Title: Hollow Glass
Author: Edana email@example.com
Rating: PG-13 (for implied sexual situations, vampirism)
Summary: A night separated from other nights leads to a seduction that has strange consequences.
Disclaimer: All owned by me
Warnings: slash/shounen ai, sexual situations, vampirism, blood etc
A/N: Always wanted a stab at a vampire fic, so I've written a short one. Could be taken literally or not. Please review ^_^ THIS CHAP FROM THE VAMPIRE'S POV.
~Fading White Roses~
The colours have faded.
The sun, brilliant and burning angry orange, fierce and blazing, slowly sunk below the surface of the water, swallowed by the vast stormy waters, extinguished. The sky blushed pink in its wake before the lilacs painted a darker scene and soon the sky was a black deeper than black, vast and unforgiving. But the colours lived on in the dancers, exotic and powerful and lively, skin damp, hair loose and free, wild, materials and beads and painted faces flashing like distorted rainbows in the darkness, living on long into the night, movement flickering through the shadows with each rhythmic dancer that let the music course through their veins.
But still the colours were lost to me.
I danced among them, letting the thumping rhythm slowly fill me, the floor trembling beneath me, the almost painful buzzing gathering in my throat and chest. Sweat coated skin, damp coffee coloured hair, my vision blinded, everything was simply a blur of faceless movement and flashes of strong colour. Soft indigo and jade, cooling azure and silver-white and the warmth of orange and above all, the colour that sunk deep into my memory, my heart and soul, that settled on my tongue and let me taste it, was red. Blood red, crimson, scarlet, ruby, hot and exotic, spicy, earthy, passionate and real. The damp, earthy taste settled as the hot sweat fell from my flesh and I danced, completely losing myself, hips and arms and legs and movement, constant moving among these colours, existing among the colours.
There was only one colour left for me now. But once it had been different and even now, sometimes, I could pretend. A slow heat was building inside, reaching long fingers deep into my stomach and chest and throat and I closed my eyes, felt the dampness of my skin, of my hair beneath my fingers, and my skin was burning. Burning heat, passion, lust indistinguishable and tangled, gripping my body, my stomach twisted in anticipation, timeless dancing, forever moving, never stopping. My heart would be pounding if it was still beating, but it wasn't, and it remained silent inside of me. Inside, where I was cold and dead, but the heat would never be completely lost to this shadow of a man.
I wasn't alive, but I moved. Not alive, but I kept breathing. The air was leaving my lips in heavy pants, I was breathless and exhausted and burning and exhilarated, loving it, loving every moment in which I was here amongst everything I had lost, among the life that would never fade, at least for tonight, it wouldn't fade.
And there he was, the man who I had seen, who had been such a deep part of me for what seemed an eternity even though I had never once spoken a word to him. My breath hitched in my throat but I kept dancing, always dancing, heat spreading, sweat flying, hips moving, eyes stinging. That same golden brown hair, those same innocent eyes, and some hidden part to him that drew me to him, something that I couldn't name, something that intoxicated me.
I closed my eyes, eyelashes fluttering, and licked my lips.
And the first words I ever spoke to the man who I would love more than anything were, "You realise that you're as hollow as that glass."
The scene was moon-drenched, soaked in silver-white light, pale blue painted across the damp grass, across my own skin. Shadows, black, ancient, powerful, lurked in corners threateningly and I gasped lightly, and the breath that left my lips was visible in soft white puffs. Only the loud thumping of my heart in my chest disturbed the calmness of the scene, blues and blacks hiding all other colours from human eyes.
My heart had beaten before I became little more than a shadow.
The sun had set long ago, all colour was lost, and now only the darkness was left to settle like a shroud over everyone and everything, claiming its victims. No dancers, no heat, no exhilaration, no flashes, no passion, just this void of cold nothingness and an apprehension inside of me that was painful as the tears stung my eyes.
It was cold.
