Note: Okay, this is the second 'NC-17' story I've ever written and it's basically PWP (porn-without-plot). Sorry if you don't want to read this. It's slash (yoai): in other words, guy-on-guy. You probably won't understand the story, either, if you haven't read either "Darkness in California" or "Love Letters". Anyway, enjoy!
Always and Eternally, Tsuki
I LOVE YOU
"I love you." I whispered to him. He started and looked at me in slight shock. Then he beamed and kissed me softly.
"I know," was his reply, "I love you too." I smiled and nuzzled my face into is hair. We were almost the same height, with Michael standing just a fraction of an inch taller. But I was broader over all, so it always seemed as if I was larger. My eyes caught a sketchbook lying open on the floor. In it was a picture of Michael that I had drawn yesterday; he looked so lost in it that I wondered how I had not noticed it at the time. I guess Michael was always lost, though. Always…
I noticed that Michael was shuttering. I frowned and kissed the side of his head. "What is it?" I asked, "What is wrong?" Michael did not answer. His chin was hooked on my shoulder and he clutched me tightly. I sighed and kissed his cheek again, continuing down and across until I claimed his mouth. Oh, that sweet, melting kiss that Michael always gave almost made me pull back it was so intense, but then it hummed and tingled as I pressed in again. I tasted blood on his tongue -a strong, coppery flavor- and I could not help but let out a soft moan. The blood tasted so sweet, like a mixture of pure controversies- life and death, pain and pleasure, sin and devoutness. Michael was all of these and, in a way, so was I.
I pressed closer to Michael and slid my hand under his black tee shirt. He groaned and arched his back a bit. I kissed down his neck, teasing the thin skin around his jugular vein with my fangs. Michael let out a soft sob and pulled back. He walked away from me and stared out the large window at the night sky. I could see the deep, red gleam in his eyes; something was bothering him. "Michael…" I shook my head and walked over to him. "What is wrong?" I asked again.
"I love you." He sniffled. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve as I smiled.
"And what is so bad about that?"
"Nothing, in theory." He chuckled darkly, his crystal-blue eyes flashing. "But there is more here than that."
"Like what?" Michael's eyes flashed again as he turned away from me. He paused, as if debating what to say.
"I fell in love with you almost as soon as I met you." He sighed. I nodded, feeling the same way. I remembered seeing Michael for the first time: his long, blond hair draping down his shoulders, over his black jacket, shirt, and trousers. I also remembered seeing his blue eyes for the first time and my breath catching in my throat. "I loved everything about you, and everything seemed perfect. I never could stop loving you. Never." I nodded again, smiling, still waiting for the 'bad part'. "But then things started to go wrong. They did, didn't they?"
I winced. "Yes", I admitted, "They did go wrong." We both stared out the window, now, and I wondered if Michael was remembering exactly what I was. I was remembering his sudden waves of depression and his cold pleas for me to leave him alone. I remembered leaving our flat, hurt and dejected, my body groaning for an intimate touch or a loving whisper. I learned quickly that those were easy to find… even if they did not come from Michael. I still felt that aching satisfaction of hearing my name howled in pure passion as their frail, mortal body shutters from the orgasmic-like reflexes of vampire blood. I still hummed with warmth as the nameless mortal boy- whichever one I had found that night- slipped his fingers through my hair, pleading with me to 'turn' him. I still needed. I still ached. All the while, Michael used to sit in the dark room, staring at the walls and wallowing in melancholy.
"But things always got better." I reminded him, thinking of all those times we had made up, one of us sobbing into the other's shoulder, making the other promise never to leave, even though we knew the promise would be broken.
"Yes, they did get better," Michael sighed, "But then they always got worse again. Nothing ever changed." Michael looked down at his hands and traced his fingers across a raised scar on his left palm. The scar was in the shape of a cross. "So then I tried loving someone else, but that was even worse. I missed you, and all she did was hurt me even more."
I nodded, knowing of all of the mind games that Dove had leashed on Michael. I winced as the memory also flooded back of his bloody palm, her hand clamped around his wrist, not letting him seal up his wound with his own healing vampire-blood. I hated Dove and her tortures; I hated the fact that he had loved her, too. "I am not Dove." I whispered, "I am not going to hurt you."
