Vitam et Saguinem
By: Leeloo JinnRating: PG13 for language and innuendo
Published: 3/19/04
Sequel to Just One Taste
Summary: A mortal and a vampire walk into a bar... Triple H talks about a painful situation to a stranger. A stranger that has come back for another taste of him.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of the WWE except a few t-shirts, magazines, posters and DVDs. I do own Leila however. All mine. See Just One Taste for full disclaimer.
Quote/Excerpt from Only When I Lose Myself by Depeche Mode used in conversation.
Again, I find myself outside the same arena, waiting in the shadows. It is late and the crowds have long since dispersed. He has not left yet. I can see his limo still waiting for him. Something or someone was detaining him. It doesn't matter. I am patient.
There is time.
I waited five long months for this. I can wait a little longer. The only thing I could think about during the unoccupied time of my busy schedule is him. My eyes close as I recall our last encounter. As much as I wished to purge his face from my thoughts, I couldn't. Nor could I remove the lingering memory of his taste from my tongue. My dear, what have you gotten yourself into? I hear my thoughts whisper and I open my eyes.
I watch the crew load the equipment into the trucks. They scurry back and forth, unaware of whom is lurking in the shadows. I pass the time by wondering how each of them would taste. After observing them, I think I would pass. They are strained, tired and that would not do at all. They would probably taste like weak soup.
Which reminds me of a story I had read once. It was in a collection of short sci-fi stories that I came across one about a space age vampire. But he doesn't drink blood. He drinks the essence of a being; what he refers to as soup. The feat is accomplished by probing tendrils that come from his cheeks and are inserted into the chosen victim's brain through the nostrils. I shuddered at that. Even though the sensations the author had described were close to how it felt to drink a mortal's blood, I grimaced at the thought of not being able to bite into warm flesh; to be denied the taste of liquid copper as it slipped down ones throat. But to each their own, I suppose. Even so, it is only fiction. But well written fiction.
Laughter jolts me out of my thoughts and I look up to see that he is coming out of the building. I smile as I watch him. He has not lost any of his arrogance or brashness, but tonight is seems overshadowed by something else. He is talking with his younger partner, Randy. There are two women with them, much to my chagrin. I fervently hope that they are not accompanying him back to his hotel.
Fortunately for me, they are not. He is tired, I hear him state to the two pretty ladies. And when he is tired, he is not able to give them the full attention they deserve. Such a charmer. He then suggests that they accompany Randy instead. One of them pouts, but quickly perks up when Randy whispers something in her ear. He climbs into the limo, followed by Randy and the two women.
I wrap my coat around myself and head to the hotel where he is staying. I keep to the shadows, passing by mortals unnoticed. I briefly pause in an unlit section of the area to make myself invisible. Not an easy thing to accomplish at times, but after years of practice, I managed to master it quite well. I wait for him. The limo dawdles around the curved drive and stops in front of the hotel. The door opens and he, Randy and the two women get out. Randy gestures to the two women and they enter the building ahead of him. Randy pauses and speaks to his partner briefly before they enter through the doors.
I slip across the street and come up behind them. As I get closer, I can smell him. The same scent of cologne and underneath, that blatantly male scent. A quiver of anticipation would quicken my heart if it still worked. Silently I follow them in and watch as Randy and the two women head to the elevator. He stands in the lobby apparently deciding whether he wants to go to his room or into the hotel bar. I remain where I am and wait for him to make his mind up. For some reason, he doesn't seem to be his usual self this evening. I notice that his usual callous attitude has been replaced with an air of melancholy. It's as if he became more human once he's alone. Interesting.
He finally heads to the bar. I wait for him to seat himself on one of the stools before I slip back outside and into another darkened patch of parking lot. An idea has formed, perhaps not the most prudent one, but as long as I don't reveal what I am, I see no harm in it. Besides, I had my fill of blood earlier this evening, so there was no immediate danger. At least, not for him.
