Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - Miroslav's Escape
With a whimper, the figure shrunk back from the wild screeching like that of a siren, long, breathless wails that ended abruptly and started right back up again after the large lungs were refilled. Of course, the thick walls of the house put a damper on most of the noise, but the man could feel it through the floors, he could feel it tingle through the air as the one below's wits snapped and his body bent and pulled relentlessly at those awful, horrible chains. And oh! How it had hurt him to have to place those things upon his one, his only, his beloved... It had broken his heart, frayed his very soul... Just to have
seen the tear stains running down those perfect cheeks and then have to hear the obscenities burst from eager, bloodied lips, an innocent look still shimmering deceitfully in Dante's eyes.
It chilled poor Miroslav to the core; not coffee, nor blood, nor food, nor anything of any kind had yet to warm him or calm his constant shaking and shivering. He had been cowering pathetically in the kitchen for hours, curled up like the smallest of guilty children in the largest of the chairs. His eyes were reddened with salty tears, lips dried from pulling in short, shaken breaths. His hair was frizzled, wrapped around his appendages from where it had easily slipped the silken bow that his love had not-so long ago tied. Even now, as he held the ripped, bloodied navy-satin in his hands, he could not believe that just four hours ago they had been reading books, playing chess, talking of their evening plans.... How cold fate was, how cruel was the future!
And now, after just a few splendid days, he was broken again, just as he had been for centuries before. Another loud scream tore through the momentarily still, silent air, and he sobbed with the reverberating pain. He had to get out, out somewhere, anywhere... Dante, this house... he was going mad. Surely, something worse could not happen? Oh, but he did not wish to bet his life on it, so he banished the thought. There was nothing to be done; nothing but... to deal, conform once again. He had some good memories now, and who knew? Maybe... maybe Dante was just... going through a phase? The were-dog sniffled at this thought, reprimanding himself for thinking like that. Never get your hopes up and you may just be surprised.... But he doubted this would be the case... Maybe... maybe in an hour or so it would be dark. Then.. then he could dress himself up and go out for a little while. Find a good meal, find a good book... Who knew, maybe he could find something to take his mind off the current situation?
Hah. How funny. Take his mind off of it. What a laugh, he thought bitterly to himself, hot tears running down his cheeks as he quickly tried wiping them away, knowing how he would be ashamed of them if only his Love could see.
Lysander looked up, watching his lover’s eyes dart around, dart from face to face, stranger to stranger, those bright, alive eyes full of admiration and longing. Zan didn’t fully understand, but he didn’t need to, he supposed. Being in love did not mean having control, or even mean he had to know every little though that crossed through Kris’ brain. No, man did not ask, but stood when prompted, picking up his rubbish, and Kris’, dumping it in a bin on the pavement as they crossed back to the park, Lysander’s arm creeping around the other man’s waist and holding him tight, walking over grass rather then the gravel of the path. It wasn’t only because he liked the way the damp grass wet his shoes, making the canvas darker, but also because two women, one with a pram, the other with a double-buggy filled with two toddlers, walking along the path, effectively a mobile road-block. Lysander glanced at both the women, and then towards the children, and although the baby was hidden by the hood of the pram, the two little ones with their toys were visible to all, wrapped up warmly and attentively from the earlier cold. They were… cute, he supposed the word was, and certainly endearing, and for a millisecond, he felt a pang of regret. But that passed as the two women did, as the two men continued to that lone tree, one of the eldest in the park. Lysander wondered if any other couple had ever done what he had proposed on that tree. He’d have to look, later on, and find out if any one else had shared this with them, even indirectly. He was odd, probably, for thinking that, but still, the idea pursued him. How many others had carved promises of affection into the bark of the old tree, to marry, or to break up afterwards, to have children, or to hate each other. He wanted to know- he wanted to know their history.
Rosalind watched as the items were packed for her, the manager of the little store having come down from his little office to try and work out the Mystery of the Appearing Stock. He did, at first, insist that as they didn’t have those items in stock, obviously he couldn’t sell them. This argument was soon stopped in it’s tracks though, as Rosa knew it would be, when she gently reminded him that, as the salmon, the tea, and the factory-sized slab of Belgian chocolate were all in the store, then technically, they were in stock. And as she was willing to pay any reasonable prize he asked, wouldn’t he agree that he could actually sell her what she asked?
The store manager wasn’t a fool, that was clear, although his young assistant still wore a confused frown. The Tudor woman handed over the sum he asked, which was less then she had supposed he might ask. Maybe he was a little bit of a fool, or just honest. She hoped it was the latter. She rather liked him, and the way he had tried to stick to protocol. A good man. Especially as that just as she stepped out of the door, from the corner of her eye she saw him put all the money in the till, rather then slip it into his own pocket. Yes, a good man. They were always in such short supply.
"Hot…" Tyn muttered, a small, slight noise as the damp cloth was brought over his face again. "I’d… like that. You’ll sit with me, right? I don’t mind if you get bored. I’d be bored…" He fell silent, sitting up slowly and then using his arms to hold himself in that position, pulling the sheets up around his bare torso, shaking his lank hair from his face, before moving again to lean against Edvard. Tyn was trying not to put his weight on Edvard, although his balance was off and he could really tell how heavily he was leaning on the other man, probably more then he intended to, so he pulled away again. "Don’t… you can look after me fine. I… I don’t want mama staying if… if you won’t get along well with her. She probably… probably has better things to do, anyway… much better." He was stuttering. He didn’t like that, it made him sound weak, childish. He wasn’t weak, wasn’t as young as everyone tried to believe him to be. He was old enough. He was able to look after himself… but he wasn’t going to deny Edvard’s help. No, he knew he needed the other man, needed him more at the moment then since they had escaped from that house together, but… but he wasn’t going to appear weak. He had never wanted to seem weak.
He’d attacked Edvard because of his pride, the night they had meet, and then when they had argued. He had struck out first, had reacted with that undertone of violence that bubbled inside him. He had attacked Dante first too, in the dungeon-like room, he had fought as best he could against much bigger, bulkier foes, and although he had lost, and lost badly in some cases, he had never ever been attacked, not since the time he was Turned. Then he had been attacked, and the very memory of it made him feel violated. That would never happen to him again, not if he had anything to do with it. That violent undercurrent in him, it had stemmed from the time of his change, although as a child he’d always been difficult, been… more then his natural parents could handle. But since he had become an immortal, it had grown worse, although unnoticeable most of the time, when he was threatened, when it was necessary, Tyn would kick and scream and rip and bite like the best of hell’s hounds, a far-cry from the quiet, shivering boy that was trying to stand from his bed.
