cry, but their pride wouldn't dare allow it. Slowly, but surely, he regained most of his composure, looking up with tear-soaked, reddened eyes. The irises had turned from their usual gold to a dark, tarnished looking copper, and his lips looked bitten. Then, carefully, he let one arm loosen around Tyn, using that hand to wipe at his face and fix his features. In a few swipes, he had rubbed away the blood on his teeth, pushed back his hair, and managed to make his eyes look less puffy. "I'm... sorry, I... fell apart like that... why don't you... go and get some... coffee? Better yet, sit down, I'll get you some..." he let his lips press gently to Tyn's forehead, eyes fluttering shut. He wouldn't leave. Thank God and the Devil, he wouldn't leave.
Kris sighed, lips still lazily pressed to the other man's fingers pushing through his hair, eyes locked. There were no words to express his flowing feelings; no words to explain how comforting the breath rushing over his skin felt, no words to say how tender those kisses were, no words to say how those gentle caresses felt so secret and lavish. The only word his mouth felt fine to utter was the name of the one holding him so dearly, and the words, "Oh, how I do adore you, sweet, sweet man."
Lysander purred. It was a deep, reverberating noise that echoed from his throat as he was complimented, his fingers gently catching and holding Kris about the waist, pulling their torso’s apart so he could examine the prize he was won once more. A beautiful, wonderful thing, with a personality that outdid the exquisite features. And by it’s own admission, that prize was now his, all his. Lysander was not stupid enough to let go of that. "Now then, my love…" the purr droned, as lips caught his again, teasingly soft, before adding his tongue gently to the other’s mouth, only then picking up the pace. One hand moved, supporting the back of the singer’s head, as Lysander’s hips sank down against him, rubbing against each other, making his breath audibly hitch.
"Eddy…" Tyn reached up, his fingers, shorter and less elegant than Edvard’s, in fact, somewhat stubby in comparison, brushing at the long, dark hair, revealing both of those large, clear eyes. "Mama will do it. I want to talk to you. Please? That’s why she left us alone." He took one hand into his again, and lead Edvard towards the leather sofa, letting the other sit, before following suit. "Mama… she is old. Maybe not as old as you, but maybe older. I don’t know. But she’s always this way. Forgive her, please Eddy. She’s a good lady. She cares about people, even people she doesn’t know. And… she does odd things. Like rescue cats. Ugly evil ones. The ones no one else wants. She does it with kids, too." he shuffled closer, and leant his head down against the other’s shoulder. "She takes in the ones no one else wants." He repeated, dully, and his other hand, the bloodied, slightly shaking hand, reached out too, pulling Edvard’s other hand into his grip.
Rosa lent forwards, following the slow process Edvard had done before, the water, the ground beans, the cups and the filter, each in the proper place. The kettle was on, for herself, mainly, but Edvard would probably be needing a drink right about now, and it would be no difficulty to make another while she did her own. Who was to have thought, eh? Not she, not before. Her little boy. Grown up, and in ways she never would have expected, or even imagined. Yes yes, she knew all about men who liked men and then the female equivalent. But she never would have guess that Tyn… no, certainly not. He had always been a bit of a scamp. A little mischievous, perhaps a little wayward, but that had been in his youth. No, when she had known him, he had been on the path to be a fine young man. Too bad that things had gone so astray from that point.
Hips ground forwards again, harder this time, and Lysander forced his eyes open, and let his grip relax, afraid to hurting his love, afraid of damaging him, and carefully, reached down, easing thighs apart, and pressing himself between them, continuing to press and roll against Kris, hard and rhythmically. It was a controlled pleasure, but not complete. No, not complete. This was only a warm up, a game, before tonight. And, with afternoon heading ever onwards, they would soon need to get ready.
"I... forgive her, I understand... Really, sweet-heart, I'm not trying to seem so unfeeling..." as both his hands were gathered into the other's grip, he leaned his face forwards, pressing silent kisses over Tyn's forehead, the bridge of his nose, and his cheeks. "She didn't do that with you, love, she knew you'd be something special when you were older, that's why she took you in. She knew you'd be something, someone... and look at you now. Beautiful, smart... She made you forever, she wanted you to be special, forever, that's got to be it. That's the reason you're here, now..." Another kiss quieted any words or noises that might have slipped from the other's lips before one hand cupped over the top of the bleeding one, stroking the knuckles apeasingly. "From this point onwards, I forgive everything. Our past was... rocky, to say the least, henceforth, we will make amends. No more bickering, no more worries... Your mother, a good a lady as she is, can't take you away and can't drive me out... Here, smile for me, won't you? It makes everything look so much better when you smile.."