Quickly I shed my invisibility and enter back into the hotel and then into the bar. I pause in the doorway, pretending to give myself a minute to adjust to the low lighting. He is seated at the far end of the bar, nursing a drink. I nonchalantly seat myself four stools away from him and order a half glass of wine. The bartender obliges and sets the liquid in front of me. I sip slowly, listening to the canned music that is playing. A television drones softly in the background while leftover cigarette smoke drifts along the ceiling.
My gaze drifts around and finally comes to stop on him. He is fiddling with the napkin his drink is resting on. His eyes are focused on the bar top. Again, I can sense sadness about him. He glances up and catches me looking at him. He offers a tentative smile and I return it with the ghost of a wink before I turn my attention back to my wine. I wait a few minutes before looking at him again and when I do, I find him returning my gaze.
I smile at him benignly. "All alone?" I ask.
He nods his head. "You might say that," he responds in his husky voice.
"I find that hard to believe," I say before taking another sip of my wine.
He swallowed the last of his drink. "I don't," he said and then gestured to the bartender for another. "Of course that's my own fault."
"How so?" I ask to be polite, even though I know he already rejected the company of two women.
He grimaced as he shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Not anymore."
I get up and move so that there is only one stool between us. "Apparently it matters if you're sitting in a bar drinking by yourself," I say.
"What do you care? I don't even know you. For all I know you could be some ring rat," he replied tersely.
I know what he means by the term ring rat. The groupies that hang around before, during and after the shows, wanting to get laid. But that's not what I'm after. Not in the slightest. I'm interested in a completely different body fluid; if you'll pardon my crudeness. I feign confusion. "I'm sorry? A ring what?"
He looks me over, taking in my leather jacket, dress pants, button down white shirt and black boots. "Sorry," he says gruffly when he realizes that I am not a ring rat. "You don't watch wrestling?"
"Is that what you are? A wrestler?" I ask innocently. When he nods, I continue. "No, I don't watch television. Too busy." Mentally I cross my fingers at that lie. I do watch it. I watch it to watch him. But he doesn't know that.
A smirk appears. "Well you're sittin' next to the World Heavyweight champion," he replies matter-of-factly.
The smugness disappears as suddenly as it appeared, and he takes another swallow of alcohol. I watch his Adam's apple move, and the thought of sinking my teeth into that neck again makes me quiver with anticipation. I lick my lips in remembrance of the tang of coppery fluid in my mouth; the hot sweetness and strength; the intensity of it; the way his warm flesh felt under my open mouth. And the way he smelled. I had to have another taste of him. Nothing else was going to satisfy me until I did.
I sharply remind myself to remain in control. Being 300 years old, I needed to practice that eternal patience, especially when it came to him. "So why is it your fault you're alone?" I ask, genuinely curious as to what his answer will be.
He shook his head, his dark blond hair slips across his broad shoulders. "Not important."
A ghost of a smile flits across my lips. "Of course it's important. If it wasn't, you wouldn't have mentioned it."
He sighed and then took another drink. "You really wanna know?"
I look him in the eye. "Yes."
"Why?" he asks suspiciously.
"Obviously it's bothering you. And sometimes it helps to talk to a complete stranger," I reply before finishing my own drink. I signal the bartender and ask him for another glass. He fell quiet, apparently making up his mind whether or not he wanted to tell me.
"If you don't want to tell me, let me guess." I continue to watch him. His eyes won't meet mine and I pounce on an age old observation. There can be only one reason why he is like this. "It has to do with a woman." He says nothing and that confirms my guess. "Someone you love."
He takes a breath and blows it out slowly. "Yeah," he finally says. "You might say that," he says and then falls quiet.
I take another sip of wine and wait. I am patient.
"The situation wasn't what it appeared to be, but by the time I found out the truth, it was too late to take back the things I said," he replies morosely.
I know who he is talking about. On occasion, I had seen the woman on camera. She accompanied him in the hallways and would leave with him and his cohorts in the limo. Always the same woman. She never spoke, but from the way she carried herself she was determined and strong-willed, but then again, to leave someone like him, I expect one would have to be strong-willed.