She stepped out, the sky devoid now of any natural light, the stars though still not out, although the clouds that lingered would block any of the consolations tonight. A pity, she normally felt comforted by them, the lights of heaven. Rosa adjusted her coat on her shoulders, moving out into the darkness, her steps quick and loud on the paving slabs.
His whole body shook as he leaked off the chair like putty that had been left out in the sun for too long. His arms wrapped around his body, trying to comfort it in its terror, his mind still too confused to think. The screams had yet to stop, only seeming to strengthen as time went by; plus, now there were yells of obscene things, and an occasional mutter of his name. That's what stung the most-the short periods when the screams quit and the pleading voice called for him. Once, he had almost flittered down the stairs, ready to run and unchain the monster below... and then he realised he was a fool, sitting frozen on that chair, hands clasped together.
The emaciated body pulled itself up the stairs, bony hands grappling for hold on the ornate railing, feeling totally fatigued by the time his feet hit the top step onto the landing. With his arms resuming their position of holding his bare chest, long strands of black hair caught all over, he moved down the right hall, towards the room he had fixed up with the help of Dante in the last few days. It had been /their/ room. The first door on the right in the right hallway. It seemed surreal as he opened the door, like stepping into a whole new house. The walls were a pale shade of navy, the bed set out in the middle of the room with a comforter to match. The pillows were strewn from a childish game of pillow wars the evening before, the bed still made. In the far corner there was a dresser and on the other wall there was a bookshelf and on the other was a long dark sofa. It all meshed so perfectly. The dressers and cabinets were light, the sofa deep navy... Very harmonic... soothing, even. A quick breath was drawn before it could even escape as another sob. His feet mindlessly carried him into the room, body dropping onto the end bed, eyes staring at the mirror right before him over the set of drawers. A long bureau with a mirror wound perfectly in oak right across from the bed. It was lovely, especially when you were just laying there, watching your significant other sleeping so peacefully beside you... With a shake of his head, he banished the thoughts, glad that the screeching had died down through the walls. The lamp on the other side of the bed near the headboard was lit, and provided enough light to see as he rose from his spot, going to sit on the short stool in front of his bureau and mirror. With shaking hands, he retrieve his soft-haired brush, the back done in silver, the bristles done in what looked to be real animal fur-soft brown and quite antique, yet well preserved. His eyes bore into his reflection in the glass, using both hands to tame his loose hair, the ribbon he had been holding before discarded still on the kitchen floor.... He would find another....
It was another hour before he shut the door to the bedroom behind him; his lips were set in a placid frown, eyes looking too bright. Miro had effectively done his hair, all the strands were calmly pulled back into a deep black ribbon, very shinny and laced at the edges with navy silk. His body was clad in a set of black and grey pinstriped slacks, dress shoes made of fine Italian leather, and a dress shirt that was soft grey and rolled up easily at the sleeves. Of course, with his body, he made everything look too big, but he could still make it look flattering, even when he was twig-thin. His high cheekboned face was somewhat softened by his pains, everything still whirring in his mind. The loud screams from below were silenced, replaced with a heartwrenching groan every now and again. It was all the were-dog could do to make it out the door, turn and lock it, and step down onto the sidewalk, heading out of the slums into the lively bit of town.
Edvard silently held to his thoughtful lover, his nose and mouth buried in the slightly dirtied mat of ocean-coloured hair. He wanted to tell Tyn that of course his mother didn't have anything better to do, that this young man was her only priority, her only life, her only care... but he couldn't. He couldn't say that, even though he would have bet very much on it... he just couldn't say it. "Did I ever tell you that you have the most interesting hair I've ever seen? I love the way it goes from this bleach blonde to cerulean... Why did you dye it, just out of curiosity? That colour of blonde is so rare anymore... Very pretty... Not to say anything against you, because I think you're beautiful anyways...." he smiled, stumbling over his words as he leaned heavily into the headboard, one arm cradling the other male. He continued to constructively dab at his brow, trying to give him enough breathing room so he wouldn't be hot and trying to pull the pillows under him in a way that he would be more comfortable. "How's that?"
When they arrived at the tree, Kris had been rather abruptly waken from his daydream. He had not been paying attention all through their travels. His mind had been... somewhere else; where, he could not have said. It was like a dream, when he was pulled from it, he could not remember the contents. "Have you ever given this tree a good look over?" he inquired, glancing at the bark and letting it slip beneath his curious palm, rough and coarse. Very much unlike the fabric beneath his other hand-the fabric of Lysander's shirt. Carefully, he moved back against his dear, looking up into the pretty blue eyes. "Hmm?"
"No… not seriously. I used to play on it, years and years ago… but children never really pay attention to anything, do they? They see things, they remember what they see, they can recognise it when the see it again, But no, I don’t… don’t think I’ve looked at it properly. It was always just the tree, you know?" Zan muttered, his eyes following the movements of Kris’ hand, and then moving up, studying the bark and the spread arms for, effectively, the first time. It was an old tree, and bent by some sort of disease that had struck during it’s youth, bending and then spliting the main truck, turning the thinner half into another thick branch, the one they had sat on the night before, the rest of the stem another five or so feet of tapering length, numerous other branches and boughs growing from that. A beautiful piece of natural sculpture, really. He laid he hand gently touching Kris’ shoulder, then moving to rest on his back in a comforting, but light, stroke. "Are you still sure? We can leave it, if you’d rather…"
Tyn shifted, head moving back a little against Edvard, and with what strength he owned, pulled one of the elder vampire’s arms about his own waist, feeling much more at-ease in this new situation, with this small talk, in Edvard’s grip and under his care, the rag at his skin more effective now that he was himself more comfortable. "You think blonde is nice? Really?" He breathed softly, head tipping back further onto Edvard’s shoulder, looking up at his lover’s face. "I guess… I was bored with it. And besides, blonde is really easy to dye… so… I guess I just did. Mama threw a fit when she saw it. I was grounded for a month. But she got over it. Do you think I should let it grow out? And keep it blonde? Or maybe… maybe I should dye it black. Black’s really popular right now. The kids… they have the fringe pulled over one eye…" he demonstrated, hands raising to tease his own hair over that sightless socket. "And they spike it a little at the back, sometimes, and it looks cool… I could go for that…" He paused, considering that. "Or pink. Pink would be cool. I don’t think… I don’t think it would go with most of my clothes, though…" He reached higher, taking a lock of Edvard’s hair with child-like care, and set it against the loose matted length of his own. "If I dyed it pink, it would go really well with yours." He said happily, with a small nod, as if this decided the fact.