His lips twitched faintly, prompting Tyn's to do the same as he leaned forwards into the younger man, wanting him to feel his warmth, his care. One hand slithered up the other's arm and over his shoulder, down onto his back to hold the other close. "Life is so beautiful, when you look at the good instead of focusing upon the bad, don't you think?" his kissed rounded over the youngster’s jaw and then his eyes lifted to meet Tyn's. There was no reason to be upset, no reason to be on edge. Tyn loved Edvard, and Edvard sure as hell loved Tyn. Then the thought came to him, and he snorted, the funniness of it just hitting him out of no where, stealing up on him with a slight, wayward grin, "She keeps ugly cats? How odd..."
A moan lifted from those dampened, sweetened lips; not one of those whoring, practised moans, but a genuine, caught-me-off-guard kind of moans. Kris tried raising his body against Lysander's, but could not, so he gave in, his whole lower body tingling with the heavy, rhythmic thrusts against his warmed thighs. His body tingled, tongue running hungrily over his drying mouth as one arm fastened around the man's shoulders, trying to kiss him with a heated passion. If this was just a game, Kris would be a hot, trembling mess by the time the real fun began. The thin fingers fumbled in locks of shaded brown, careful not to latch, but just stroke through the silken locks, body aching to rise back against the rolling thrusts.
"Lyysaaaanderrrrr..." he growled, words caught halfway in his throat, breath sticking with every hard press of the larger man's lower body. His mouth hungrily found the other's, tongue lapping at the slightly agape mouth with a needy, urgent throb. "Ohhh, Zaaaan."
Caught up in the soft words, Tyn couldn't refuse the request for a smile, although at first it was forced, a little uneasy, his mind still preoccupied with the compliments he had been paid. He didn't feel smart, or beautiful, but the way Edvard spoke, it seemed that his lover truly believed what he was saying, speaking with such religious conviction. But that false grin disappeared quickly, turning into a melodious laugh at the mention of the cats, shifting closer to Edvard and pressing his cheek against the high-boned cheek of his lover. "Ugly isn't the word for it. There was a Persian… you know, the ones with the squashed, pug faces? It was horrible. And frizzy. It looked like it had been through a tumble-dryer…"
The moment that hard, demanding kiss caught him, Lysander's hips pressed harder, the rhythm growing teasingly slow, but growing in intensity. The hand clutching at Kris' hip moved behind, wrapped around the tail of his spine to lift him off the mattress, pressing them together, as his other fingers kept their grip on the back of the other's head.; giving him the opportunity to press his tongue into Kris' mouth, letting the searching, probing muscles meet and almost fight, ravaging each other.
"Mama loved it, but I didn't like that one. It was evil." The boy finished, and then, without a word, climbed into Edvard's lap, arms winding about the other's shoulders, and kissing him back, his head turned towards the kitchen door, in time to see it open., colouring and nuzzling into the other man's neck to hide his face, to hide the fact he was on Edvard's lap, although that clearly was not going to succeed.
Lysander groaned softly into the other's mouth, hips slowing further and his kiss becoming less hungry, less urgent. "We're going out to dinner tonight." He muttered softly, when his hips finished their grinding and lifted, bodies still pressed together, but his weight no longer forced onto the smaller male. "Somewhere nice. I was thinking, you probably wouldn't want to go in any of the clothes you have here…" Zan pressed another tender kiss against Kris' flesh, his eyes still lust-dark. "I thought… maybe, we could go and buy something, if you didn't want to go home to get an outfit…"
Rosa poured the dark liquid into the delicate cups she had taken from the highest shelf of the cupboard, spending a few moments examining the familiar, but half forgotten patterns. And then, with as much thought, made herself and Edvard tea, placing all three cups on a tray, with a bowl of sugar, and spoons, carrying them out and keeping her tone carefully impartial. "I thought we could all do with something to drink. You'll have to forgive me, monsieur Edvard, but I didn't know if you took sugar or not... and I couldn't find any biscuits." She set the tray down, carefully, and arranged herself on the chair opposite the sofa, picking up her cup and sipping at it before looking up at the pair. "I take it you've arranged matters between yourselves?" She asked in that same, uncommitted tone.
