Warning: These are excerpts from emails between lycanthrope and SchizoAuthoress over a certain...shall we say, 'controversial' scene contained herein.
lyc-"Woah. A big woah. And then, after a long, thought-gathering pause, another: woah. Yeah, you might have hit the NC-17 mark with that one. And I had to read it in a lab with dozens of other kids sitting elbow to elbow at computer screens! I need spome more privacy for these types of things."
Schiz-"So, should I censor the chapter, or will you? ::blush:: Dude, when you read as many dirty fics as I do, you start picking up on the penis-slang..."
lyc-"You can censor your story if you want, but I'd be awful at it, plus I rather like it the way it is, because it's so... extreme, perhaps? I don't know, but you're a fanfic pioneer, if you ask me..."
Anyway, I've decided not to censor the scene unless someone complains. I do realize that I am treading on the R/NC-17 line here, but if no one objects, it's gonna stay. Hey, look at it this way, Harlequin romance gets racier than I do.
****
Schiz's A/N: Just thought that you might like to know that Schiz spent a big portion of the writing process for this chapter blushing and squirming and being embarrassed at the thought of sharing her dirty thoughts with the world. (Imagine Schiz writing a sexually descriptive sentence, reading it, then hiding her face in her hands and going, 'Oh, boy, I sound so *stupid*!' every two minutes.)
Cos while Schizzie can be as perverted as she wants to be in her own head, she's still a bit leery of letting people *know* that! The feeling was compounded by the fact that she knows both an Adam and a Charlie, and unfortunately for her, they were popping up in her mind the whole time. ;_;
****
"A World Apart"
Blood Ties, part I: A Feast Night
We visit once again the realm of Earth, but this time, our tale is set far from the Forest of the Were and the Great Mountain Range. We are, in fact, far to the east, across the Poseidic Ocean--in a bleak and barren land known as Accipiteus. Unlike the rich agrarian kingdom of Drakityd, the country of Accipiteus depends on mining for its wealth. Metal is commonplace, as is stone, and items crafted of wood are the rarity here.
The ocean which seperates Drakityd from Accipiteus creates a great distance, but this is a mere stone's throw compared to the chasm created by culture and breeding. The people of this raw eastern kingdom are as hard and unforgiving as the stones they rip from the earth, as sharp and cruel as the blades they manufacture, as cheerless and harsh as the countryside which surrounds them. The land is a ragged amalgamation of rock formations and near-endless flatlands that stretch for miles, adorned only with dry scub and half-dead grasses. The only fertile areas are small strips of land lining the few large rivers that manage to form in the mingling of slim, murky streams and creeks, or the territory around the Lake of Boann, where Accipiteus's capital city is located.
But our business lies not with the Lake of Boann, nor the sordid pleasures of Nemhain City; rather, it lies among the low foothills of the interior. This place is dark and ancient, and a dark and ancient race chooses to reside here. At first glance, the foothills seem to be a well-developed area of the kingdom, a place where humans prosper and thrive, what with the stone metropolis of Beldonn--full of aging brick houses and cobbled streets--that dominates the scene. But first glances can be decieving. Look closer, friend. See the enormous walls that surround this city, the battlements and great barred gates. See the terror seething in the eyes of even the youngest of children, the nervous disorders that paralyse these people with the broad reach of an epidemic, the pallor that anaemia has lent to them. And, lastly but most importantly, see the cemetary which lies outside of their walls.
The cemetary of Beldonn spreads from the north wall of the city in a crescent shape. No single graves dot this area, for the cemetary is a collection of crypts--only twenty or so. And a city the size of Beldonn must have more than twenty families living within, should it not? All appears placid, innocent, normal on the surface; below, there lurks something that rouses a sense of darkness, of wrongness, of evil...
***
It was twilight. Three young men walked together outside the walls of Boann, following the curve of it to the cemetary. The eldest, in the lead, had the hood of his cloak thrown back, revealing thick, straight, straw-colored hair falling into pale, intense green eyes that seemed to glow from waxy, near-transparent skin. The other two trailed slightly behind, walking beside each other. These young men had their hoods pulled close around their faces, but their eyes could be seen from beneath, shining like those of cats', blue for one and gold-brown for his slightly taller companion.