Rosa frowned, stopping under the orange ring of artificial light, her barring lost. It was embarrassing when this happened, even more so for an immortal, and indeed, for her. She didn’t know the address of Tyn’s flat, and on her departure, hadn’t really bothered to remember any of the landmarks. Oh, drat. She set her shopping bag down, and considered her options. Which were few, without making a fool of herself. The best thing she could do, really, was to find someone, someone who knew Tyn, and who would be able to guide her. That would be sensible. And, if she did it subtly enough, would save her having to admit she was lost, A perfect solution. Now… instead of wandering about, asking strangers whether they knew her son, which would have been undermining the idea, she closed her eyes, leaning back against the metal pole, and sent her mind out, letting it flit from mind to mind that walked the block, like a little bird that hopped from tree to tree. No one on this street. The next, no, and the one after that, no… wait. Yes, just turning the corner. The name, the name of her son, was buried deep within the layers, but the image, memory of her son… with both golden orbs filled with tears, was fixed, and it was important. She picked the bag up again, and headed for that creature, her pace quick as she passed out of the light from the lamp, and into the dark shadow, where the sound of her heels stopped abruptly. The sound emerged again in the shadow of a doorway, a doorway of what appeared to be a derelict hotel, but she didn’t stop to consider that, marching down the steps after the young man with the bow in his head. "Excuse me!" She called, using her patented stranded woman voice, "I was wondering if you can help me?"
"Leave it?" he replied, his lower lip caught between his teeth as soon as the words left his mouth. He wasn't sure that Lysander was even certain he wanted to do it... but he wasn't about to be rude and ask that. "I'm sure, if you are...." he blinked, leaning heavily into the other as he said it. And... even if Lysander wasn't sure, he was. He was more certain about carving his name into a tree with Lysander's than he had ever been about nearly anything. And maybe... maybe this was just his first pang of puppy love. Or maybe, it was pure infatuation; but the more Kris considered those things, the less he believed it. Infatuation had a very unstable feeling to it-like pressing on the top of a bubble and just waiting for it to pop.. And puppy love.. Ha, it couldn't make him feel this way, could it? No... No, he was sure. Positive. Certain. Without a doubt. "No, I want to... Can we? Please? Pleeeeaaaaaseeeeeeee, Lysaaaaanderrrrrr...." He pulled on the edges of the other's jacket like a little boy, looking up at him with a sweet little pout to his lips and a soft sort of gleam in his eyes. "Come on, love... Help me deface a tree?"
"Pink? Hmm. Well, you're right.. it would go quite well... but then again, so would blonde... But, whatever you like. As I said, you'll look good even if you dye it purple with orange streaks... Come to think of it, that would go well.." he grinned mischievously, teasing his lover. "I could even help you, a tad of orange here, and a blob back here..." his hand travelled over the haired scalp, poking out places where the orange would infringe upon the purple. "Anyways, you don't even have to dye it, if you don't want..." Edvard gave another shrug, letting his hand drop from where it had been pestering and onto Tyn's chest, fingers tracing over the young man's heart, drawing it in the proverbial shape. Slowly dipping his head, his lips pressed over Tyn's, eyes shutting slowly and reopening a moment later, his nose tip rubbing an Eskimo kiss to his lover's. "When you get well, what should we do? Let's plan something right now... What do you think?" A rather pleased smile overtook him and he could do nothing but grin as he lifted his face away from the youth's, his breaths coming in soft swooshes in the silence. "We can do anything, go anywhere...."
Startled, Miroslav jumped, arms protectively slapping around his sides and latching onto his shirt. His brown eyes were wide with surprise, fear underlying that and stirring in his chest, heart fluttering too quick. He could hear the screaming start up again in his mind, knowing that behind the solid walls, the
wailing continued. Quickly, his mouth opened, and then closed, and then opened again, shivering once before he could completely regain himself. It was... just a woman. Well, it wasn't just a woman, he knew, a vampire, of course... But it was just her. All by herself. His tongue slipped over his lips, ineffectively trying to wet them. "Yes, ma'am?" he inquired meekly, seeming to cower in her presence, bowed by her self-reliant, overpowering nature.
His thick voice quavered, fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric of his shirt, the shrieks in his mind amplifying. Dante was apparently wanted something, someone... "Can I help you? I... think I can. What can I help you with?" Gently, he let his hands ease, eyes shifting quickly, nervously over the woman before him. Blonde. Pretty. Dresses. Shopping bag. Eyes. All his thoughts came in fragments, his head tilting to the side like a dog's when it misunderstands. "You smell familiar..." he uttered, more to himself than her, unable to keep his thoughts inside and unbothered by the consequences of voicing them. He knew what she was, and certainly, she had some idea of him. "Do you know Tyn?" he asked, almost eagerly in a shivery undertone. "Tyn... he has blue hair... Runs with... Edvard.... You smell like him too... You know them, apparently... Are you... relation?"
Rosa’s lips melted into a thankful smile. "Yes, I know them, pests that they are. I’m Rosalind, Tyn’s mother…and I suppose I must consider myself… Edvard mother-in-law." She shifted the bag from one hand to the other, and held the palm out, "I’m meant to be visiting them, and you know how it is, I’m sure. I’ve got no idea where I’m meant to be heading. I was hoping you could help me? Seeing that you know them, it’ll be easier then asking someone else… and I’m sure they’d invite you in, dear. What’s your name? I must say, you’re looking very impressive. Are you heading out for a night on the tiles? I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to keep you, of course." She finished with a hopeful lilt in her voice, one that stated that she didn’t want to keep him from his own business, but would do anyway. Besides, she was a woman, lost in the big city, on an important errand. No man would, could, turn her down. Rosa had learnt that, learns ago, that around some kinds of men, a tone of voice would get her what she wanted, whether it be dusky, sensuous tones, or the weak tones of a woman oppressed, or the commanding tones of a queen. A change of voice, a change in posture, and a firm expression would get you through so many locked doors.
Besides, this little creature before her seemed possessively thrilled at the idea of her son, and for a minute she considered probing a little digger into his mind to find out exactly why, but there was no more need for that. She would ask, when it was the right time to, how the young man knew of her son, and his beau, but not yet. She wanted home, and warmth, and a cup of decent tea with biscuits before she asked any questions.
