Jötunheimr

[Existentially Odd]

(Continued from \'Ragnarök\')

The vampire fed his newly-begotten on the way back to his home, coaxing out of her what she wanted to eat and obtaining copious amounts of it for her.  It didn\'t bother him whether she ate it on the spot or volunteered to take it with her, he would watch her avidly either way, trying to pre-empt her needs without delving into her thoughts.

The house garnered little more than a superficial tour and he had cause to wonder (only then) if he might be putting himself in danger by bringing her to where he lived.  He hoped not but either way, it was done now and he would supplicate himself to her whim automatically when the light claimed him.

At the first sign that she looked too tired to continue much longer, he began to discuss the bathroom.  "Would you like to shower?" he asked her soothingly, finding her rather pretty (rather suddenly) and wanting to help her while she was vulnerable.  "I can come in with you... or... stay out if you prefer," he added reluctantly, communicating that separation was the last thing he wanted and that shouldn\'t want it either.

[Harlequin]

Most of Vivianne\'s energy went towards one simple, all-encompassing goal: the avoidance of singular attention. Nearly everything she did (when not in the company of friends, or, at the very least, those she was comfortable around) she did to this end.

But now she was in a situation that would not allow her to escape this person\'s notice; he simply would not let her fade away. He even watched her eat – in the silly little pizza place she\'d picked at random – with that adoring, almost proprietary gaze.

Needless to say, it freaked her right out.

The food had been good, though, and she felt slightly less drained; but they were back on the bike and away before she had too much time to think about anything much beyond that. She was grateful for the delay.

And she\'d barely stumbled out of her boots before they were off on a cursory tour of the Vampire\'s home – a small but tasteful place, whose rather beleaguered exterior belied it\'s comfortable interior. She made the appropriate noises in the appropriate places, and felt appropriately bad for dripping on his carpet, skirts heavy with water held bunched in one hand around her knees to avoid leaving an obvious skirt-shaped trail – until they stopped in front of a particular door, and he was asking her a question. A rather forward one, at that; but the kind that she\'d come to expect.

"Uh," she said, willing the gears in her brain to pick up the pace. When they did, a slight blush rose to her cheeks, "I think I would prefer that. The second one." She didn\'t want to offend him – since it had become clear that he had some problem being physically separated from her for any length of time – so she added a nervously sincere "Sorry," before she stepped through the door and – unless he had anything else to say – closed it behind her, and set about her task.

[Existentially Odd]

He delayed her only long enough to open up his wardrobe and offer her a choice of clothing to put on after her shower - he even had a selection of women\'s underwear that he assured her had been laundered after they were left there - that included T-shirts and a pair of thick, fluffy towelling robes with \'Hilton\' and \'Rydges\' on their breast pockets, proclaiming where he\'d got them from.
 
Once she\'d made her choice, he gave her a thick bath sheet and allowed her to disappear into the bathroom, expecting she\'d be a while and inexplicably nervous now that she was away from him.  He put his jacket away and got out of his own wet clothing, wearing only a pair of sapphire blue satin boxer shorts.  Kicking his dirty clothes into a pile in the corner (for teh basket was in the bathroom), he turned the bed down and fussed with setting the pillows up against the headboard so they could be leaned against.
 
Finally, he dimmed the lights so that she\'d be able to see to get to the bed and turned on the television set into the wall at the foot of the bed.  When she emerged, she would find him idly flicking channels, the remote in his right hand, resting on his outstretched right leg, left elbow proppe onto his raised left knee.  Her appearance would bring a soft, appreciative smile and immediately draw his attention from whatever was on the screen (the music channel) at the time.  "Feel better?"

[Harlequin]

Almost immediately upon her grateful entrance the bathroom (and after turning on the water – full blast, as hot as it would go) Vivianne\'s phone rang; a grating pop song that heralded Chance\'s name. She spoke with him in a hushed tone for about two minutes as she disrobed, and the room filled with steam. If anybody had cared to listen, the conversation was limited mostly to \'I\'m fine\'s, \'I\'ll be fine\'s, \'I\'ll tell you tomorrow\'s, and one \'Yes, Chance, I have clean underwear\' (which she\'d obtained from the vampire\'s bewildering collection. There were a couple pairs in the mix that she couldn\'t even fathom the actual intent of; she\'d been tempted to ask Tom how they were supposed to go, but decided that might lead him to believe she wanted to wear them, and it was rude to lie to one\'s host like that.