The graveyard was the unlikely center of activity that night; dark figures--some like humans swathed in cloaks, others strangely and unidentifiably misshapen--collected at the main entrances of the crypts, where large torches burned a dim, almost greasy light. As the three men passed among these creatures, murmured greetings and nods of acknowledgement met them. But they continued in silence to a certain tomb. The name carved over the arch of the door was worn with time, but it could still be read. That name was 'Banks.'
"You're late, Alden." a cold voice hissed out at them from the recesses of the crypt. "Explain yourself."
"There was a problem at the Lair...a band of slayers." Alden replied. He smiled with cruel humor, "They have been disposed of, with help from Adam and Charles."
An older gentlement stepped forward from the shadows. He was somewhat shorter than Alden, with fine, graying blond hair suffering from a receding hairline. His blue eyes were as hard and sharp as flint as he demanded, "You could not handle a few hapless humans on your own?"
"It was more than a few, Father," the blue-eyed boy cut in. He pulled back his own cowl, baring his face and exposing a long, fresh gash on his forehead that was only half-healed over, gleaming red in the torchlight. "And they were quite skilled in war-magicks, as you can see."
"They were surprisingly powerful slayers," the third boy stated. "And some nearly got away. But don't worry, Phillip, we tracked them all down."
"I understand." Phillip said shortly. "Listen now. The family Machgan has added another to their brood, thus the eldest two can be taken. Do not harm the Kesters, for they have few young. The youngest girl of Lott and the middle child of Petrosya are ill; they are prey. Choose from these. The others have already left."
"The Kesters *never* breed sufficiently," the third boy complained. "I think we should pull them from the stock."
"Hush, Charlie," Adam said softly. "The Kester man is a recent addition. He has not yet become accustomed to his servitude."
"Enough talk!" Alden exclaimed, "let us go!"
***
Three dark, winged shapes glided down from the air, passing beneath a streetlight and revealing themselves to be a group of ravens. One turned southeast and headed toward a small brick house just barely visible; the other two continued east to a two-story building at the end of the street. This home was a simple, well-cared-for domicile, looking as if it could belong on any street anywhere in the kingdom. The only thing that marked it as unusual was the painted symbol on the front door--a red stylized 'B' enclosed in a black triangle facing point-downwards. The two ravens landed on the porch.
Black smoke seemed to rise from the one on the left, swirling into a man-figure and transforming into Adam Banks. The one on the right was quite simply a bird one moment, and then Charles Banks the next. The two boys exchanged a look, then Adam stepped forward and knocked on the door twice.
This done, he turned the copper-colored doorknob and pushed open the door. A man of middle years was standing in the foyer, waiting for them. He wrung his hands nervously and stammered, "Who must it be?"
"Your two eldest." Charles replied in a cold tone.
The man gave a cry of protest. "Not...not my two daughters!"
"No," the vampire hissed, "The eldest two of the family Machgan. Your dam and sire."
The man stared at the pair of implacable dark creatures, standing oh-so-casually before him. Charles curled his lip in a half-snarl, displaying very white and very sharp fangs. Adam's face remained impassive, his blue eyes deep and hungry. Machgan knew that if he refused, they would take his parents by force. So, his eyes blurry with tears, he nodded and went up the stairs to fetch the vampires' chosen victims.
"It is better this way," Adam suddenly spoke, in a soft, gentle voice. "Before our families pledged to the peaceful feast, your kind lived in uncertainty. We protect you from outside threat, we rid your community of the old and the sick--those who cannot contribute. I believe...that we try not to be...cruel."
The man did not reply. He disappeared into the gloom at the top of the stairs, returning a few minutes later with an old woman and an older man. The pair were dressed in mourning-black, their faces full of dignity and their eyes without tears. The woman turned and embraced her son, saying shortly, "This is the way it must be."