Tyn laughed, a noise which made him feel much, much better, reaching still higher to curl his finger into the tendrils of Edvard’s hair. "If you are seriously proposing that, I’ll…I’ll have to add white streaks into yours…" He muttered, voice lazily as slow, still stumbling a little as he spoke. "White here… and here… and then at the front… and then…" his fingers tightened, and pushed Edvard’s head down, engaging him in another, longer kiss, one that allowed the younger male to groan softly when they separated again, his eye darkened, as his fixed on Edvard’s face, before leaning back, resting against the other’s torso, feeling the strong pulse through his back. "Once mama’s gone… we have forever to do whatever we want in…" The grin turned into a sensual smirk, pressing his lips to Edvard’s jaw again. "And that means I have forever to find the right shade of pink…"
He giggled then, and lent back happily, still pondering his change in hair style, humming softly under his breath before muttering, "I call you, to find out what you want, you want to leave, but you won’t take me, you won’t take me… Nu ma, nu ma iei, nu ma, nu ma, nu ma iei…"
Giggling again, and turning, carefully, to lay on his front, on Edvard’s chest, Tyn began looking at the other carefully. "Eddy… you know, you’re really pretty. You…you look kinda girly" he lifted his hand, stroking over one cheek, down the jaw, and then over the throat and Adam’s Apple. "I mean… you know. Beautiful like women are. Really… shaped and stuff… Really pretty…" He bit his tongue then, afraid he’d put his foot in it already.
Lysander laughed, and pulled Kris into a kiss, before letting his hand drop from the young man’s shoulder to his backside, and then sliding off totally. "I just wanted to be certain you wanted it…" he muttered, before taking off his jacket and folding it over the same low branch, and then climbing the tree as he had done the day before, the same route he had taken so many times as a child so much easier now he had grown to his full height. Once at that thick branch, that was really part of the stem, Zan reached down, waiting to take Kris’ hand and pull him up, and sit him in front, both facing the main body of the tree. Once there, he just sat, for some moments, his arms wrapped tightly around Kris’ torso, pressing kisses over the back of his head and down his neck, and then around to nibble at his ears, before pulling away. "I thought up here was best. Because… it’s ours. Don’t you think?" He added silently that it would stop any homophobic mothers having a fit when they saw the engraving, and it would stop the park keeper from having a heart-attack too, probably. "So, here?" He asked, pulling out a Swiss Army Knife from his pocket, pulling the blade free, carefully placing the handle within Kris’ hand, and then letting his own fingers trace the other’s wrist. "I don’t actually know your last name, you know…" his voice was amused, as he carefully took Kris’ wrist and began to guide his hand over the rough wood, beginning to carve the capital K into the tree’s surface.
"It's Kristopher Caspernth... And don't you dare laugh..." he muttered, looking sharply back over his shoulder, a smile on his face. Of course, he hated his name; but who wouldn't when it was something so odd as that? And when all your customers and your employers called you 'Casper', you hated it more, that was for certain. Still smiling, his eyes turned back upon the bark beneath the knife in his hand, watching it be guided so expertly. "And yes, this is the perfect place to put it, I think..." his voice softened as the K was so carefully carved, marked with little pressure upon his own hand. "Oh, Lysander, let's carve our names... I don't like my last name, and no one's ever used my initials... Plus, it's more personal this way... I bet there isn't another set of Kris's and Lysander's around, do you?" his hand lifted for a moment and the young singer leaned his head back, catching the other's lips with his own to share one more kiss. Gently, he parted with the other, hand dropping back onto the bark to continue the job at hand. "Are we going to get to draw a big heart around it like in the movie?" he inquired, looking positively thrilled at the idea that they /were/ sitting in a tree and carving their names like they had discussed. Such an innocently sweet gesture.
On the contrary to Tyn's fears, the vampire laughed, his head leaning back at the caresses flowing down over his skin. A purr escaped him each time his neck was delicately fondled. Sighing faintly, he began to reply, "Yes, I know... I'm not at all one of those masculine men like yourself, am I?" he chuckled once more. "It seemed to work, back in the day. I always got quite a bit of respect, perhaps on the account that most overlooked me as a woman. Either way, the attention was quite amusing and rather endearing. Do you like my... 'prettiness', love?" his eyes were sparkling softly with laughter, the laugh lines creasing at the edge of those darkly-lashed, golden orbs. "And by the way, your music... it's lovely.." his eyebrow jumped, once more playing with Tyn as his hand caressed over his jaw and pushed back the blue fringes, making way for slow, molasses kisses. "Yes, forever to find just the perfect, bubble-gummed shade of pink... or salmon, or tickle-me-pink, even..." he was chuckling, lips drawing little bits of flesh against his own.
"Oh, I... well, ma'am... I don't know how to get to Tyn's house..." he said these words painfully, as though this revelation burnt. It was certainly a predicament, and it made him rather sick to his stomach. His head was all ready spinning, mind tumbling painfully, the pressure seeming to push on this eyes. "May we... walk and talk? I feel rather... ill, I need some fresh air..." and without a word, he started off, quiet voice barely carrying on the stilled air. "You know, all you have to say is that you're lost when you ask for directions...." he murmured, looking back to see if she was coming. Of course, with the genteel aura that Miro pulsed off, he wouldn't come off rude... He never had, and never would. "But, either way... maybe we can find them, yes? Can you recall... what the building looked like?" The were-dog let his hand run over his temple in hopefully a soothing manner, trying to calm his brain-splattering heartbeat and the convulsions his brain seemed to be enduring. Poor thing; sometimes, he felt like he was going quite mad.
Rosa matched his pace, walking alongside him easily, her attention turned to him, no longer as a guide, but as a poor, sick innocent. "Thank you dear, but if you are feeling unwell, perhaps it would be best if…." She paused, then, and her free hand went to her mouth, "Oh, I’m sorry, if you’re heading home… I didn’t realise. You’ll have to forgive me, I won’t trouble you anymore…" Her hand then reached out, running over his forehead, lower lip caught between her teeth, and then removing it by running her fingers down the beautiful cheek. "You really don’t look well, do you? Listen, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Come back with me, Tyn isn’t very well either, and I’m sure it would be better for you to come and stay with us for a little while. I couldn’t let you go home on your own like this. What if something happened? Oh, I’d never forgive myself." And with those words, she took his hand, moving at a slightly gentler pace then Miroslav had originally set, her eyes darting from the pavement and street ahead of them, back to him. "Now, he lives in a better area then this, I’m quiet sure of that… I’m certain, in fact, that Tyn would agree. No one would deny their friends shelter when they’re sick."