"I know it sounds kinda weird, but have you ever loved someone so much you felt like you were part of them? Like it was so real that you could taste and touch and feel it?" he finally asks.
Inwardly I smile at his choice of words. "Yes I have," I respond softly. My eyes focus on the wall behind him as I remember that long ago love. "You're living on their breath, feeling with their skin; it's as if you're two halves of the same whole and you don't realize it until they're gone."
He seems a bit intrigued at my choice of words. "What happened?" he asks.
"He died," I say as I drop my eyes to the top of the bar. It was the truth. It had happened before I had been Embraced. And once he had died, my life had gone from bad to worse.
"Damn. I'm sorry," he replied with genuine sincerity. "Does it get any easier?"
I shrug. "Sometimes my days are good, sometimes bad. The pain fades after a while, but there's always that dull ache that constantly reminds you that the other half is gone."
His eyes close as if he's trying to deny the pain. Or perhaps he's feeling it. The diamond hard sharpness of that blade that knifes through your heart. I almost ache for him. I can understand what he's going through. It is never easy to lose the ones you love. Whether to death or to life. I can't imagine how much more it hurts when the person is still walking around, but won't acknowledge you.
"Mine's still pretty painful," he finally responds in a strangled voice. "I'm the one that fucked it up and I have no one to blame but myself."
"Have you tried talking to her?"
"I tried, but she doesn't wanna talk to me. She won't acknowledge me; she won't pick up the phone anymore." He swallows the last of his drink. "She hates me and I don't blame her."
I wait for the bartender to fill his glass again before I speak. "How do you know she hates you? I'm sure this is just as painful for her as it is for you. I don't mean to make you feel worse, but how do you think she felt when you chose to believe the surface appearance rather than her?"
A wry smile appeared on his lips. "Yeah, you made me feel worse." He tears a corner off the paper napkin under his drink. "I thought about that. I mean, she never lied to me the whole time we've known each other. Yeah, there were things she didn't tell me, but isn't it like that with everyone?" The paper is wadded up into a tiny ball and he flicks it over the bar.
I purse my lips in thought. "True. There are things that I don't tell other people now. There were things I didn't tell him either. But that didn't make him love me any less."
"I still love her. And knowing that she's out there and that I can't be with her hurts the most." He rests his forearms on the bar top and looks down into his drink. "I keep telling myself that I'm not going to let it happen again. I'm not going to let someone get to me like that. It makes me weak and vulnerable. It makes me-"
"It makes you human," I interject and smile as he looks at me.
A wry grin slides over his mouth. "Yeah well, being human sucks sometimes."
I chuckle at his words. "I expect it does for everyone. It's what you choose to do with it. You can let it make you into that weak and vulnerable person, or you can put up that armor and never let anyone in again. Never let them hurt you again."
He nods slowly. "I guess. If that's what I need to do, then that's what I need to do. In my business I can't afford to be weak. There's a lot of people that would love to see me fall."
I swallow the last of my wine and set the glass on the bar. "The decision is yours to make." I move to stand up, but he gently places a hand on my arm to restrain me. I can feel the warmth seep through my jacket and blanket my cool skin.
"Do you have to go?" he asks quietly. "I'd like it if..." he trails off, looking almost embarrassed. "I'd like it if you'd come up to my room with me."
I would have accepted his offer in a heartbeat; if my heart still worked. But for what I had planned for this man, it wouldn't do for me to accompany him up to his room. "I'm very flattered," I say softly, "but I can't."
Another smile appears on those lips. "Yeah, well then, thanks for the conversation. I appreciate you listening. It's not like I can talk about this to the people I work with." He stands up and I can see some of that arrogant demeanor appear. "Besides, I am the champ and I can't afford to let them think I'm weak."
I grin knowingly as I stand up and adjust my jacket. "You're welcome." I move away from the barstool and before I head for the door, he speaks again.
"I don't even know your name."
I look at him. "Leila," I reply.
"Thanks Leila," he says with sincerity.