Charles held out his hand. "Come. The Hour hastens upon us."
Old Machgan nodded. His wife patted their son's shoulder and took the vampire's hand. Adam gripped Old Machgan's elbow firmly but gently. The four went together out of the house and down among the streets of Beldonn to the gates.
As they went, they were joined by others--vampires and victims, all silent. Charles scowled at a large, furred creature who held a frightened little girl in its arms.
"Delilah, that form is unnecessary," he chided the beast. The creature, Delilah, merely ruffled her bat-like wings and clutched her prey tighter, her stubby muzzle set in an unpleasant grin. Charles shook his head and muttered scornfully, "Flashy, self-important Larsons."
***
At midnight, it was done, and a few more bodies were added to the bones decaying in the crypts of the cemetary. Satiated for another month, the vampires left Beldonn to its own devices and went to the north, toward their Lair. The false dawn of early morning saw a great murder of ravens and crows flying over the uneven land, headed for the small mountain called the Deathshead.
The Deathshead was a dark, brooding, skull-like formation emerging in almost unnaturally clear definition from the low, craggy lands around it. This was a place where no light ever touched, cocooned in a strange tapestry of stormcloud and vampire-magic, black and forbidding and forbidden. As the murder of blood-drinkers approached the Deathshead, it began to split into smaller flocks that swirled around the mountain, nearly indistinguishable from the spelled gloom.
The Banks clan's Lair was located deep within the Deathshead. Cold passageways decorated with human bodies in various states of decay twisted through the harsh stone formation to come to a vast wall of smooth, blank rock. The Banks vampires waited here for the head of the clan.
She stepped forward in a moment and touched the rock wall, which shivered and dissapated like fog at the caress of her graceful, ash-white hands. She was of the same coloration as the rest of the Banks clan, pale blonde and with eyes of blue-green. Those eyes flashed with a harsh vitality born of the blood-feast, in a face flushed with savage delight. She turned to her kindred and spoke in a low, almost mocking voice,
"Come into my Lair and play, dear children. 'The blood has flowed and now 'tis time for the seed to be sowed.'"
***
"Your mother is definitely unhinged. Acting like the Great Mother and quoting that awful doggrel..."
Adam growled in frustration, glaring right in his lover's face and fast becoming annoyed with the distant, contemplative light in the darker boy's eyes. He rolled atop of Charlie, planting both hands firmly palm-down on either side of the boy's head. "Why are we talking about my mother when we're supposed to be making passionate, earth-shattering love?"
Charlie mumbled, "Well, she is. Completely mad, that Lilith."
"Stop it. We're in *our* bed, and I for one want something of a very sexual nature to be happening, oh, about now, and now you've got me contemplating my mother in general." Adam shuddered. "Excuse me, but that's just a bit nasty, and not in the good sense of the word."
"Sorry," Charlie apologized, tugging Adam down to meet his lips in a gentle, contrite kiss. Adam responded immmediately and fiercely, changing the sweet, loving tone into something charged with lustful impatience. As Charlie gasped and writhed beneath him, Adam groped for the knife beside their bed. His fingers encountered the bone handle of it, clenching swiftly and bringing the tip of the blade to rest on Charlie's throat. The brunet moaned loudly; Adam could feel the knife tremble.
He made a quick, neat incision and sealed his mouth over the cut, lapping up the coppery-tasting liquid that seeped out in fat, dark garnet-red drops. In the space of a few moments, the wound healed, and Adam lifted his head, smiling slowly. "What's on your mind now, love?"
"You..." Charlie whispered breathlessly. Adam's blood-stained lips curved into an even wider smile.
"That's right..." he crooned softly, carefully tracing a line of gentle, playful bites along Charlie's right shoulder, and licked soothingly at the marks, moving his left fingers in a spiral over the sensitive pink nipple left untouched by his lips' eventual ministrations. Charlie gasped, grinding his rapidly hardening member against Adam's slowly rocking pelvis.