"Me, laugh? I won’t dare laugh at you, dearest." he breathed, wide smile on his lips as they were smothered in that kiss. No he was not laughing at the name, or even smirking because of it, he told himself; he was merely enjoying the other’s company, the freshness of the day, the anticipation of the evening before them. Oh yes, it would be a very pleasant evening, a special evening. Especially if Kris was planning to leave in the morning. Oh, how that thought sent pangs through him, but he had offered, and he could now only wait for the other to decide.
Once the other had settled back against him, Lysander began gently leading Kris’ hand in a short, straight line, the backbone of the R, and then pausing, thinking. "What are we going to shorten my name to, hmm? If we’re going to draw a heart around this, then I think we need to shorten ‘Lysander’ by quiet a lot. Shall we go with Zan? I thought that was very pretty, when you called me that this morning…" he stopped then, carving two angled points to form the head of that second letter, before carving the tail. "God, I hate curved letters…" he muttered against Kris’ ear, pressing their cheeks together as he shuffled closer, the other hand still wrapped about the singer’s waist.
"So, after this, we’ll get a taxi to yours, you can change, and then, we’ll head out, alright? Our reservation at the Hudson is for 7:15… or have I already told you that? Anyway. It’ll take what, 25 minutes to get there? It’s almost 5:30 now, we have to get to yours, and you need to change…" he paused, the words having only been his spoken thoughts, before picking up the trail again. "Yes, I think we’ll have enough time, don’t you?" Lysander finished, as their joint hands carved the first rather angular curve of the ‘S’, removing the blade from the bark to nuzzle his face into Kris’ neck.
Tyn gently stroked over the other’s neck again, pleased with the reaction it had brought, before setting his lips to work over that pale cream skin, kissing over the throat and then over the softer flesh, before laying his head down on Edvard’s shoulder. "You know I think your pretty, and you know I like it. You really, really are… and prettier then most girls." Tyn muttered gently, closing his eye again and calming down from those few minutes, before giving another pained little whimper, and shifting again, moving to curl both of Edvard’s arms around his own half-naked body. "Feels better…" he commented once that was done. "You’re more comfortable too. Woman are squashy."
He quietened down after that, falling silent within the others hold. It was nice to lay like this, cared for, comforted. It was much different from his other relationships, although he supposed he remembered them with bias, but caring and comforting had not been so nice. Having to cuddle instead of be cuddled, to pamper instead of being pampered… no, this was much certainly better, although it felt strange. Edvard was more feminine then him, more genteel and things… so why had Tyn taken up that position within the relationship, almost by default. Was it because he was younger, smaller? Or because he had allowed himself to be dominated in a way, lead? Oh, he didn’t know, and these thoughts weren’t getting him anywhere, so he gave up on them, just resting comfortably against Edvard. "Bubble-gum pink…"
"Well, I'm glad I'm not squashy... and bubble gum pink sounds very... Odd, but I like it." He offered a softened smile and a little chuckle before his hands laying crossed across each other in the valley of his lover's back slipped up, caressing through the hair. "Are you comfortable, babe?" He adored being like this, able to care and caress and be in control of a situation; simplicity at its very best made him sigh in contentment. It was so easy to love someone, he thought all at once, forsaking his previous thoughts of love. Yes, it was so very simple, sweet. "Well, I propose that if you're comfy, and you don't feel like going out this evening, that we retire for the evening... We're both.. exhausted and you're ill... So we need not do anything else..." his mouth stopped moving and he leaned his neck forwards, lips brushing over the feverish forehead of his love.
"I'm sure we'll have time... don't worry about it, honey." Kris muttered in reply, eyes intent upon his name, completely carved now into the bark. It was quite pretty, scarring to the tree, he was sure; poor trees, they must feel emotionally unbalanced when a pair of kids come up and use a knife to mar their names into its rough skin. Saddening, in a tree-hugger sort of way.
Licking his lips, he lifted his free arm, brushing his fingertips through his hair, his eyes still upon the limb before him. "Yes, Zan. I think it's pretty too..." The fingers clutching the knife moved with the other's hand weighting it down and studiously made a little plus sign directly beneath his own name. "Now, for your name," he uttered, staring at the bark in a calculating way before the knife tip moved down again, this time moving horizontally to make the top wrung of the Z. Then his grip shifted on the instrument, fingers curling around it like he would have held a pencil, and trailed downwards quite heavily, making the adjacent branch of the Z and without stopping, completed it. "Hoorah. I can carve things..." he giggled slightly and went on, finishing the rest of the name quite quickly.
When he had finished, he leaned back, beaming proudly at the three letter name. "Look at it now...." he whispered, almost afraid to talk to loudly, a sense of pride bubbling up in him that was hinted with a bubble of joy that would not seem to burst. "KRIS + ZAN." the boy's grin widened even further. "We now sound like an equation.... Will you help me with the heart, Lysander?"
Miroslav had a hard time not flinching at the soft little hand that took his. He wasn't fond of being touched, period. Especially by someone he just met. "I... Well, if you... insist... But I must... come home sooner or later; there are things here I must... check on." And with a pang of guilt the Roma submitted to his guide, letting her take him along. In almost a drugged manner, the boy pointed her out of the slums where his magnificent, deceitful little palace was, clinging weakly to the thin appendage she had offered.
His hair caught on every little breeze, ruefully fluttering into his eyes were he would have to wipe it away. He felt like a child once again, if that was possible. It had been so long since he had been anything but a man subjected to such horrid, grown-up things, but... her... Rosalind... She was like a proverbial mother that had been nothing besides a maternal figure her entire life. Borne from some angel's wings and brought down from somewhere much better above to care for those in need. Did that mean that... The were-dog who had never needed anything-or so he thought-was in trouble? He blinked and shook his weary head, empty hand twisting into the hem of his shirt. "I'm... Miroslav, by the way. You must be... Rosalind, am I correct?"