"Remember, it's your decision." He nods and I leave quickly. As soon as I make it out to a dark spot in that parking lot again, I render myself invisible and slip back into the hotel behind a drunken businessman. I notice that my quarry has left the bar and is waiting for the elevator. Swiftly, I come up behind him and wait.
The elevator dings and the door opens. I follow him inside and watch as he punches the number for his floor. During the short ride, I carefully watch him. There is still an aura of sadness around him, but that seems muted by a fresh determination. I wonder if he'll take the advice I gave him in the bar.
I follow him out of the elevator and to his room. He fumbles the keycard from his pocket and swipes it through the lock. As he opens the door, I carefully follow him in. Pressing myself into the corner by the door, I wait for him to close and lock it and I wait and watch.
I bite my lower lip as he removes his clothes. Again, I am privy to seeing that magnificent body in it's natural state. Once more, I wish I were mortal for one night. How I would love to feel his body on me, pressing me to the mattress, invading my own body. Warm lips on skin, hands and fingers, touching, feeling. The old familiar spiral of ecstasy as it begins its ascent. Once those things were a reality for me, but now they are nothing but memories.
He straightens up his clothes and places them in his suitcase. Once he's finished, he turns the light off and lies down on the bed. I silently move to the only chair in the room and seat myself. I could spend all night sitting here, watching him. Unfortunately, there isn't much of the night left. Another time, I tell myself.
I remain where I am until the shift in his breathing tells me that he is indeed fully asleep. I approach his bedside, becoming visible again. I savor the sight of him, one arm above his head while the other rests on his muscled abdomen. His hair is splayed over the pillow. I lean closer to him and my nostrils twitch at his scent. Still shamelessly male. I can feel my bloodlust rising as I watch his pulse jump in his neck. That perfect neck. My canines extend in preparation.
As I move to bite him, I toy with the thought of taking away his pain; taking away everything so that he would feel nothing but that eternal, peaceful sleep of death. No, I think. I can't. What he does with his life is his decision, not mine.
I sink my teeth into the velvety softness of his throat and the coppery fluid trickles into my mouth. That rush of orgasmic pleasure actually brings me to my knees this time. I gently suck and pull his warm blood into my mouth, feeling it slide down my throat.
Still powerful. Still sweet. Still perfect.
Vitam et saguinem. Life and blood.
With reluctance, I remove my mouth from his neck and lick the puncture wounds to close them. Carefully, I rise to my feet and I look down at him again. How utterly perfect he is, lying there, oblivious to my presence. The temptation to make him mine pushes at the back of my mind.
"No," I whisper. I could not Embrace him as he was too well recognized. Not that I would want to. To spoil such an exquisite man would be akin to revealing my true personage to mortals. Devastating.
As I continue to gaze at him, his lips parted ever so slightly. I could hear the faint soughing of his breath and, unable to resist, I leaned down and gently kissed those warm lips. He stirred as I pulled away, but he didn't wake. Softly, I brushed a hand over his cheek. I didn't want to leave, but I had to. Glancing at the digital clock, I realized I had stayed longer than I intended. It was definitely time to go.
"I'm sorry my love, but I have to leave," I murmur and kiss him one more time. He doesn't stir. After one last lingering look, I leave his room and head home in the hour before dawn.
As I do, I feel almost envious of the woman he loves. I remember how it felt to be that half of the same whole. The little pleasures and delights of hands and lips and bodies. The elation of excitement and passion sated in a tangle of sheets and reasonless laughter. The safety and certainty of the other person. Nothing to harm and nothing to fear. Like coming home. Being able to close the door and shut the world out for a few hours. I shake my head to relieve myself of the recollections. That was no longer my life anymore. It hadn't been for quite some time.
I reach the safety of my home and as I prepare for my time of rest, I wish him well in his endeavors, whatever, wherever and whomever they bring him.
"Perhaps they'll bring her back to him," I whisper with just a touch of wistfulness and then laugh at myself. "Leila, after so long, you're still the romantic." Which is true.
Ah well... Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all," I remind myself and knew it was true.