The knife came into play again, this time letting blood from Charlie's smooth, hairless chest and belly. Charlie arched his back as Adam's soft lips caressed his flesh, a warm, wet mouth on warm, wet skin.
"Stop," he pleaded, "please stop, Adam..."
Adam's tongue circled Charlie's navel a few times as the vampire considered the request. He looked up into Charlie's dazed gold-brown eyes and questioned, "Why?"
"Because you make me feel like I'm just a meal to you."
"Well, you are quite tasty," Adam replied, licking his lips. Charlie groaned and muttered half to himself,
"You have a very painful idea of foreplay..."
Adam pouted. "But you like it." Tossing aside the knife, he fisted one hand around Charlie's swollen sex and murmured, "I know you like it."
A low, needy whine was Charlie's only verbal reply. Adam gave a husky laugh and lowered his head once more. In a few moments, he had Charlie thrashing and sobbing with lust. Then, despite the soft growl of protest from Charlie, he stopped, moving to straddle the boy's prone body.
Adam closed his eyes, lowering himself with torturous slowness upon Charlie's slick, hard, throbbing length. His breath came in semi-hysterical gasps as he rocked his hips, smooth muscle flexing to accommodate the invading hardness. Animalistic whimpers sounded from his throat as Charlie began to push into him in frenzied desire; leading to high, breathless moans that only goaded his lover into harder, more powerful thrusting.
Adam gasped and moaned, clawing desperately at Charlie's shoulders, and practically howled, "Charlie!" as he forcefully impaled himself on the man's fiercely pumping cock. His body stiffened suddenly. With a cry of pure ecstasy, Adam collapsed atop of Charlie, sticky liquid heat flowing between them as he climaxed.
Charlie kissed him hard and continued to move, eliciting cries of half-unwilling pleasure from Adam until he too was swept up in a shattering orgasm. Then they lay together, too exhausted to distangle their heated, trembling bodies, and not entirely wanting to, either.
Adam lifted his head from Charlie's chest after the frantic, pounding heartbeat within had relaxed and slowed to a steady cadence. Charlie threaded his fingers through Adam's wild mane of pale golden hair, murmuring softly, "I love you, Adam Banks."
****
Charlie cradled Adam's soft, slim body to his own and sighed, knowing that he should have been asleep a long time ago. But sleep eluded him, and he lay awake, his thoughts racing.
'I believe that we try not to be cruel,' Adam had said earlier that night, and Charlie wondered how the young vampire could actually believe that. It was in vampiric nature to be cruel. Their very existence depended on actions that were cruel and barbaric. Charlie knew this...he had been educated on the subject in a horrific way.
At one point in time, Charlie had been human. Granted, a human with the extraordinary power of shape-shifting, but a human nonetheless. He was raised by his mother, never knowing his father, though the old people of his native village whispered that he was sired by an incubus.
Charlie had been rather young when the vampires attacked his village, a small township bordered to the north by the sea, far removed from foothills of the Deathshead and the jagged mountains surrounding it. He alone escaped the massacre, running from the place in the form of dog. But not before he had seen the blood-drinkers brutally murder and feed upon his mother. It was this that made him vow to himself that he would never again take human shape. And now that time was fading in his mind...he was slowly forgetting what it was to be a human being, having lived as so many animals and strange inhuman creatures...
He supposed that it was ironic that he was now a vampire, however transitory his ownership of such a form was. But he blamed that on his uncanny ability to do the stupidest possible things, one of which was falling in love with Adam Banks, a member of a very powerful vampire clan. Still...
Staring down at Adam's sleeping face, almost childlike and innocent in its peaceful aspect, Charlie knew that it couldn't be helped. He loved Adam. He had known what he was getting into when he joined the clan, and he hadn't cared because it was for Adam. Beautiful, kind-hearted, naive Adam. Pressing a gentle kiss to the boy's flaxen hair, Charlie closed his eyes and murmured, "Someday we'll get away from these people...someday."