Zan smiled, pressing his lips over the nape of Kris' neck and as far forward as he was able to reach, the hand about Kris' waist creeping under his shirt. With his fingertip now lightly circling the other's navel, the tousle-haired man considered the carving, smile still on his lips as he let his hand slip from the knife. Moving up, his digits, more commonly used for fitting circuitry or other miscellaneous tasks with the body of technical wizardry, over the roughly, but lovingly hewn names. It was beautiful, in an odd, surreal way. He had never seen his own name shortened to that, it was after all, normally cut to Lee, and since meeting the singer, had not seen his name on paper. He had known how the would be spelt, but to see their names side by side, down, on something as solid and permanent as this tree seemed… it was… it was so strange. Radiant and yet… there was something unreal about it. Magical, perhaps. It sent something down his spine, not a shiver, but something hotter, more drastic. Lightening.
"Sure I will…" He replied, moving his hand back, sliding his fingers around Kris' and allowing him to steer their joined hands in the shape, his own hand applying the necessary pressure while Kris carved the outline of a heart about their names. "You know… people are going to see this, for years and years and years, and wonder… wonder who we were." He said, voice matching that carefully quiet pitch, before falling silent.
"Yes. Yes I am. Rosalind Maria Elizabeth Cleeves. That is very perceptive of you, Master Miroslav. Now, how did you know?" She asked, lips forming a grin, her eyes moving back to check his, before walking on, turning a corner. "You know, Miroslav… I was wondering… if you don't mind me saying, one of your… kind…" she paused, unsure of how to negotiate what she felt a particularly difficult topic. "Well. You've met Tyn. And Edvard. I suppose… oh, you'll have to forgive me, but… when we get closer to wherever on earth that dratted apartment is, won't their… scent become stronger? I don't really understand lycanthropy." The smile widened nervously, and then went back to its previous set as her head turned forwards again. "This place… can't be very far. There was an alley… ah, look, that's the one, over there… so we can't be too far away. And when we get there, you are going to sit down and have a rest and have something warm to drink, and eat as well, I think. No young man should be as skinny as you, my dear. You're positively emaciated."
Tyn smiled to himself, letting Edvard's lips brush the hot skin and loose tendrils of blue hair, soon to be pink if he got his way. That would certainly cause a stir in any of his frequented hang-outs, The Pit, The Vortex, or even the Coffee House. Oh, certainly the young immortal would have heads turning all-round, and there was hardly anything that pleased him more then that prospect. "Sleep sounds good…" he muttered, laying his cheek down on Edvard's chest, "Mama will get in again by herself… if she comes back…" he yawned widely into the fabric of the shirt, before nosing against it. "And… and if she doesn't… we can go out… out again, soon… we have… to find that… man… and the singer… he was good. I have to apologise to Lysander…" his voice dropped in volume again, even more muffled against the older man's chest. "And I need more ice-cream. We don't… have much left. Love you…" And then the words stopped all together, Tyn's fingers still curled into the bunched fabric of Edvard's sleeves.
The words touched him down to the core, a slow intake of breath making his lips push out into a soft, congenial smile. "Love you too, Tyn... Sleep well..." his arms barely moved, hands smoothing the skin over the other male's back, fingers catching in the short tangles of hair, tiredly trying to imagine it bubble-gum pink. It didn't matter to him what Tyn looked like, the thoughts came slowly, his mind attempting to lull itself to sleep with wanton, meaningless thoughts. It did not matter a bit what the other looked like, he continued, but it mattered on the inside. Mattered that Tyn love him, saved him, needed him, and wanted to keep him. Oh, how splendid a feeling it was to be needed, to be wanted! He adored it, his face set in a placid, pleased smile, eyes shutting, curls laying softly around his neck and face as he tilted back his chin, the crown of his head laying against the headboard.
Miroslav smiled faintly, finding it harder than he expected. His lips merely twitched at the edges, his eyes darting to hers and then back to the path before them. "Yes, it will be stronger, and is now, actually... And your name... Well, Rosalind, is it all right if I call you that? Well, you open your mind too easily when you think someone isn't a threat to you. It's a horrible habit, might I remark. And it is very kind, your proposal. I would enjoy very much to visit with Tyn a little while and perhaps have something to drink... Very kind indeed." he concluded, following her very closely, the screeching in his mind long stopped. His frail hand squeezed hers as they slipped through the alleyway, recognising it immediately as the one he had torn down after the pair on the first night they had so informally met. "It's right up here, perhaps, though, we should go through the front... There's a back door, you know... But it's probably locked..."
"But that's the magic of it, Zan.." Kris murmured, lifting his eyes for just a second and giving an optimistic smile to the other. His hand continued working, pulling down, around, lifting, sitting along the top of the heart and moving again. Up, around, down, together. He repeated this process over the heart again, making it stand out white in the rich brown of the bark. With a sated sigh, he leaned back, hand poised adjacent in the air from the sign. How pretty it was! How... meaningful. Even if it was the sign of innocence, sweetness... Even with those things, Kris thought it fit the pair of them perfectly.
"Oh Lysander..." the young artist murmured, fully pleased by it, the butterflies in his chest flitting around in merriment. "It's perfect, don't you think? Perfect..." he was grinning, and couldn't stop, his chin dipping back, head laying gently in the curve of Zan's shoulder where it met his neck. Nuzzling the softened expanse of neck, his began to rub kisses against it, eyes lazily closed. He hadn't a care in the world. If they didn't get down from the tree and go to his apartment, it wouldn't bother him; if they stayed here and missed their dinner, it wouldn't bother him... Just the presence of the other, here and now, made him feel light-headed with happiness. Kris couldn't even find the words.
Rosa laughed, the soft sound echoing down the alley until they reached the mouth, stepping out onto the wider, better lit and generally more pleasant street. "Too open, you think? Well, Master Miroslav, in this airhead of mine there is nothing much of any interest or importance. Nothing that any half-rate con-artist couldn’t find out anyway just by going through your trash." The English accent died down as they stepped into the dim lobby, Rosa frowning, glancing about, before deciding that this was almost certainly her son’s property. Miroslav’s nose had pointed them in this direction too, so clearly this was it. It was a familiar building, and not only that, Tyn’s personality was stamped into the very fabric of the place. The sleek, clean black and white tile, the panelling that ran at hip-height about the walls, and the way the pot-plants at the entrance of the lobby and at the foot of the stairs were not yet dead, but on the way there.
Yes, this was certainly the place, and she said as much, leading the were-dog forwards with her confident, sure steps towards the staircase, up and up until they reach the last floor, silent all the while, before letting her hand slip out of that other cool grasp to knock at the door.
