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Oct. 4th, 2006 04:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teetheyesGoing to have to buy more cigarettes again. Morpheus, you were right, it was a curse.
((OOC: just a little omake to explain why the toothy bugger is up this late, the cut *doesn't exist* in this post, it's the dream that stirred him awake for a smoke))
"You're not even close to prematurely graying, in fact, I think you just bleach it to attract the ladies," Michelle Mendes said to the white-blonde man whose neck her arms draped around in adoration.
"You would think that, I say you're jealous," he replied with a smirk. He pressed her back against the doorway of their hotel room and stole a deep kiss.
"Mm... mm," the woman sounded against his mouth. She reached back to lead one of his hands up the slit of her silk dress.
They'd met less than an hour ago, at a bar on Hillhurst and Hollywood. The man had been enjoying a little citrus vodka when she noticed him over the rim of her margarita glass. He was tall, handsome, dressed in a charcoal gray suit, white shirt and tie, topped with slick sunglasses and a sharp inviting smile. She was young, beautiful, with dark brown hair falling in waves over her bare shoulders, curves wrapped in emerald that offered a taste of sophistication and a peek of her tanned thigh. It was lust, mostly.
"Why don't you take those things off and...." She reached for his sunglasses but his touch stopped her.
"No. I have a better idea," he whispered warmly against her ear, his two fingers pressed against her lace underwear. "Let's fill the tub," he parted his teeth to nip at her neck.
"Mmm," Michelle tilted her head back, "if you're into that...."
"I am," the nightmare purred against her throat, "another reason to go twice."
"Marathon runner? Ohh..." she sighed.
His fingers came away from her, damp. He licked both tips clean, then smiled and kissed her lips once more. "You'll see, get to it."
The woman couldn't help but smirk over his gesture. Without a word she slipped out of his grasp and made her way to the bathroom. Her taste was foreign, beyond her blood, it was her body, the kind of temple he rarely worshipped, and still he pursued her. The Corinthian removed his jacket, then his tie, before undoing the buttons of his shirt. He left his clothing at the foot of the bed and approached the bathroom on bare feet.
Her dress lay neatly on the counter, under her bra and panties. The tub was already half full. She stood above it, one foot immersed in the warm water, long legged form with tender breasts and a soft patch between her thighs. She could have had any man with a look and allowed even fewer to touch her. The nightmare, though she didn't know him as such, was one of those few.
"Come," Michelle beckoned for the man she knew as Alex to join her.
"Eventually," he said in a suggestive tone and took her hand so that she could lower herself into the water with ease.
She laughed softly over the innuendo. "Later than sooner, I hope," she winked then sighed as the water heated her skin, the folds of her sensitive flesh.
"Trust me, I've got stamina to die for," The Corinthian grinned, kissing her fingertips before he released her hand.
"Mm, and you're a gentleman now," she asked, amused by kiss.
"Didn't I tell you? I'm an artist," he replied.
The nightmare set one foot in the tub, between her knees. He leaned down to cup her face and kiss her again, deeply with a slip of tongue. Michelle closed her eyes for the long moment, reveling in the taste. When he pulled away from her mouth his sunglasses were gone. She opened her eyes again, and they widened, widened in fear.
His hands caught her throat in a vice grip. He dropped to his knee so that he might pin it against her abdomen while his other foot balanced on the bathroom floor. Mama told her to be wary of strange men in the city. She squeezed her eyes shut and coughed.
"Please.... quickly...." she begged.
"Lovely Michelle, I'm not going to rape you," The Corinthian laughed before forcing her head underwater. That was when she put up her fight.
"You broke Eric's heart," he held his ground even as she struggled, "poor boy shot himself over the 4th Street Bridge. His eyes should have been mine, you ruined it."
She clawed at his hands and wrists. She was not meant to die this way. She should have married, grown old, slept till she grew wings with her loved one. Under the overflowing water she could see his eyes were menacing, menacing little mouths.
"Be glad you'll die without being defiled, some people take comfort in that."
Michelle couldn't tell if she was crying or not. She knew he was speaking to her, because she could hear his voice clearly, as if he were in her head. Eventually her body gave in to the lack of air, the abundance of water, the fire in her lungs. Sixty seconds passed like aching minutes till her struggling subsided. Only her torso twitched in its death throes, and her eyes remained open, blank.
"Seen and not heard," he smiled at her wet corpse, glossy brown hair flowing around her marked neck. How wonderful she would look if he'd dropped a running hairdryer in the tub with her, but the nightmare wanted a silent death. He wanted to be able to stay in Los Angeles just a little longer.
He stood up from the bath and grabbed a towel to dry his hands, his face. The Corinthian still had time to dry his clothes and leave before anyone would be the wiser.