Winter was long time coming, but the night was deadly cold. The breeze ruffled white blossoms mercilessly, hit my body, cold kisses numbing my skin and sending icy shivers through my body and my blood, freezing my blood. Such a cold it was painful and almost burnt and soft hairs began to rise. My hair was wet from rain, not sweat, soft droplets descending from clouds that were barely there, floating from Heaven, perhaps tears for a fate that would soon be mine. Perhaps someone cared.
But small beacons of light shattered the darkness and I realised, my chest heavy with some unspoken fear, that the sharp whiteness was nothing more than petals. Flower petals. I stepped towards them like a moth drawn to the light and let my fingers search almost blindly for the softness, and the gentle kisses against my fingertips were reassuring and brought some warmth inside a frozen heart. They were roses, beautiful, almost ethereal, glowing and soft and natural.
My fingers danced across the white rose petals, down the stem.
And I felt a sudden pain.
"Such a beautiful flower." The voice behind me was expected but frightening, almost exhilarating, mostly unwanted, a wave of adrenaline pouring through my blood, through my body, muscles tensing. The coldness became stronger and more deadly with that voice and I shivered hard, turning. Piercing emerald green eyes, a familiar smirk, dark hair, tall and intimidating and powerful; a figure that could easily melt into the shadows, that could be made from the darkness itself.
My skin was stinging painfully, and biting my bottom lip hard, I looked down. A single drop of blood, almost black in the flickering white moonlight, sat almost gently atop my fingertip. And then there was a small explosion of warmth against my teeth and tongue and I gasped, feeling my skin split under the pressure and tasting the familiar earthy tang of blood inside my mouth.
"I didn't realise," he said slowly, "that flowers could bleed."
And then he reached for me and my heart was pounding in my throat and anxiety gripped me inside. His hand brushed against mine, his skin cold, icy and lifeless, warmth fading into non-existence, colder than the frosty kisses of the wind. From then on I would always seek warmth but now he was smiling an almost evil smile and I knew my eyes were wide as he lifted delicate fingers to his mouth. I shivered; heart racing as he gently placed my fingers against his bottom lip, kissing fingertips softly, a pang inside of me. Those striking eyes studied me intensely and for a moment lust struck me, something erotic about this simple moment, existing like this.
But he slowly slipped his tongue over his bottom lip and it emerged from his mouth like a snake, and I froze. Heart racing, adrenaline engulfing, heat and warmth lost inside of me, he licked the cut from the rose thorn, licked the blood and smiled softly because his tongue and lips were so cold, unbelievably cold, and my skin was warm and alive and I knew then that he wasn't.
He wasn't alive. He was cold.
"Don't," I murmured, pulling my hand back, fingers falling. Fear was flickering inside of me, numbing me as the wind had, coldness spreading through me. But he just smiled a smile devoid of all warmth and cupped my face with those icy fingers, drawing me towards him. He kissed me, pressed his lips against mine, his mouth to my mouth, and I shivered, body trembling, gasping against his lips, clinging to him desperately, fingers gripping. It washed through me, the cold, the complete and utter unrelenting coldness that existed inside of him. Skin shivered beneath his fingers and my mouth, my lips, my tongue, were numbing, icy, bloodless. He deepened the kiss and it was fierce but cold, frosty, the warmth lost, just this bitter iciness.
He broke the kiss suddenly and for a moment I was frozen before I stumbled back, panting heavy, breaths ragged, white puffs forming in the air before my lips. I shivered hard, holding back something like a devastating sob that was rising inside, darkness around me, shadows looming, all colour faded but the black and pale blues that brought little comfort. And the red; the haunting red, crimson, scarlet, so many names for the earthy, vibrant colour that I now saw burning in his eyes, and staining his lips.
"Don't be scared, little flower," he said.