Will he later hallucinate his gods? Waking among mysteries with an insane gleam of recollection? The recognition--something so rare in his soul, met only in dreams--nostalgias of another life.
lyc-"Woah. A big woah. And then, after a long, thought-gathering pause, another: woah. Yeah, you might have hit the NC-17 mark with that one. And I had to read it in a lab with dozens of other kids sitting elbow to elbow at computer screens! I need spome more privacy for these types of things."
Schiz-"So, should I censor the chapter, or will you? ::blush:: Dude, when you read as many dirty fics as I do, you start picking up on the penis-slang..."
lyc-"You can censor your story if you want, but I'd be awful at it, plus I rather like it the way it is, because it's so... extreme, perhaps? I don't know, but you're a fanfic pioneer, if you ask me..."
Anyway, I've decided not to censor the scene unless someone complains. I do realize that I am treading on the R/NC-17 line here, but if no one objects, it's gonna stay. Hey, look at it this way, Harlequin romance gets racier than I do.
****
Schiz's A/N: Just thought that you might like to know that Schiz spent a big portion of the writing process for this chapter blushing and squirming and being embarrassed at the thought of sharing her dirty thoughts with the world. (Imagine Schiz writing a sexually descriptive sentence, reading it, then hiding her face in her hands and going, 'Oh, boy, I sound so *stupid*!' every two minutes.)
Cos while Schizzie can be as perverted as she wants to be in her own head, she's still a bit leery of letting people *know* that! The feeling was compounded by the fact that she knows both an Adam and a Charlie, and unfortunately for her, they were popping up in her mind the whole time. ;_;
****
"A World Apart"
Blood Ties, part I: A Feast Night
We visit once again the realm of Earth, but this time, our tale is set far from the Forest of the Were and the Great Mountain Range. We are, in fact, far to the east, across the Poseidic Ocean--in a bleak and barren land known as Accipiteus. Unlike the rich agrarian kingdom of Drakityd, the country of Accipiteus depends on mining for its wealth. Metal is commonplace, as is stone, and items crafted of wood are the rarity here.
The ocean which seperates Drakityd from Accipiteus creates a great distance, but this is a mere stone's throw compared to the chasm created by culture and breeding. The people of this raw eastern kingdom are as hard and unforgiving as the stones they rip from the earth, as sharp and cruel as the blades they manufacture, as cheerless and harsh as the countryside which surrounds them. The land is a ragged amalgamation of rock formations and near-endless flatlands that stretch for miles, adorned only with dry scub and half-dead grasses. The only fertile areas are small strips of land lining the few large rivers that manage to form in the mingling of slim, murky streams and creeks, or the territory around the Lake of Boann, where Accipiteus's capital city is located.
But our business lies not with the Lake of Boann, nor the sordid pleasures of Nemhain City; rather, it lies among the low foothills of the interior. This place is dark and ancient, and a dark and ancient race chooses to reside here. At first glance, the foothills seem to be a well-developed area of the kingdom, a place where humans prosper and thrive, what with the stone metropolis of Beldonn--full of aging brick houses and cobbled streets--that dominates the scene. But first glances can be decieving. Look closer, friend. See the enormous walls that surround this city, the battlements and great barred gates. See the terror seething in the eyes of even the youngest of children, the nervous disorders that paralyse these people with the broad reach of an epidemic, the pallor that anaemia has lent to them. And, lastly but most importantly, see the cemetary which lies outside of their walls.
The cemetary of Beldonn spreads from the north wall of the city in a crescent shape. No single graves dot this area, for the cemetary is a collection of crypts--only twenty or so. And a city the size of Beldonn must have more than twenty families living within, should it not? All appears placid, innocent, normal on the surface; below, there lurks something that rouses a sense of darkness, of wrongness, of evil...
***
It was twilight. Three young men walked together outside the walls of Boann, following the curve of it to the cemetary. The eldest, in the lead, had the hood of his cloak thrown back, revealing thick, straight, straw-colored hair falling into pale, intense green eyes that seemed to glow from waxy, near-transparent skin. The other two trailed slightly behind, walking beside each other. These young men had their hoods pulled close around their faces, but their eyes could be seen from beneath, shining like those of cats', blue for one and gold-brown for his slightly taller companion.