((OOC: just a little omake to explain why the toothy bugger is up this late, the cut *doesn't exist* in this post, it's the dream that stirred him awake for a smoke))
"You're not even close to prematurely graying, in fact, I think you just bleach it to attract the ladies," Michelle Mendes said to the white-blonde man whose neck her arms draped around in adoration.
"You would think that, I say you're jealous," he replied with a smirk. He pressed her back against the doorway of their hotel room and stole a deep kiss.
"Mm... mm," the woman sounded against his mouth. She reached back to lead one of his hands up the slit of her silk dress.
They'd met less than an hour ago, at a bar on Hillhurst and Hollywood. The man had been enjoying a little citrus vodka when she noticed him over the rim of her margarita glass. He was tall, handsome, dressed in a charcoal gray suit, white shirt and tie, topped with slick sunglasses and a sharp inviting smile. She was young, beautiful, with dark brown hair falling in waves over her bare shoulders, curves wrapped in emerald that offered a taste of sophistication and a peek of her tanned thigh. It was lust, mostly.
"Why don't you take those things off and...." She reached for his sunglasses but his touch stopped her.
"No. I have a better idea," he whispered warmly against her ear, his two fingers pressed against her lace underwear. "Let's fill the tub," he parted his teeth to nip at her neck.
"Mmm," Michelle tilted her head back, "if you're into that...."
"I am," the nightmare purred against her throat, "another reason to go twice."
"Marathon runner? Ohh..." she sighed.
His fingers came away from her, damp. He licked both tips clean, then smiled and kissed her lips once more. "You'll see, get to it."
The woman couldn't help but smirk over his gesture. Without a word she slipped out of his grasp and made her way to the bathroom. Her taste was foreign, beyond her blood, it was her body, the kind of temple he rarely worshipped, and still he pursued her. The Corinthian removed his jacket, then his tie, before undoing the buttons of his shirt. He left his clothing at the foot of the bed and approached the bathroom on bare feet.
Her dress lay neatly on the counter, under her bra and panties. The tub was already half full. She stood above it, one foot immersed in the warm water, long legged form with tender breasts and a soft patch between her thighs. She could have had any man with a look and allowed even fewer to touch her. The nightmare, though she didn't know him as such, was one of those few.
"Come," Michelle beckoned for the man she knew as Alex to join her.
"Eventually," he said in a suggestive tone and took her hand so that she could lower herself into the water with ease.
She laughed softly over the innuendo. "Later than sooner, I hope," she winked then sighed as the water heated her skin, the folds of her sensitive flesh.
"Trust me, I've got stamina to die for," The Corinthian grinned, kissing her fingertips before he released her hand.
"Mm, and you're a gentleman now," she asked, amused by kiss.
"Didn't I tell you? I'm an artist," he replied.
The nightmare set one foot in the tub, between her knees. He leaned down to cup her face and kiss her again, deeply with a slip of tongue. Michelle closed her eyes for the long moment, reveling in the taste. When he pulled away from her mouth his sunglasses were gone. She opened her eyes again, and they widened, widened in fear.
His hands caught her throat in a vice grip. He dropped to his knee so that he might pin it against her abdomen while his other foot balanced on the bathroom floor. Mama told her to be wary of strange men in the city. She squeezed her eyes shut and coughed.
"Please.... quickly...." she begged.
"Lovely Michelle, I'm not going to rape you," The Corinthian laughed before forcing her head underwater. That was when she put up her fight.
"You broke Eric's heart," he held his ground even as she struggled, "poor boy shot himself over the 4th Street Bridge. His eyes should have been mine, you ruined it."
She clawed at his hands and wrists. She was not meant to die this way. She should have married, grown old, slept till she grew wings with her loved one. Under the overflowing water she could see his eyes were menacing, menacing little mouths.
"Be glad you'll die without being defiled, some people take comfort in that."
Michelle couldn't tell if she was crying or not. She knew he was speaking to her, because she could hear his voice clearly, as if he were in her head. Eventually her body gave in to the lack of air, the abundance of water, the fire in her lungs. Sixty seconds passed like aching minutes till her struggling subsided. Only her torso twitched in its death throes, and her eyes remained open, blank.
"Seen and not heard," he smiled at her wet corpse, glossy brown hair flowing around her marked neck. How wonderful she would look if he'd dropped a running hairdryer in the tub with her, but the nightmare wanted a silent death. He wanted to be able to stay in Los Angeles just a little longer.
He stood up from the bath and grabbed a towel to dry his hands, his face. The Corinthian still had time to dry his clothes and leave before anyone would be the wiser.
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private :: warded
Date: 2006-10-04 10:04 pm (UTC)Amity of sorts was all that I ever desired.
Anything else would have been extra-credit.Re: private :: warded
Date: 2006-10-04 11:31 pm (UTC)And good, because.