A/N : Reading my original post made it seem rather too ebullient and pathetic, and it didn't convey the intensity of desire that I wanted it to. so here is version two, and I hope it's better!
Zero pushed past the revolving golden doors of Greenwish bank, and upon leaving the artificial chill of air conditioning, rued the immediate creep of moisture down his back; it was a humid night. The working hours had long since ended; the moon was a sharp, silver crescent. The sky was heavy, sexy; thick with the promise of rain and passion.
It was one of those nights of isolation, where awareness was neither thought nor feeling, just a procession of sensory information. New York City never slept. The brazen blare of music, the jarring flash of neon signs proclaiming its nightlife, the permeating odour of alcohol or sweaty bodies rushing past Zero, the jumpy vigilance as one tried not to make contact with the rowdy adolescents stalking the bars and clubs. Every sense was sharpened to vampire intensity.
It wasn't a night for conscious thought, it was a night for doing – for feeling.
There was a streetlamp up ahead, and parked in its halo of dusty, steamy light, was a motorbike and its rider. There was a seasonal influx of small grey moths, feathery little critters; they were fluttering haphazardly in the light. The motorbike itself was an object of beauty; it was tall but not bulky, with streamlined curves and a sleek sheen to its mount. Looking at it, one could imagine almost its power and smooth acceleration, the grip of its wheels across the salt and asphalt roads.
Zero had the time to cast the bike an admiring glance as he strode past it. A night for seeing, for riding perhaps, but not for dreaming of ownership.
Something, a tendril of recognition curling in the air, made him stop and turn back around.
The rider was leaning against the motorbike, his helmet on and the visor pulled low to hide his eyes, nonchalantly resting an arm on the seat of his bike, the other on its handles; his head was tilted back slightly, as though he was enjoying his solitude.
Zero walked forward, till he was two feet away from the rider, and waited.
The rider took his time in acknowledging Zero, took a few minutes to cock his head to one side. As his helmet tilted, the beam of light, momentarily reflected in his tinted visor, slid across with a smooth graceful gleam. The flash of silver on black, and oddly sensual; like the fleeting warmth of a lover's breath on his neck; it made Zero's hair stood on his end. The helmet was removed with a slight toss, casual and yet erotic.
The rider looked hardly human; alien, even. His hair was rumpled, wavy, the fine strands swaying eerily like gossamer snakes floating in the light of the streetlamp. The skin on his face was completely white, not a healthy fair colour, not a sickly pall, but an austere alabaster that looked stark and unnatural. His eyes were shadowed with grey and purple; but beneath the lazy half lidded eyes, there was a fierce, aberrant redness – red as ruby, red as blood. Red as desire.
The jacket he wore was soft black leather, body hugging and provocative, and the white neck that it revealed even more so. Scarlet tie and white dress shirt. The pants... Zero's eyes lingered over the curves of his long muscled legs, unaware that he was taking a step closer, and another. Before he knew it he was flush against the rider, his hips against his and his chest against the smooth, leathered man.
The rider's lips were curled in a smirk, the upper lip drawn back, revealing the elongated canines that poked lower than his bottom lip.
"Well, well, well...what have we here?" Zero's question was a slow, deliberate drawl, like the whisper of cloth against cloth as he felt the rider move a leg between his own.
The rider did not answer, but leaned back so that their chests were no longer touching, and he was now arching backward over the motorbike; one hand lifted slightly, delicately, and moved over the sleek silver curves of the bike, a featherlike aspect to the biker's touch. The biker's eyes followed the movement of his own hand, focused on the vehicle only, drifted over the motorbike itself. When he spoke, it was in a murmur low and husky as thunder.
"Here's a lovely girl...so beautiful....
"...aggressive...
"...obedient..."
His eyes, with an unhurried calm, moved up to meet Zero's. He stroked the sleek raven mirror of the wheel mount, fingered the cobalt chrome guard. The motorbike was indeed beautiful. The movements of his hand were shy, deceptively submissive; the swirling crimson storm beneath ebony lashes anything but.
And since this was not a night for thinking but for feeling and doing, they did and they felt, with their imaginations. The biker was no longer touching the motorbike, he was caressing Zero, running a hand down his smooth, hard back, and they were neither standing or lying but twined around each other, with or without clothes as made no matter; a hand on a hip, a knee behind the other, and their mouths together, teasing, fighting. Black hair tangled with silver, and two long bodies melded and arched willingly into each other's.
Zero's hand closed over the biker's wrist, arresting its adoring touch on the bike, and leaned over the biker. His whisper was cool and commanding, laced with just enough jealousy to leave a dark, intimidating edge.
"Trying to make me jealous, hm?" Zero gripped the biker's gloved fist firmly, his voice as hard as his hands.
You will touch me, Kaname, and only me, in that manner...you will speak with that voice, only to me..."
His lips touched Kaname's, licked the cool ivory of his long fangs.
The silver's lips pressed possessively against the living black and magenta, teasing forth its sweet, milky passion, and above him harsh, inarticulate cries of pleasure.
"...You will lavish attention on me, and no other..." Zero's other hand slid under the leather jacket, touched the rider's lower back.
"The Street Viper, Zero...this stunning lass...she's wild, wicked, and...very ruthless...five thousand horsepower, and yours for one night... if you're a worthy rider," the biker whispered.