He was grinning; evil cats, a blushing, warm lover. Well, who wouldn't be grinning? His lips moved against the curve of Tyn's jaw as his eyes turned 'round, meeting Rosalind's and finding himself smiling still broader in spite of himself. "Yes, Madame, I think we have... And you wouldn't find any, because Tyn doesn't keep them around, or at least, that's what I've noticed... There isn't much food here at all." Edvard gave a little shrug and then let his attention turn back to the boy in his lap, his hand absently patting his nearest shoulderblade, nose nuzzling affectionately at his neck. With a sigh, he let his arms unravel from the other, body turning to where he was facing Rosalind. What now? He did not know, one arm still cradling the other man's spine, fingertips playing at the fabrics.
Kris blinked, the sinking feeling pushing him against the comforting springs of the mattress, his lips still parted, drawing in shaking breaths. With fluttering eyes and pulse, both arms wrapped around Lysander's body, drawing that weight back down onto him, mouth cupping against his neck. "Mm. Shopping? Restaurants? I... have some clothes, back at my house," he began, eyes still shut, voice slow and unstable. "But I’m not sure if they're the proper kind... I have... some sweaters, like the one I wore last night, or... a couple of button up shirts and corduroy jackets.... Especially this one very pretty pink one, with ruffles on the sleeves... I wear it sometimes, with... the brown corduroy.. And slacks..." he opened his eyes for the first time since he had rattled off inventory of his dress clothes, lifting his face a tad and letting his nose push softly into Zan's. "I don't... think that's.... What you're talking about, though, is it?"
His face spread with a smile, perfect teeth catching his lower lip before his mouth moved up again, pecking another kiss to Lysander's. The frail hands folded in the curve of the other man's back, his chest falling and rising placidly, body completely content like bread laid out from the oven to cool. "I don't... suppose that pink ruffles and brown corduroy are quite up-town style, are they?" He chuckled in spite of himself, slowly letting his eyes fold shut once more.
Lysander didn’t speak, letting Kris move against him, and allowing his body to press down again, but still keeping the majority of his weight off the lithe body beneath him. Kris seemed daunted by the idea, and for a few moments Zan too wondered if it had been a good idea. Although saying that, Kris seemed to relax, his chest rising in a slow, tranquil rate, which was more than contagious, and Lysander felt himself slipping and sliding into that calm oblivion too. "If it isn’t yet, it will be soon." He muttered in reply, letting his head fall forwards, resting it against Kris’ shoulder, and giving a soft yawn, before slipping off the hot-bloodied body to rest on the mattress, but not before curling up against the young artiste’s side. "Wear what you feel comfortable in, darling. I wouldn’t ask anything else of you. Besides…" he yawned gently again, pressing lips against Kris’ shoulder as he muttered, "we’re going to be turning heads there as it is. Gay couples are a social taboo."
Rosa lifted one of the spoons from the tray, and eased a measured heap of sugar into her tea, stirring it in and setting it back down on the tray. "Tyn was never very good at housekeeping." She returned, lips folding into a small, carefully conservative smile, as she sipped at the hot liquid. "I’m very surprised that this little business of his is still running. He’s grown up a lot, clearly." She added, and glanced at her son as he attempted to bury his brightly burning cheeks into the other male’s neck. "Tyn, dear, don’t squirm so. Let Edvard have his tea." were her final words for some moments, her eyes taking on a pleased, satisfied cast as Tyn did indeed slip off Edvard’s lap, but perched next to him on the leather couch, staying close and keeping one hand resting behind the Frenchman, playing with the belt-loops of the other’s trousers and holding onto them tightly.
"Mama…" the boy began, as he carefully pulled his own cup forwards with his spare hand, but not yet lifting it from the tray, and mindful of the way the muddy liquid sloshed up and almost over the edges of the porcelain. "I was wondering… where you’ve been. And… what you’re going to do now. I… missed you. Very much." The words were soft, and said quiet slowly, every word controlled and forced into a set pattern, unemotional, and bland, afraid that anything else would flood him with tears.