The graveyard was the unlikely center of activity that night; dark figures--some like humans swathed in cloaks, others strangely and unidentifiably misshapen--collected at the main entrances of the crypts, where large torches burned a dim, almost greasy light. As the three men passed among these creatures, murmured greetings and nods of acknowledgement met them. But they continued in silence to a certain tomb. The name carved over the arch of the door was worn with time, but it could still be read. That name was 'Banks.'
"You're late, Alden." a cold voice hissed out at them from the recesses of the crypt. "Explain yourself."
"There was a problem at the Lair...a band of slayers." Alden replied. He smiled with cruel humor, "They have been disposed of, with help from Adam and Charles."
An older gentlement stepped forward from the shadows. He was somewhat shorter than Alden, with fine, graying blond hair suffering from a receding hairline. His blue eyes were as hard and sharp as flint as he demanded, "You could not handle a few hapless humans on your own?"
"It was more than a few, Father," the blue-eyed boy cut in. He pulled back his own cowl, baring his face and exposing a long, fresh gash on his forehead that was only half-healed over, gleaming red in the torchlight. "And they were quite skilled in war-magicks, as you can see."
"They were surprisingly powerful slayers," the third boy stated. "And some nearly got away. But don't worry, Phillip, we tracked them all down."
"I understand." Phillip said shortly. "Listen now. The family Machgan has added another to their brood, thus the eldest two can be taken. Do not harm the Kesters, for they have few young. The youngest girl of Lott and the middle child of Petrosya are ill; they are prey. Choose from these. The others have already left."
"The Kesters *never* breed sufficiently," the third boy complained. "I think we should pull them from the stock."
"Hush, Charlie," Adam said softly. "The Kester man is a recent addition. He has not yet become accustomed to his servitude."
"Enough talk!" Alden exclaimed, "let us go!"
***
Three dark, winged shapes glided down from the air, passing beneath a streetlight and revealing themselves to be a group of ravens. One turned southeast and headed toward a small brick house just barely visible; the other two continued east to a two-story building at the end of the street. This home was a simple, well-cared-for domicile, looking as if it could belong on any street anywhere in the kingdom. The only thing that marked it as unusual was the painted symbol on the front door--a red stylized 'B' enclosed in a black triangle facing point-downwards. The two ravens landed on the porch.
Black smoke seemed to rise from the one on the left, swirling into a man-figure and transforming into Adam Banks. The one on the right was quite simply a bird one moment, and then Charles Banks the next. The two boys exchanged a look, then Adam stepped forward and knocked on the door twice.
This done, he turned the copper-colored doorknob and pushed open the door. A man of middle years was standing in the foyer, waiting for them. He wrung his hands nervously and stammered, "Who must it be?"
"Your two eldest." Charles replied in a cold tone.
The man gave a cry of protest. "Not...not my two daughters!"
"No," the vampire hissed, "The eldest two of the family Machgan. Your dam and sire."
The man stared at the pair of implacable dark creatures, standing oh-so-casually before him. Charles curled his lip in a half-snarl, displaying very white and very sharp fangs. Adam's face remained impassive, his blue eyes deep and hungry. Machgan knew that if he refused, they would take his parents by force. So, his eyes blurry with tears, he nodded and went up the stairs to fetch the vampires' chosen victims.
"It is better this way," Adam suddenly spoke, in a soft, gentle voice. "Before our families pledged to the peaceful feast, your kind lived in uncertainty. We protect you from outside threat, we rid your community of the old and the sick--those who cannot contribute. I believe...that we try not to be...cruel."
The man did not reply. He disappeared into the gloom at the top of the stairs, returning a few minutes later with an old woman and an older man. The pair were dressed in mourning-black, their faces full of dignity and their eyes without tears. The woman turned and embraced her son, saying shortly, "This is the way it must be."
Charles held out his hand. "Come. The Hour hastens upon us."