And the black, a skilled smith of words and pleasure, taunted the silver with loving, mocking statements and impudent, audacious questions. He used his own teeth and a long wicked tongue, alternating sharp with slick; spun a web in which his lover was strung, pulled in every which way and incoherent in sensations.
Zero smirked, hooked his leg behind Kaname's, slid a hand low to claim the curve of his hips, and whispered,
"Let's ride."
The Street Viper coasted down the flashing New York roads, sleek and predatory as its name, scoffing the speed limit, displaying its exceptional specs with blasé ease.
Aggressive.
One rocked into the other, not gently, like the come and go of the tide, but aggressively, like the pounding rhythm of a warrior's heartbeat. That was the way they liked it. Their lives demanded so much energy out of them that these small, individual moments of time together were moments to receive from the other, to take fully and completely all the other had to give. The black sheathed himself to the hilt; the silver offered all he had to the black; they plundered each other mercilessly. It was selfish, aggressive, gratification. They loved each other so.
Zero was wearing the helmet, revelling in the sweetness of power and speed in the Viper. The jet and silver flash of the spinning wheels, the mirror length of the motorbike, was perfection and performance melded together, its acceleration outstanding, responding to his every touch.
...Obedient...
They knew each other so well. The weak spots, the sensitive spots, the dark, hidden secrets (like the black's odd liking to all things small and round – for example, the black pearl earrings that went well against silver hair. Or the dark round peaks on his lover's chest.) Each could command the other with a touch, or a change in angle – a writhe, or a sharp, sudden arch of his back. If they wanted to, it could be a long, sultry groan or a scream of abandon. Their bodies were obedient, and their minds were strung along helplessly.
The throttle hummed like a lover between Zero's legs, the handlebars filled his fingers like a lover's length; he worked the glossy finish with an experienced hand. Kaname sat behind him, both hands around Zero's waist. It took Zero awhile to realize that there was a low, humming vibration at his back that wasn't coming from the motorbike. It was coming from his lover's chest; a wanton, possessive, animalistic growl that seared Zero to his bone with warmth. Both did not speak, redolent in each other's presence; and anyway words would be torn away by the screaming wind.
... Five thousand horsepower, and yours for tonight ...
Zero thought that those words referred not just to the motorbike, of course.
They zoomed down the streets, wove between the flashing cars with a reckless fury; they careened around the buildings with inches to spare; their velocity was marvellous. It was wistful, breathtaking, utterly exhilarating and frightening at once. Zero wore the helmet, but he still felt dreadfully unprotected. The tinted visor was low and blocked the wind from his eyes, yet he could feel its bristly sting on his exposed neck. It was cold, and not unpleasant, but... Zero reached back, grabbed Kaname's tie, gave it a brutal yank. Kananme's head jerked forward, the front of his throat hit the back of Zero's neck, his nose with the back of Zero's helmet. Yet warm lover's lips caressed the white nape below the helmet, smiling seductively at Zero's assertive manner.
...very ruthless...
Kaname reached forward, guided Zero's wrists slowly and steered him towards the Brooklyn Bridge. Street lights, people, trees, the curb melted into a wall of darkness as Zero gunned the throttle into full power. They sped up the ramp of the bridge, entered the netting of steel supports, and Kaname, lips directly pressed to the helmet, spoke.
"Drive off the bridge."
Zero could have passed it off as a joke, or a misheard phrase, but his heart told him otherwise.
The demand was quiet but harsh, and something, or everything about Kaname's behaviour tonight – spoke of a foolhardiness, that he was frantic and scrambling for a handhold on something intangible, lasting –
Miles of water on either side as far as the eye could see, gleaming and rippling occasionally, like a polished plane of obsidian, reflecting the orange glow of city lights.
"Kaname..."
The roar of the wind covered their words, but their bond was so strong, they could sense each other's meaning anyway.
"Drive off the bridge, Zero."
At this speed, heated as it was, the engine would combust at the sudden temperature change of water. Fuel would spread across the water surface, catch fire...there was no way they'd escape the fiery conflagration alive.
But Kaname wanted it. He wanted a moment of crystal clarity, of proof that his life was his own, subject to himself and no other, his own choice to die and live as he wanted.
And what about Zero?
...If you're a worthy rider...
That he had planned it for Zero to be in control, to be the one manoeuvring the bike, was symbolic in itself, Zero realized. Kaname held on to so many things, the purebloods, his vampires, his loyal followers, Zero, Yuuki, his goal for vampire human harmony, that he was tied to life and duty by these things, ruled by them as it were. Now, though, he had cast them all aside, save the only one, the only person, whom he could never willingly relinquish. Just as Zero was in control of the powerful, deadly Viper, so Zero was in control of Kaname's wild, frenzied feelings.
...very ruthless...
"Now. Turn. For me."
Obedient.
Zero banked off, the Viper's powerful engine carried them through Brooklyn's metallic lattice of support; and for a glorious, triumphant moment, they were soaring, one, screaming silently, their momentum was defiant, a proud arc of sable and silver over the heaving, undulating waters, high and resplendent, before they plunged and the world yield to their baptism of fire.
...Yours for one night...
End
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