The noise seemed loud to Tyn, who had only just then drifted off to sleep, and who’s head seemed to be full of warm, slightly damp, cotton wool. It was not a pleasant feeling, and the sound of the gently taps at the door made his whole frame twitch. It was an automatic reaction to slide off Edvard, out of that protective grip, while muttering, groaning and complaining all at once, stumbling towards the door, which was tapped at once more, sending a visible shiver down Tyn’s back. He had been used to this before, getting up while he was sleeping, normally during the day, to deal with Lysander or some other tenant or girlfriend or someone who had seen fit to keep to their internal clock, rather then his. That made sense (or would have done if his brain was functioning) as he hadn’t told them. He didn’t, because problems couldn’t always wait. The curtains in his little pent-house were always closed, as it was, so there was no harm in getting up. Apart from he rather liked sleeping, and he especially didn’t like leaving whoever it was alone in his bed. It was discourteous. Although Edvard, who was going to be the only one sharing his bed for a long while, probably hadn’t been fully asleep yet either. "I’m coming, I’m coming…" Tyn groaned again as he reached the door, pulling it open, blinking at his mother.
With a smile through the crack Tyn had opened up, the pale blonde woman pushed through, her hand catching Miroslav’s again to pull him through, before the door was closed again, neither by her hand or Tyn’s, but probably by her will that doors should be kept closed this time of night. "I’m got you some shopping dear. Where’s Edvard? Sleeping, I’ll bet. When you’re ill. Hmmph." The noise of displeasure was muffled by the sound of the shopping bag being carefully set on the floor, and then silence as Rosalind noticed the wide stare of her son’s remaining eye. "Ah. Tyn, Master Miroslav is in the same boat as you, I’m afraid. He is going to stay here, and have something warm to eat and drink, and a rest, before he goes on his way again, understand?"
She expected, and got, the meek, "Yes Mama" from Tyn, who was still on auto-pilot, before recovering himself and moving carefully, nervously towards the were-dog. Oh, how the positions were reversed! Miro was known in the home of the two vampires, and although he was no prisoner as they had been, Rosa was sure to keep him there until her own satisfactions about his diet and health were met. Tyn would have probably thought this, but his mind was still closed-down, as he gently wrapped his arms about the other’s shoulders, hugging him close. "Been worried… about you. About both of you…" he muttered, and then let them both sink onto the sofa.
Lysander’s grip tightened, then relaxed, trembling as Kris’ fingers let go of the knife, and he tried, one handedly to replace the blade into the body of the penknife without catching either of them, and respond to the kisses and turn his head so that Kris’ tender administrations were not lost on his neck. Their lips met, gently and almost chastely at first, and then once the knife was safely away in Zan’s pocket, he was able to concentrate a little more, tongue brushing Kris’ lips and making a soft, hungry noise against them, letting his fingers knot into Kris’ hair, holding him close. It was beautiful like this. Out in the early evening air, Kris tasted of sugary coffee and the wind and the rain that still hung in the air. He tasted like the stars that were hidden by cloud and by the remaining light, and about dates in expensive restaurants and something else. Something that no poetic, romantic word or phrase would describe. Something unique and subtle and over powering and perfectly addictive.
Lysander let the kisses and the slow caressing go on for several minutes more then he should, before breaking it, letting both his hands find Kris’ cheeks, hold them with his thumbs to stroke the shaped cheekbones. "I’ve never, ever met a creature like you. I don’t think I ever will again. God I don’t want you to leave me…" he muttered, more to himself then to Kris, but the words were meant to be shared. "We’re going to be late, love. Come on… I’ve kept you out in the cold too long."
Miroslav sagged against the weight that was pulling him into the cushions of the couch. With a forced exhalation of breath, his meek eyes and eyebrows dipped to match his faint smile. Look of pure confused happiness stretched his dried lips and fluttered in the chocolate depths of his eyes. "Worried about you also, Tyn... Missed you..." he dared not to raise his voice above the soft tone the sickened vampire had set from finding it both rude and quite out of place in the stilled apartment. "In fact, I missed you horribly. Thought I would visit, you know... but under the circumstances...." he heaved another soft sigh, letting his eyes close for a moment to rest, the screams that had once invaded his mind now leaving a dull throb in their place, pushing persistently against the back of the were-dog's eyes.
"I am here, Madame Rosalind, but you must forgive me for not chaining Tyn to the bed." his voice held that slick note of sarcasm that was counter-balanced by the way the vampire had greeted the lady. Edvard could not control every move that Tyn made, especially when he was asleep. But for the most part, he let the woman's words go, eyes set on their visitor. And by golly, weren't they set in an unfriendly hunch. His eyebrows rubbed together, eyes just golden slivers of colour on his sheet-white face. "Evening, Miroslav..." he drawled, apparently quite unpleased by the sudden appearance of a vision from his nightmares. "How... strange it is for you to visit." Only after another moment of leering did the immortal sway from where he had been framed in the bedroom doorway, his now unbuttoned shirt catching a soft lick of wind as he moved and fluttering open farther, only pale scars catching the light. Miroslav winced at the sight of them, having shied away from the stinging words a moment before.
Edvard gathered up the bags from where the lady of the house had set them and walked listlessly into the kitchen. "I'll put these things away, Rosalind, and make some tea. You have a seat and chat... I'm sure our /visitor/ has some nice things to talk about... Have a quaint little chat with the were-vampire... and won't you see if he would like some tea? Perhaps a few biscuits or the like?" Then, knowing he was probably pushing the envelope too far, he silenced himself in the kitchenette, busying his still-groggy mind.
The were-dog could not help but lean into the other's warmed embrace, eyes pained with large droplets sleeking their surface. "Y-yes, anyways... Uhm... how are you, Tyn? What happened?" he abruptly changed the silence to a subject when he managed to put some breathing room between himself and the other blue-haired young man. "You look so ill, child." Miro murmered more to himself than any of his audience. His fingers carefully, affectionately ran over Tyn's jaw, his eyes full of concern. Meanwhile, Edvard was doing his best not to chunk the containers into cabinets and slam down boxes to crush their contents in a fitful rage. However, he did make his presence known, dropping things now and again from the shelf to the counter. Each time that would happen, Miroslav would jump slightly, eyes darting to the kitchen door and then back.