"I think pink and corduroy would work very well, if that is what you want to wear… but then again, you’re stunning as you are now." Lysander murmured, and eased himself back up, letting his fingers trail teasingly over the flat of the man’s chest, moving down to his naval, and then resting on one hip. "But if you don’t feel like wearing that… we can go and have a look around. The world is so fresh after the rain…"
Rosa placed her cup down on the tray again, looking from Edvard, and then to Tyn, and began to smooth her skirts again, almost nervous in the way she delayed in answering, her face slightly troubled, a frown creasing her skin, and Tyn almost took back his question, but she cut off before he managed one word. "I went… home, Tyn. For a little while. I went back to see… my sire." She smiled, although it was a fragile expression. "He’s very, very old now. But still as bad tempered as he was four centuries ago. And since then… I’ve not really been anywhere." She reached for her cup again, and took a long mouthful, swallowing it before continuing, her eyes not meeting the half-blind stare her son was giving her. "I may go back there. I hadn’t planned to leave but… I had to deal with you. You did a very, very immature thing. And I don’t want it repeated, young man. You’re old enough not to do stupid things. Even if they don’t seem stupid at the time." Rosa stopped, and tipped her head down again, her fingers curling around the decorated cup, tips stroking over the painted rim. "After all, you are managing fine without me here. And if I stayed, I’m sure your beau would feel ill-at-ease."
Lips pulling back over fangs, the fine, silky-white skin was creased into a more-than-amused smile. He almost repeated the words 'ill at ease', like he was some over-the-edge basketcase. Never matter. This time he waited until all other words died, taking that only as an invitation to speak. "I'll make sure your Tyn doesn't do himself any more harm, rest assured." With a curt nod he took another sip of his tea and then brushed the curls from his eyes, pinning them behind one ear. The plaid lips were pursing back into a haughty set, his eyes matching yet softened with an undercurrent of fondness. Everything was going better than expected. That, was better a prize than any, even if this muddy, flavorlessly scalding water was oozing down his throat, calming him further into a comatose state. His free hand carelessly brushed Tyn's knee, patting him once more with a reassured air, golden orbs catching on Rosalind's face.
She might have been old, older than him- he wasn't sure, nor did he care. She was beautiful, for her age, of course, more beautiful than most undead. He did not remind her of anyone, which was funny, because beautiful people usually sparked a resemblance to some other vampire he had met; in her case, it was different... unique. And, with every breath, he was becoming more used to her, more tolerable. Maybe, he had gone mad? Maybe all these feelings and emotions turned too fast.... But then again, how could quickly acclimating your feelings be a negative thing? It couldn't, most surely. With these thoughts swimming sluggishly through his brain, he continued merely to smile, almost dazedly at her, waiting for more words to fall, enlighten him even farther.
Kris calmly watched the hand stroking over his body, giving a delighted little puff of air from his lips and leaning his head back, eyes plastered to the ceiling, smile stretching his face. "Yes, I know... but that's not my problem, social taboo-smooshul tabwoo. Pah. Anyways, brown corduroy and pink ruffles are so classy together... Well, maybe not classy... but I like them. I guess, though, that I could drop by there and change, and if you don't like it, we can wander around... I mean, I'm in no need for clothes, and pretty much everything fits fine... So, yeah." he let his head loll to the side, fingertips roving over his own chest to stroke Lysander's cheek resting on his shoulder. "What about you? Do you like suits or whatnot? You don't seem as... well, what's a good word? My... /boss/ said I was... /extravagant/ once, so maybe... Well, you aren't extravagant. Not to be insulting. I think you're very high-class."
He gave a finishing nod, as if his word were final, the supreme word of the land. "And that's all that counts, isn't it?" The young vocalist's eyes glittered, obviously pleased with his current position-and not just position, but his current situation. Really, how could it get better? "Where are we going? For food, I mean... you know, you don't have to spend money or whatever, unless you want... I've always been a fan of cheese sandwiches cut in quarters and a bowl of beef and vegetable soup... with coke or whatever." Those lips curled into that childish, innocent grin he so practically possessed, and his voice was full of adolescent conviction. "That's what that nice old lady would feed me, you know, the one I talked about? The piano teacher? Well, she was my foster mother for a year or so... And when I was sick or it was nasty outside, we would pull out a bunch of her black and white movies and she would fix us sandwiches and soup and we'd sit around for hours, just watching movies.... and then, before I'd go to sleep, she's play her songs on her piano and I could sing... Do you ever remember things like that, you know, the things that went on when you were young?" Dropping back from pillow talking and romantic getaways into memory lane, he folded one arm behind his head, the other playing gently over Lysander's face. "She's the nicest person I ever knew.. besides you, of course... But that's different..."