But I was scared because this man, this creature, this shadow wasn't alive. Lifeless and haunting, and so, so cold. The heat inside of me was racing, boiling my blood, my skin flushing, dusted pink, reminding me that I was warm, that I was alive, and the suffocating pain inside was almost unbearable. But suddenly he was kissing me again and the kiss was still cold and painful, icy . . . but soft and gentle. The only warmth came from the blood that was still on his lips, and it was my blood, and it mingled on our tongues and I needed to feel more of that slight warmth, any warmth in this sea of endless cold, so I kissed him harder, pulling him towards me.
He moaned slightly into my mouth and his teeth found my tongue and bit down hard. Pain flashed through me but it gave way to hot, burning heat and I moaned again as my blood filled his mouth slowly and I tasted it too, the metallic, earthy, spicy tang, and I swallowed it down. It burnt my throat but I didn't care because the warmth was growing.
And then his fingers were tangled in my hair, and he licked the cherry-bright blood from my teeth and I knew what he was but I couldn't stop it. He was clutching me desperately and my head was spinning but he kneeled down and pulled me with him until we were lying amongst the roses that still glowed in the darkness. The white roses.
His mouth left mine, and the heat was lost, coldness engulfing again. I whimpered, trying to bring back that heat but the wind was stroking my skin with soft, icy fingers, or perhaps it was him. How could I tell when they were both as cold as death? But his mouth only travelled to my neck and suddenly the truth hit me and fear began to bubble inside but before a word left my raw, bloody lips, I felt the sharp slicing. It stung and I moaned lightly, the pain incredible, fighting back the nausea that was settling across my chest and stomach. There was an explosion of warmth against my skin and I knew it was blood, it was hot, and he was sucking at my skin, drinking the blood, because it was warm and he wasn't, because he was dead inside and I wasn't.
His weight was pressed against me and I closed my eyes, shivering at the cold contact, arching against him almost subconsciously, tightening my grip. His fingers were laced in my hair but he continued sucking my skin, drinking my blood, the warmth burning, my head spinning, everything fading, even the last traces of pale blue and moonlight white turning into nothing but shadows.
And I was becoming a shadow too.
My heart was pounding fiercely, the blood roaring in my ears, and I gasped almost desperately as it all began to fade but I clutched all the tighter to him as he drained me of my blood, of my warmth, of my life. And my heart stopped beating.
When I opened my eyes again I was still lying in the roses, alone.
My head pounding, aching, my body unbelievably aching, painful and sore, I slowly sat up. The grass beneath my fingers was cold and wet and the shadows still flickered around me, but I was part of them now, and I knew in that moment that everything had changed.
The white petals of the roses were spattered bright red.
I guess flowers do bleed.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
Slowly I bit into the warm, sweaty skin, holding him protectively, the heat between us almost unbearably pleasurable. My lips were soft against his throat and I knew he was vulnerable and exposed, but I wouldn't take advantage of that. I had watched him for so long, I needed him so much, and the way he seemed to complete me caused my eyes to sting with tears. It was a tender action when I tore his skin and ran my tongue over the cut, his warm blood invading my mouth, gently nudging his jaw with my nose as a natural display of affection. I didn't want to hurt him, and my fingers found comfort in his skin as I slowly sucked on his throat, the explosion of blood in my mouth hot and spicy and potent, the fruity alcohol teasing my tongue. For a long moment we were frozen like that before the guilt clutched my dead heart and I pulled away, tongue, teeth and lips sticky with his blood. "Forgive me," I whispered, tears threatening to spill, unbelievable grief. I didn't mean to hurt him like he had hurt me.
"You're a vampire?" he asked shakily. I nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, waiting for the anger or the fear or the disgust. Instead he smiled softly, cupping my face in his hand, the touch sending waves of hazy pleasure through me. "It's okay."
