This is a one shot, AU. Just a short story to save off the night time boredom. Dimitri and Rose were together once... but ARENT now. Mason is not dead.

That's it. If I have to listen to this one more damn time I think I'm going to haul myself off the top of the dorms!!

I threw off my covers and dragged myself out of bed. Every night this week Lissa had inexplicitly woken me up with her midnight liaisons with that sucker of an excuse for a boyfriend. Getting me all hot and sweaty and panting for him. Gah!

Well two can play at this. If she could get her rocks off in her own little love chamber then I could sure as hell go get high in my own little secret hideaway. Anything to block that shit out.

I grabbed a bottle of cheap vodka that I had stashed at the bottom of my cupboard, that I relieved from the incapable hands of Ryan Aylesworth, taking a swig and shoving it into the band of my pyjama pants.

I stumbled up the dark, creaking steps at the back of the Novice dorms to the hidden alcove. The drop in guardian numbers over the years meant a lot of the dorm stayed empty, a sad sign for Moroi society but terribly convenient right now.

It was a smallish room, three floors up, long since forgotten. Its door half hidden under a set of stairs that led to the roof. If you didn't know it was there you'd never know. It was strewn with old couch cushions, cds, comic books and candle stubs.

Eventually I plopped down collapsing onto the cushions. I searched around for a bit tossing bit's and pieces around till I found what I needed. I begun to pack the tiny purple plastic bong.

The pull from Lissa's mind hit me again with an unwavering force. I had to block that shit out.

I lit and sucked in a gulp of smoke pausing while the smoke worked its way around my lungs, then blew it all out with a mighty cough.

It took the edge off. Her mind becoming less forceful and mine becoming slightly hazy. I pulled some blankets, fragrant with old pot smoke, over me to keep off the chill.

I slept for a while. Then I felt another presence. I knew other novices occasionally used the alcove just like me. But never when I was here. You could tell because of the addition and subtraction of some of the items lying around.

"Hathaway."

I rolled, greeted by the towering form of Mason Ashford. "Ashford," I mumbled unable to form much else in the way of conversation. I pulled my self into a half sitting position and took a gulp from the vodka bottle that lie close to me on the floor.

He fell down next to me, picking up the bong and relighting it.

After a few more mouthfuls I dropped the bottle and slipped back down into the cushions.

Later I woke up again. There was something vaguely erotic happening. Mason's skin against mine was damp and silky and fragrant and his fingers were stroking and squeezing my nipples with a sleepy lassitude.

"Hummm," I said at first to clouded to really understand what he was doing.

His sticky girlish fingers crawled down my belly; then one hand went back to my nipples and the other one crisped in me pubic hair. "What are you doing?" I asked groggily.

"Touching," Mason said.

I let him. I wanted to go back to sleep, but what he was doing fought the impulse to sleep. I opened my legs slightly, and his fingers squished into my folds, damp with oily sweat.

"Mason," I admonished.

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Touching your pussy," he replied.

I giggled despite myself. "Why?"

"I want to know what it feels like."

He moved his hand behind me and slipped the hand in sideways, rubbing the side of his hand along the slip, opening it. I felt tiny gushes of wetness come out of me. Christ - his girlish little fingers - I rolled over and bit his collarbone gently. In reply, he slipped three fingers into me.

"Oh - Jesus!" I kept my eyed closed, but sought out his nipples with my fingers. I was astonished to find one pierced, the barbell hot to the touch. He took one of my hands and drew it towards his penis. He was hard as stone.

It was so odd, different, certainly. Mason's body was soft and delicate and his skin lacked the perfect velvety texture of Dimitri's. I removed his fingers from my core and he wiped them inexpertly across my belly. He made me finger myself, and smear the wetness across the head of his cock.

I opened my eyes then. He was very awake, watching me, his pupils dilated in his intensity.

"Mason?" I asked. "But…. You don't like dhampir girls."

"I do too," he protested in a whisper. "I like you."

He grabbed my cunt and poked the first two fingers inside me. I was a dripping mess. "I'm so confused." I laughed.

"Come on, we're halfway there. Do you wanna get fucked?"

I didn't reply anything verbally; his fingers inside me digging insistently, adding more fingers, killing off any protest I could possibly come up with. He lay half on top of me, grinding his penis against my thigh, my haunch, the plump part of my hip.

"Pussy is so cool," he murmured. "So weird… from another planet…"

I grabbed his cock to try to wrest some control back, but he was used to rough handling and it only made him bite me. We began to wrestle. Giggling happened. We kissed. His mouth tasted like poetry - funky and strange slightly sour and slightly sweet. I sucked at the nipple barbell, and he made sounds like cats in heat.

He rolled on a Trojan and we commenced battering the pillows. He fucked completely different from Dimitri; compared to Dimitri's deep manly thrusts - very Russian - Mason fucked like a jackrabbit. Speed was everything. Friction and heat built up between us immediately; then we lubricated it with sweat and my slime, and then the friction burnt away. I rolled him over at last, impatient with his ministrations, and did the rest myself. He orgasmed within ten seconds of me jumping on top, and he obligingly finished me with his tongue and his fingers. It didn't take much.

Questions... Comments.... I dont really care. Its outta my head now and probably into yours......

Disclaimer: Thank you Richelle Mead and Jemiah Jefferson