"I don't often have the occasion to wear them…" Lysander muttered sleepily against the small man's skin, before shuffling up to rest his head on the pillow, and let his arm fall limply over Kris' torso, stroking at his other side with lazy fingers. "But I own a few… well, not suits. But a lot of blazers. Jackets. I'm sure I can smarten myself up a little, don't you?" He smiled to himself, eyes shut, and his thoughts drifting. He was certainly not going to take Kris to any cheap diner, whatever the young man said. Kris was going to be treated well, more than well. It was only what he deserved, after all. "And I'm not high-class, love. Not by any stretch of the imagination." He leaned against Kris again, and began to press the line of his beard against the curve of the faintly tanned shoulder, tickling again. "I'm the lowest of the low, the most ungrateful, sinful, self-indulgent man you'll find, even if you looked for a thousand years. And I'm all yours."
Tyn still hadn't picked up his own cup, his one eye fixed on his mother, although his gave did waver to Edvard as the gentle, but still heavy, hand was placed on the worn knee of his jeans. They were both concerned about him, both had been arguing for and against keeping him. In any other circumstance, he would have basked happily in the centre of everyone's attention, but now he felt oddly angry. Of course, he had been consulted, he had been asked, and his opinions mattered, but it still felt as if these grown-up were discussing their child during divorce proceedings. Who would be better at caring for him, who had the right to care for him, who could support and look after him? Edvard's words had sparked that off, caused that anger, as baseless and unfounded as it was. "I can look after myself." He muttered in a grouchy, spoilt voice, kicking his heels back against the sofa.
"I know you can dear. But that isn't what relationships are about, is it?"
Tyn looked up scowling at his mother. She had accepted his decision, with good grace, and no ill feelings, it seemed, but still, things seemed forced, almost. Or perhaps it was his mood that was making him see things that way. He was about to snap back, say something sharp and cutting back, after all, how would the old spinster know? But he cut that back. He never, ever, answered back to her. It was to do with respect, and to do with love, and to do with the fact she was so much more powerful than he was. She had rescued him from that alley way, had got there somehow in the first place, and had taken him back, brought him back to his home, without ever having been there before. And, Tyn could not overlook, in the middle of the day.
He couldn't explain that, didn't even try. She mother had always done things he didn't understand in his childhood, even if he looked back now and understood completely how it had been done, and she had lost some of the magic he had once held. But there would always be something about his mother, with any good mother, that held some part of their offspring in awe.
Lysander sat up then, moving to stand, and stretch, and then move to Kris' side of the bed, his fingers idly caressing the other's stomach. "Lazy thing. I'm going to get a shower… and then we'll have some lunch, does that suit you? And then… maybe we should do out, just for a while, before we pick up your things? Or go shopping. I don't mind either, it's your call."
Edvard's fingertips drew off the rough knee of the jeans, looking somewhat taken aback. The sharp tone to Tyn's voice warned him, alerted him, to something he had said. He had merely been teasing, trying to keep the conversation somewhat light... but apparently, whatever he had said was wrong. Drawing himself up slowly, he scooched against the arm of the couch, lips pursing against his cup. He would say nothing more. It wasn't his place, anyways. This was Tyn's mother, his... well, would it be proper and correct to say 'blood'? He didn't know, but it wasn't the vampire's business; he'd leave it be. With the measured, nearly unnoticeable movements, he drained his cup, taking the coffee mug once again from the table and pushing it towards Tyn. "Here, why don't you drink this before it gets cold?" Var's voice was quiet, his eyes on the mug as not to spark any more rouge emotions. Lord knows they didn't need another fit.
Crossing one leg over his other knee, he leant forwards, coffee still in hand, his other placing the delicate cup back upon the tray resting on the polished surface of the coffee table. "Right... Hm." He blinked, resting his back into the cushy surface of the couch, letting his golden eyes flicker shut once again, ready for the words between the pair to resume. Yes, he would be better if he ceased speaking.