He kissed me, or I kissed him, and I could never get enough of him, of his taste or his touch, or the earthiness of him. We kissed fiercely, passionately, and he was warm and alive but he was simply him as well and I couldn't get close enough to him. My fingers danced across bare flesh and a heat was building in my chest, a heat that I thought had been sucked out of me as my life had been. "I love you," I whispered, voice husky but passionate and truthful. I wanted to hold him and protect him from the dangers that no one protected me from, but right now, I wanted him inside me.
Smiling softly I pulled his body over mine, clothes discarded, flesh on flesh and hands entwined, mouths against mouths and skin flushed and hot and damp. I begged him silently for forgiveness and release, and I was aching for him so badly, my body and soul reaching desperate fingers. How could my heart be dead if I wanted him this much? If I loved him this much? And then he was inside me and the feeling was indescribable and I clung to him desperately. Fingertips danced across skin, softly exploring, wet kisses and whispered words and harsh breathing.
Instinctively I bit into his neck again and tasted the warm, wet blood. It exploded against my tongue and I sucked gently, eyes fluttering closed and when I heard him groan lightly I smiled against his skin. He was moving inside when I pressed my mouth to his and I knew he tasted the hot, heavy tang of his own blood, and the sweat and earthiness of my own mouth.
We both came together, our cries mingled, and I swore I saw the bloodstained roses.
Afterwards we lay together in quiet reflection and he tentatively reached for the wound at his neck, the scent of blood heavy in the air. I shivered hard and looked at him, expecting the disgust or hatred, knowing that it would come. The man I loved more than anything would turn me away because of what I was. But the inner turmoil faded into confusion, and then relief as I realised there was none and I smiled and kissed him again. He fell asleep in my arms, and I was accepted, and loved.
We shared the same heart.
Slowly I unfolded him from my arms and slipped out into the night.
Once again the warmth had faded into coldness, and the colours were dimmed. I sat quietly, alone, not a sound but eerie echoes disturbing me. Blue-white moonlight lay like a thin blanket over everything, the shadows that I didn't feel close to anymore flickering at the edges, calling silently to me. Blue and black painted across the damp grass, the icy wind numbing my skin, the heat fading.
But I was still warm inside, and I smiled softly.
I didn't know how long I sat like that, perfectly silent and motionless with nothing but old memories to keep me company. There was still blood on my lips but I didn't feel guilty anymore, and the taste was his. Slowly I raised my hand and placed gentle fingertips against my bottom lip, remembering the kisses and the touches and my quiet, meaningful confession.
I heard soft footsteps against the damp grass and turned.
He was standing there, the icy wind whipping at him relentlessly, numbing his skin, his golden brown hair blowing. He was silent, and I said nothing, and the only sound between us was the gentle whipping of the wind. But then he smiled softly, and I smiled back, and I opened my arms to him, a shelter from the cold, even if inside I was little warmer than the wind.
Slowly he knelt before me, the water droplets on the grass sparkling in the light like diamonds around him, and I could tell there was something wrong. Fear grasped my heart and squeezed, and I could feel my eyes stinging. "What's the matter?" I asked him softly.
He looked up suddenly, almost surprised, his face dusted lightly with pink. And then he raised a hand and my eyes widened as my heart leapt into my throat. "Here," he breathed. "This is for you."
My fingers slowly enfolded the white rose.
"What's wrong?" he whispered, his flush deepening. I swallowed hard and shook my head, slowly lifting the beautiful white flower to my face, pressing the soft petals against my lips, smelling the light scent. It brushed against my cheek and I smiled, looked up to see him watching me with something like awe in his watering eyes. "I love you," he said softly, so softly his voice, his confession, was almost lost to the harsh wind. But I heard him, and I treasured those words, and I was crying silently.
"I love you too," I whispered, my heart expanding. And I kissed him gently, the heat between us soft and engulfing, and eternal. With one kiss the coldness faded away and I clutched the white rose tightly as we pulled apart, tears in both our eyes. We kissed again, and when we lay together on the damp, sparkling grass there was just one rose, and it was enough.
Not all the colours have faded.
And I guess that not all flowers bleed.