"Are you not?" Michael laughed, "We always hurt each other. Things always go wrong. Things always get worse." Bright red tears began to stream down Michael's face. "I love you, and I never want that to stop. I am afraid that it will stop."
I stared at Michael in shock. "I… I…" I shook my head. "It does not have to stop. I love you and you love me. That is all that matters." Michael looked at me with a soft, loving smile.
"Thanks…" He paused. "Do you want to stay in tonight? I feel like watching a movie." I chuckled at his sudden brightness, his change of tone.
"Alright." I changed out of my nice khakis and shirt, and into a more comfertable sweatsuit. Michael slid off his jeans; he always hung around the house in boxers and a tee shirt. We walked downstairs and Michael -after a fair amount of persuading- dragged me into watching Edward Scissorhands, one of his favorite movies and one of my least favorites. Michael was always attracted to the "gothic" tones of everything. I hated it, personally. I hated droll colors with no life and I certainly could not stand half of the books that Michael read. The only thing that I actually liked about that sect of modern culture was the thick eyeliner. It did not really matter where we were or what context; if Michael put on eyeliner, I was probably the happiest (and the horniest) person for a hundred miles.
Yet, either way, the gothic style fit Michael perfectly. Take the movie we were watching, for example. After Michael forced me to watch it for the first time, he was ecstatic. He ranted and raved afterward, analyzing everything about the movie. He seemed to find soemthing especially deep about the main character being created from the heart of a baked-good and the whole symbolism of hands and the scars on Johnny Depp's face. After he had railed for a bit more, he paused and turned to me with a grin.
"So what do you think?" he had asked.
"I think it was a highly predicatable movie that did nothing except retell a story that I did not like to begin with."
"You mean Frankenstein?" Micahel asked, a saucy smirk appearing on his face.
"That is completely different." He assured me, "In that novel, Dr. Frankenstein completely shunned his creation, as did the world. No one ever loved him. But this movie dwells on the topic of being lonely and the sense of belonging. Edward was not shun in the begginning, remember?"
"I do not see a single difference." I snorted, "All I saw was a movie that I did not care for with bizarre sets." Michael stared at me for a few moments in silence before he let out an exasperated sigh that he always breathed whenever I was being extremely shallow. Which, according to him, is quite often.
Anyway, back to the present- the movie was finally over. As the credits started to roll up over the screen's image of snow and a quiet suburb, I felt Michael's lips caressing my earlobe. I sighed and leaned back as Michael continued to kiss down my neck. "Mmmmm… so you push me away while we are kissing upstairs, but now that we have watched a strange movie starring Johnny Depp, you're horny?" I teased, licking the side of Michael's cheek. He blushed a bit, pulling me down on top of him.
"Yeah, basically." I laughed and kissed him again. His hand slid in-between my legs and I let out a soft moan. We were kissing again, each of us testing and remembering the feel of one another's lips and the feel of the mouth and teeth behind them. Oh God, his teeth were sharp and they sent a glorious shutter down my spine. I pulled off his black shirt and kissed a trail down his torso, my tongue pressing against his stark-white skin. I paused only for a moment when I arrived at his boxer's waistband. Then I dove into him, taking him into me without a second thought. Michael cried out, his hips shoving upward towards me. I swallowed him, imagining that he was a liquid that I could drink up as easily as I could blood. Michael tossed his head and moaned loudly. Then he shuttered, signaling that there was not much more I could do there. I made my way back up to his neck, which was bare and curved at just the right angle. I kissed him softly, my tongue roaming around his throat until I found the spot where the vein pounded and beat. Without a second thought, I bit down. Michael screamed.
"OHHHHHH, STEVE!" He grabbed my hair, shoving my head further into his neck. The blood pounded through me, uniting more than my body with Michael's, but our very souls. I felt his heart against mine, his heart in mine. I felt his pulse, his life, his spirit... I felt his love. I groaned at the sensation and pulled back before I ended up taking too much from my dear one. He sighed loudly and snuggled into me, our bodies fitting together like perfect puzzle-pieces.
"I love you." I whispered to him. He beamed and kissed me softly.
"I know," was his reply, "I love you too." I smiled and nuzzled my face into his hair. Right back where we started from…