Kris watched, half taking in the complete process in which the other moved, his brain only flickering so quickly as he yawned, lazy describing him so perfectly at that time. "Mmmhmm... Need some... company?" he asked, lips twisting quickly into a sweet little smile, hand tracing across his skin after the foreign one, legs bending and dumping the covers down around his waist. The hand that had curled behind his head, the one clutching that ebony hair, was now effortlessly twirling it into minute curls before it slipped from his fingers and ruffled against the pillows, and he slowly lifted, drawing the hand from there and letting it fall against Lysander's naked hip as he sat up. Pressing a lethargic kiss to the other's flat belly, he gave him a gentle squeeze around his middle and then fell back to the mattress, looking tired. "Eh?"
Lysander’s stomach gave a small flip, and for that brief moment, his hand moved, of it’s own accord, and almost planted itself in Kris’ hair, to force those lips down to where they would be put to better use. But he resisted, and let Kris flop back down onto their bed, looking at him with softened eyes. "If you think you can drag yourself away from that bed for long enough." He replied, and bent down to stroke over the gently smiling mouth. "I won’t be very long. Stay here love. Or if you feel like doing something totally wild, you could pour me a glass of something…" and with that, his lips brushed the boy’s forehead, and then he moved into the bathroom, humming softly under his breath.
Tyn’s hand took the cup without thinking as Var moved it towards him, picking it up and sipping at the still hot liquid, before he lifted his head up, and glanced at the other man, to where he had shifted further down the sofa. Tyn pouted slightly, lips folding downwards, but he didn’t move, or say anything else to his lover. After all, he couldn’t hold him constantly, and even if they loved each other, it did not mean they were one entity. They were still two, separate and quiet different creatures. Eddy was his, but not his, to love and care for, but not to command and control. He set the cup down again, and let his gaze move to look back to his mother, who was watching the two men with intelligent, keen eyes.
"Mama… you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t… understand."
"Understand what, child?"
"Why… why you… how you came back, when you did, I mean. It wasn’t coincidence, and… I want to know. If you’ll tell me."
Rosa flashed a rather small, slightly worried smile and finished her own cup of tea, setting that down on the tray besides Edvard’s empty cup. "Tyn, you know that the power of a mother’s love…" she paused, having registered the unimpressed look on the blue-haired immortal’s face. "I’ve been keeping tabs on you. Checking up every now and again, but… there was a few days when I… couldn’t get to you. And so I decided to… pay you a visit." Her intentionally vague explanation stopped there, fading out. "Perhaps Master Edvard understands, he could explain it better to you if he does… but then again, maybe I’m not making myself plain enough for him, either."
"Emotional breakdowns, fatigue, periods of depression, and even just the intense paranoia of thoughts can cause a loss of connection between a creator and the creation." he said, barely without a pause from the lack of confidence directed from the woman. "I've had it happen before, with Mishka..." his lips slowed, voice lowering quietly. "It isn't that easy to do, but if you want it bad enough, connections between the Master and creation can be severed. Very hard, might I say again, but possible. It's like... telepathy... but... more instinctive, primitive, vague. You understand?" he inquired, tilting his head to Tyn, not missing a beat even as hair had fallen into his eyes to distract him. "As with your Mother and you, I don't believe there would be a way to extinguish that tie, but... it can be.. fogged, if one of the instances of... 'black outs' occur. Very simple... and yet, the processes are complex." he smiled in the pure oxymoronics of his statements, amused with himself but disturbed by his memories. A tie between himself and a creation had long since been severed and it was rather hard to forget.
Slowly, he turned his eyes back upon the lady. "Would you... like some more tea?" his hand curled around his own cup and he shifted forwards onto the edge of the couch, readying to stand.
Kris purred at the touch, longingly watching him go. He laid there a few moments, the sound of Lysander's voice and the water plinking upon the sides of the shower nearly lulling him back into peaceful slumber. With strained amounts of energy, he rose into a sitting position, forcing himself to rise and go be wild and crazy to find something for the other to drink while getting himself something too. Shuffling sleepily to the kitchen, the boy stretched, his pyjamas drug on half-heartedly, as he tip-toed across the frigid tile of the kitchen, eyeing the refrigerator curiously. He licked his lips, quickly pulling down two glasses and placing them upon the counter. Ungracefully, he turned, leaning hard against the ice box and pulling open the door with his free hand, eyes roving boredly through the contents. Milk... juice... sodas... bottled waters... Oooh, what variety.