Kris sat, face in Lysander's hands, eyes all for him. "If we have to leave, promise that we'll come back here some time? I love it here, it's so... so... Well, I don't know what it is, but it's just right... Do you know what I mean, Lysander?" he inquired quietly, in no hurry to leave no matter the time limitations they had. He knew the clock was ticking away the moment between the now and their reservation, but frankly, he couldn't conjure up any excitement for moving. Plus, when Lysander saw the young man's apartment, he was sure that the man would think his new lover something... horrid. The place was so small. And it was a total wreck. Not to mention it was set in a bad part of town... and so many other things he hurriedly pushed back into the deep recess of his mind with a warped plastic sign reading 'WORRIES'.
Gently, he lifted his face and bumped his nose against the curve of Lysander's lips, eyes sparkling. "You won't mind if I stay one more evening with you, then? I'll leave in the morning so you can get work done... but after that... well, we can worry with that later, can't we?" The singer's arms shifted as did his body, closer, long arms folding around Lysander's middle, his black-haired head resting on the other's collar-bones. There was nothing like the feeling of being at peace with everything. And as in everything, Kris did mean /everything/; nothing could pop his bubble of delight.
Tyn was about to reply, about to assure his large, doe-eyed, beautiful and childlike guest that everything was alright, nothing was really out of place; although something nagged at the vampires fogged brain. If Miro had planned to visit, well, it would have been too soon after the harrowing events of their first meeting, perhaps. Miroslav would want to spend time with Dante, with his love, like Tyn had. Then why… why had Rosa brought the were-dog here alone? Miro wouldn’t have been alone. Dante would never have allowed the were-dog to wander freely around the slumbering city’s streets without some sort of escort. Something was wrong, something that had made the roma break out on his own; he wouldn’t have been persuaded by Rosa unless there was no fear that Dante would punish him… there was no fear in his eyes that Tyn could see, only sadness and sickness.
And then he realised, Edvard’s words hitting him painfully in the chest, not like a punch or kick, but as something inside him had suddenly begun to dissolve all his tissues and organs, eating him from the inside like a corrosive acid, or a maggot. He didn’t know which was worse, but the maggot idea made him want to wrench.
"Oh god…" the blue-haired one breathed, his arms, having slipped from the brown-eyed man’s shoulders when he had pulled away now retightened, pulling them together again as Tyn’s fingers stroked and knotted in the soft strands of Miro’s hair, playing with the ribbon.
But before Tyn could mutter any more soft comforting words, both young men flinched again as something heavy crashed, and smashed in the kitchen. Tyn’s teeth clenched together.
Eddy didn’t have to like Miro, he had never been asked to like him, but this was too far! He was being childish, stupid, and unkind. Those were three things Tyn had never, ever thought he would associate with his lover, but it looked for and more likely. Had any of the words he had spoken, that evening on the sofa, with the ice-cream melting before them even gotten through Edvard’s skull? It looked unlikely, and Tyn was feeling too drained, too shaken by Miro’s sudden appearance to care about Edvard’s petty tantrum, but he would not have his own property ruined. "Wait, I’ll go and…" the vampire muttered, standing, but was pushed down again by Rosa, who’s eyes were bright and as turbulent as a summer storm.
"No, Tyn, sit down. You aren’t well, either of you. I’ll deal with Master Edvard." She breathed, trying to clear the anger from her eyes, and flashed a small, motherly smile, before stepping silently across the room, shutting the kitchen door behind her with a faint click. "Edvard dear, would you like a hand?" She asked, fingers still pressed to the door handle, before slipping off, without waiting for his reply. Her eyes, now strangely calm, darted from his form without really looking, down to the smashed plate on the worksurface, probably having fallen from one of the cupboards overhead during his little hissy fit. She said nothing else though, silently beginning to pick up the jagged pieces of plain china. It was lucky that it had not been one of her own old porcelain pieces, brought from England so long ago, lucky for Edvard, that was. Although she probably would have given him the ‘silent treatment’ even then. Rosa knew very well that her presence itself was likely to annoy Edvard, but without saying anything, how could he complain? Surely, any rational brain would work like that, but Var wasn’t the most rational man she had ever met. She wasn’t trying to punish him anyway. Or even question him; it would only result in argument, and that would disturb the two boys. That was unfair.
The vampire let himself fall back into the cushions, muscles in his bare chest shifting over each other as his arm raised to push his hair out of his face. "I’m sorry, Miroslav. I guess… Edvard’s been so moody lately. Just… just ignore him." he managed, expression set in a apologetic, embarrassed smile, much like that of a parent who’s child has just thumped another child and set them crying to their own mother. He lent back then, letting the cold leather sting the fevered flesh of his back while his hand blindly reached forwards, grabbing the packet of cigarettes which was a permanent resident of his coffee table. "Do you mind…?" he asked, but as the last syllable faded, the fag was already between his lips, and the fact it was there seemed to make him more composed just chewing on the filter.
The silence continued for another second, Tyn wanting to be sure there were no screams of murder from his kitchen. The ‘adults’ seemed to be getting along better, or perhaps just more quietly, so he had nothing to worry about from that quarter, not right now, at any rate. He turned back to Miro, eyes still softened with his own sadness and sickness. "I am sorry, Miro… I didn’t want… things to turn out like this." He gave another reassuring hug, not uncurling his arms from the other’s shoulders as he muttered, the sound of dry tears shaking his voice, "I wanted you to be happy. I… there might be something we can do to… I don’t know…"
Lysander nodded, both to Kris and to the tree, as if offering it some form of respect seeing they had willingly, even happily, vandalised it. It was traditional though. Special. No one could arrest or be angry with them. Apart from Bible Bashers, who would probably be more worried that they were advertising, even flaunting, their dirty perversions for all to see, rather then caring about the tree. Such was life.
"Of course we’ll be back. This is our place now. Always. As long as our names are there… then this place and us… we’re linked. You said it was magic, didn’t you? That’s exactly what it is…" He let his arms uncoil from about the young man, slipping off the branch and waiting for Kris to follow, catching him by the hips and pulling him close and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, before setting him on the ground.
"Do you really want to go in the morning? You can stay… I mean… I’ll be lonely…" He muttered, Zan’s hands still holding the thin waist, "I want you to stay longer, for as long as you like. Forever, if you can stand me. But… never ever think that my place isn’t yours too, alright? And never think…" he lips brushed over the singer’s sideburn, as he muttered in an almost silent voice, "don’t think I’m not complete without you by my side, either." He pressed another brief kiss to Kris’ cheek, before one hand slid from the other’s belt. "We’d better go, we’ll be late…" he managed, in as near a normal voice as he could, walking with Kris to the entrance of the little park, wandering down the street towards a taxi stand, Lysander’s hand still pressed to the base of the youth’s spine.