Pandora wondered at how un-hurt her eyes were after staring
into the fire so closely for so long. She remembered as a human staring at the
fires so hard, so lost in the thoughts that they fueled, that she had cried. Now
she was extremely close to the fires of the open hearth and had already been
running her fingers over the licking flams unburnt, even though Marius had
several times forbid her to do so. He hadn’t seen her doing it, he hadn’t looked
her way all morning. She turned to him now, sitting in one of his chairs,
staring down at a book but not reading it. He was trying to not go down before
the parents. He had shut himself away in the crypt of the Mother and Father so
long and so often now, that he hardly did anything else. They had already had
several fights about it. She told him how she understood unconditionally, but
also warned him that it could be not healthy, it could turn dark on him like quicksand
so undetectable and nearly inescapable. It depended on what he was thinking down
there, what he was feeling. And since he had the mind to keep all these sacred
and pleading thoughts to himself she had no way of helping him. She had wept at
his misunderstandings and his lack of trust in her. But still he went down to
be alone with Akasha and Enkil.
The alcohol swirling in my glass was rather off-putting–I raised it to my lips every few minutes to blend, but Lestat left his drink untouched.
“Louis,” he whispered into my ear. “That one.”
I followed Lestat’s line of vision. He was gorgeous, skin flushed from dancing, and his heart nearly sang, even in the din of the club. He had long, well-cared-for chestnut hair and a lithe frame, perfect for weaving in and out of the gyrating bodies. He wore almost no clothing, choosing instead to parade around in slick, wet-look shorts and a vinyl chest harness. I curled my lip in distaste–part of the fun with Lestat was making him work for his meals.
Gently, tentatively, there were lips on his; experimental pecks that soon transformed into an open-mouthed invitation. This was their first kiss, tongue slipping into Amadeo’s mouth, rewarding him with a taste of copper that soon melted into a honeyed elixir. Oh, how he had wanted this.
“Amadeo.” His lips had not moved, but Amadeo still heard him, the voice all the more intimate within him. He gasped at the heightened sensations, every touch magnified by the electric pulses of the Blood working its way throughout his veins.
He moaned, eyes closing as he reluctantly let those luscious lips remove themselves from his own and work down to his exposed neck. At some point, they had moved to the bed, his body sinking into the firm softness beneath him.
Such loving kisses against his neck, tongue lapping at his flesh as it had previously pleasured his mouth. And then, the sting of sharp teeth penetrating his unmarred skin: a fleeting sensation that uncoiled itself into the bottom of his loins, building up hardness where he desired release.
“Oh, Master…”
As he reached up to grab onto the man on top of him, the lights bled into each other, much like the colors on Marius’ unfinished painting only a few feet away. He felt it slipping through his fingers, the tangibility of the dream dousing him in an unfettered happiness he had not experienced in centuries.
He was being lifted farther and farther away from his vision; reality and dream forcibly coming undone before him. And as if reliving his initial separation from Marius once more, Armand awoke to darkness.
I-want-my-IWTV 