With that same oh-so-enthralled cast over his pretty face, he pulled two sodas from the fridge, set them also upon the counter, pushed the glasses against the ice dispenser, and then cracked open the tops, watching the fizz form over the ice with a fascinated, glazed stare. The shower noises proved to be a hypnotising element moreso than the youth had expected.
Rosa laughed as the dictionary definition left a rather dazed look upon her son’s face, letting the long words sink into his mind, which must have been tired and strained enough. Poor little thing, looking so much the innocent, in awe of his older, wiser companion. It was most endearing. "Edvard is right. There is… a link like that. Although…" Rosa stopped again, and silently picked up her cup to hand it over, "that means I would have to be your sire. Or related by blood. However, there are certain tricks and… short-cuts. You have to understand Tyn, and you as well, Edvard, that I did not wish to interfere. You appeared to do just fine by yourself, and so, I didn’t wish to… force things. So I… borrowed the consciousness of one of the mortals… a man, who lives here." She gave an uneasy shrug. "Their minds are so layered, but it was not hard to find what I wanted. You were at the fore-front of his thoughts, and lifting the information I needed from that was not much of a task." She stopped there, and let her eyes meet the surprised, wide expression of her son. "I’m sorry, I’m blowing my own trumpet… come, Edvard, I’ll make the tea. I’d feel bad if you were to do it…"
Lysander stepped out of the warm cascade some minutes later, dripping wet and with white soap-suds still streaming down his back, quickly removed by the towel which was secured around his hips. One hand remained on the knot, making sure the flannel-material did not slip down, which the other pushed his dark hair back from his eyes, all the more clearer his contact lens had been removed. Wearing them for a day and a half had not done much harm, but it had begun to irritate and sting his irises, and so now a pair of black, somewhat chunky-framed glasses were slipped over his nose, making him too very much the old school or even perhaps a member of the new ‘emo’ underclass society that was emerging in society. The look suited the sharpness of his jaw and the damp, limp bangs that hung about his face as he moved into the kitchen, pinching carefully at Kris’ backside before taking one of the glasses from the work surface. "Thank you, love" he muttered, lifting it to his lips and downing several mouthfuls, licking his lips clean. "I though we could drive over there, what do you think? Might be easier, if there… is anything you want to bring here, another change of clothes, maybe, or… well, it’s up to you."
Tyn’s face was still confused, unbelieving and uncertain, turning back to Edvard, who had confused him just as much, and moving closer to him, before saying to the room in general, "I didn’t understand anything either of you just said."
The singer giggled, leaning back heavily into the other, one of his arms twisting backwards and curling around the man's neck, drawing the chiselled jaw to his pouted-pink lips. "Whatever you want... It won't take me long, all I'll have to do is change.. Very quick, I am... when it comes to getting my clothes on." From practice, that was certain. But, he just teasingly stuck out his tongue and used the muscles in his back to bring him back to an upright position, gulping down large mouthfuls of his soda before setting it back onto the counter and heading for the bathroom. He would fix his hair, brush his teeth-he hoped vaguely that the other wouldn't mind-, and dab on some cologne before changing into a way-too-large set of Lysander's clothes. Then they could go. He felt uneasy butterflies-or maybe they were moths?-flutter gently in the knot of his stomach. He wasn't sure he wanted to go back there, to his apartment, he meant... Who knows who might be waiting there? When you're a hooker, there are no days off and sometimes... you gather relationships with your fellow 'colleagues'. One in particular, that was, besides his boss... But that one wouldn't come around after... like, what had it been? One day?
Thoughtfully, the boy wet his hair in the sink and dug around for a comb, brushing it all forwards and down, fingers scuttling across the sink, eyes roving the bottles of junk strewn over the counter.
Edvard laughed, leaning his cheek against Tyn's temple and pressing a swift kiss there. "You're darling, you know.... Now, what part of it didn't you understand? I'll try and explain it better, if you would like for me to?" his eyes were watching the other woman gather up the cups and head back into the kitchen. "And thank you, for the tea, Rosalind..." he muttered as she passed, one arm rolling around her son's back. "
"You know, I always thought she was the one that turned you..." his fingers played over the cloaked spine, thinking. He had a nagging pain to ask who had, but he had the revelation that the other probably didn't know... Plus, now wasn't really the time to ask. "Here... You've barely drank anything... Do you still feel very ill?"