Old Machgan nodded. His wife patted their son's shoulder and took the vampire's hand. Adam gripped Old Machgan's elbow firmly but gently. The four went together out of the house and down among the streets of Beldonn to the gates.
As they went, they were joined by others--vampires and victims, all silent. Charles scowled at a large, furred creature who held a frightened little girl in its arms.
"Delilah, that form is unnecessary," he chided the beast. The creature, Delilah, merely ruffled her bat-like wings and clutched her prey tighter, her stubby muzzle set in an unpleasant grin. Charles shook his head and muttered scornfully, "Flashy, self-important Larsons."
***
At midnight, it was done, and a few more bodies were added to the bones decaying in the crypts of the cemetary. Satiated for another month, the vampires left Beldonn to its own devices and went to the north, toward their Lair. The false dawn of early morning saw a great murder of ravens and crows flying over the uneven land, headed for the small mountain called the Deathshead.
The Deathshead was a dark, brooding, skull-like formation emerging in almost unnaturally clear definition from the low, craggy lands around it. This was a place where no light ever touched, cocooned in a strange tapestry of stormcloud and vampire-magic, black and forbidding and forbidden. As the murder of blood-drinkers approached the Deathshead, it began to split into smaller flocks that swirled around the mountain, nearly indistinguishable from the spelled gloom.
The Banks clan's Lair was located deep within the Deathshead. Cold passageways decorated with human bodies in various states of decay twisted through the harsh stone formation to come to a vast wall of smooth, blank rock. The Banks vampires waited here for the head of the clan.
She stepped forward in a moment and touched the rock wall, which shivered and dissapated like fog at the caress of her graceful, ash-white hands. She was of the same coloration as the rest of the Banks clan, pale blonde and with eyes of blue-green. Those eyes flashed with a harsh vitality born of the blood-feast, in a face flushed with savage delight. She turned to her kindred and spoke in a low, almost mocking voice,
"Come into my Lair and play, dear children. 'The blood has flowed and now 'tis time for the seed to be sowed.'"
***
"Your mother is definitely unhinged. Acting like the Great Mother and quoting that awful doggrel..."
Adam growled in frustration, glaring right in his lover's face and fast becoming annoyed with the distant, contemplative light in the darker boy's eyes. He rolled atop of Charlie, planting both hands firmly palm-down on either side of the boy's head. "Why are we talking about my mother when we're supposed to be making passionate, earth-shattering love?"
Charlie mumbled, "Well, she is. Completely mad, that Lilith."
"Stop it. We're in *our* bed, and I for one want something of a very sexual nature to be happening, oh, about now, and now you've got me contemplating my mother in general." Adam shuddered. "Excuse me, but that's just a bit nasty, and not in the good sense of the word."
"Sorry," Charlie apologized, tugging Adam down to meet his lips in a gentle, contrite kiss. Adam responded immmediately and fiercely, changing the sweet, loving tone into something charged with lustful impatience. As Charlie gasped and writhed beneath him, Adam groped for the knife beside their bed. His fingers encountered the bone handle of it, clenching swiftly and bringing the tip of the blade to rest on Charlie's throat. The brunet moaned loudly; Adam could feel the knife tremble.
He made a quick, neat incision and sealed his mouth over the cut, lapping up the coppery-tasting liquid that seeped out in fat, dark garnet-red drops. In the space of a few moments, the wound healed, and Adam lifted his head, smiling slowly. "What's on your mind now, love?"
"You..." Charlie whispered breathlessly. Adam's blood-stained lips curved into an even wider smile.
"That's right..." he crooned softly, carefully tracing a line of gentle, playful bites along Charlie's right shoulder, and licked soothingly at the marks, moving his left fingers in a spiral over the sensitive pink nipple left untouched by his lips' eventual ministrations. Charlie gasped, grinding his rapidly hardening member against Adam's slowly rocking pelvis.
The knife came into play again, this time letting blood from Charlie's smooth, hairless chest and belly. Charlie arched his back as Adam's soft lips caressed his flesh, a warm, wet mouth on warm, wet skin.
"Stop," he pleaded, "please stop, Adam..."
Adam's tongue circled Charlie's navel a few times as the vampire considered the request. He looked up into Charlie's dazed gold-brown eyes and questioned, "Why?"
"Because you make me feel like I'm just a meal to you."
"Well, you are quite tasty," Adam replied, licking his lips. Charlie groaned and muttered half to himself,
"You have a very painful idea of foreplay..."
Adam pouted. "But you like it." Tossing aside the knife, he fisted one hand around Charlie's swollen sex and murmured, "I know you like it."
A low, needy whine was Charlie's only verbal reply. Adam gave a husky laugh and lowered his head once more. In a few moments, he had Charlie thrashing and sobbing with lust. Then, despite the soft growl of protest from Charlie, he stopped, moving to straddle the boy's prone body.
Adam closed his eyes, lowering himself with torturous slowness upon Charlie's slick, hard, throbbing length. His breath came in semi-hysterical gasps as he rocked his hips, smooth muscle flexing to accommodate the invading hardness. Animalistic whimpers sounded from his throat as Charlie began to push into him in frenzied desire; leading to high, breathless moans that only goaded his lover into harder, more powerful thrusting.
Adam gasped and moaned, clawing desperately at Charlie's shoulders, and practically howled, "Charlie!" as he forcefully impaled himself on the man's fiercely pumping cock. His body stiffened suddenly. With a cry of pure ecstasy, Adam collapsed atop of Charlie, sticky liquid heat flowing between them as he climaxed.
Charlie kissed him hard and continued to move, eliciting cries of half-unwilling pleasure from Adam until he too was swept up in a shattering orgasm. Then they lay together, too exhausted to distangle their heated, trembling bodies, and not entirely wanting to, either.
Adam lifted his head from Charlie's chest after the frantic, pounding heartbeat within had relaxed and slowed to a steady cadence. Charlie threaded his fingers through Adam's wild mane of pale golden hair, murmuring softly, "I love you, Adam Banks."
****
Charlie cradled Adam's soft, slim body to his own and sighed, knowing that he should have been asleep a long time ago. But sleep eluded him, and he lay awake, his thoughts racing.
'I believe that we try not to be cruel,' Adam had said earlier that night, and Charlie wondered how the young vampire could actually believe that. It was in vampiric nature to be cruel. Their very existence depended on actions that were cruel and barbaric. Charlie knew this...he had been educated on the subject in a horrific way.
At one point in time, Charlie had been human. Granted, a human with the extraordinary power of shape-shifting, but a human nonetheless. He was raised by his mother, never knowing his father, though the old people of his native village whispered that he was sired by an incubus.
Charlie had been rather young when the vampires attacked his village, a small township bordered to the north by the sea, far removed from foothills of the Deathshead and the jagged mountains surrounding it. He alone escaped the massacre, running from the place in the form of dog. But not before he had seen the blood-drinkers brutally murder and feed upon his mother. It was this that made him vow to himself that he would never again take human shape. And now that time was fading in his mind...he was slowly forgetting what it was to be a human being, having lived as so many animals and strange inhuman creatures...
He supposed that it was ironic that he was now a vampire, however transitory his ownership of such a form was. But he blamed that on his uncanny ability to do the stupidest possible things, one of which was falling in love with Adam Banks, a member of a very powerful vampire clan. Still...
Staring down at Adam's sleeping face, almost childlike and innocent in its peaceful aspect, Charlie knew that it couldn't be helped. He loved Adam. He had known what he was getting into when he joined the clan, and he hadn't cared because it was for Adam. Beautiful, kind-hearted, naive Adam. Pressing a gentle kiss to the boy's flaxen hair, Charlie closed his eyes and murmured, "Someday we'll get away from these people...someday."
Will he later hallucinate his gods? Waking among mysteries with an insane gleam of recollection? The recognition--something so rare in his soul, met only in dreams--nostalgias of another life.