She was at least relieved to find out that – judging solely by the underwear – she wasn\'t the type of girl he usually brought home, and selected something tasteful, but frilly. Conscious of the fact that he was still watching her, she blushed like a schoolgirl the whole time.)

The whole conversation barely made a dent in her long shower, though, so she doubted she\'d be missed by those two minutes, and considered the matter closed, on the band\'s side.

She got out of the shower only after she actually nodded off, leaning forward, hands braced against the wall as the water pounded against her spine.

Shaking her head, she straightened, shut off the water, dried off (as best she could – her hair was hopeless) and dressed in the oversized black T-shirt she\'d picked out – along with the tight leather capris she\'d worn under her skirt (she\'d learned early on that when road met silk skirt, road won 100% of the time – leather had a little bit more success). She folded her clothes and set them on the bathroom counter, next to er similarly folded towel, flung her wet skirts over the shower rail to dry, and stepped out of the bathroom.

She zeroed in on the empty spot in the bed; it called to her, it filled her mind – but she still had the presence of mind to glance upward from her goal to return his smile–

And stop midstride when she saw what he was wearing. Or not wearing. He\'d said snuggle. Had he meant...snuggle?

She\'d always assumed she\'d find naked men intimidating, and now she realized that she did. But he wasn\'t entirely naked, and this was his house and – he\'d asked her a question, "Huh?" she said, startled, "Yes, much," Thankful for the distraction, she relaxed from her awkward halt and smoothed her still damp hair, smiling hesitantly, "And, uh, thanks for the food and – and everything. I really appreciate it."

[Existentially Odd]

"Not half as much as I appreciate you," he told her sincerely, and even managed to not make it sound sleazy.  He looked her over in much the same way - curiously, rather than desirously - and patted the bed beside him as he sat up straighter against the back of the bed, crossing his muscular legs tailor fashion.

His body swivelled automatically to follow her progress (should she be appropriately prompted to continue moving towards him, with his enticing bed-patting manoeuvre) and his expression remained earnest.  "I\'d give you anything, you know," he vowed.  "I meant it when I said that; it wasn\'t just a line that you taste better than almost anyone I can name, it\'s true.  You\'re... nectar."  Since he could only name about three people that he knew - one his sire, one the possible love of his so-called life and one the replacement he might have had, if he\'d not walked away from him - this was no lie, but gave the impression of fidelity that wasn\'t accurate.

[Harlequin]

Her feet moved almost of heir own accord, and her brain was too tired to stop them as they carried her inexorably toward that vacant spot in the bed. It wasn\'t like she\'d never seen shirtless men before (she worked at Risk, after all). It wasn\'t like she hadn\'t slept next to one, either (Chance seemed allergic to shirts, and Joe just plain didn\'t like \'em, come bedtime -- and she spent nearly every night next to Joe) but she still didn\'t know Tom.

But anything he wanted from her he could take just as easily from across the room as if he were laying next to her...but he didn\'t actually seem to want anything from her, aside from her presence.

And her blood, apparently -- but not even that, right at this moment. She wasn\'t sure how to respond to his comments (compliments? He said them like they were). So she shrugged as she clambered into the bed beside him (though she kept strictly to her side, sitting up and wrapping her arms around one leather-clad knee), "Thanks, I think?" She laughed nervously, "I\'m not really sure if that\'s something I can take credit for, though."

[Existentially Odd]

"You\'re not twenty-three, are you?" he asked as she settled.  He\'d come to this conclusion at least; he had a taste for youth and purity and they were mutually exclusive most of the time.  She might have been twenty but he didn\'t think so.  She\'d tasted young and his expression told her he thought so... he would have liked her to confirm it though, so he knew exactly what he was dealing with (not that it would change anything, but he was curious).

[Harlequin]

Why would he think you\'re twenty-three? Her brows crinkled slightly, but were smoothed away by the slightly guilty look crept over her face as she remembered that it was because she\'d told him she was.

"No," she admitted, "I turned eighteen in September." Despite the guilty look, the admission itself carried only a slight overtone of shame. She laughed again, softly, this time – more genuine, and followed by a critical twist of the mouth as she asked earnestly, "Am I really that obvious?"

She saw no harm in answering him – after all, what was five years to a vampire? Especially one as old as he\'d implied he was

[Existentially Odd]

"Only because I tasted you," he told her softly, his eyes glinting intimately at her through the muted light.  "You don\'t necessarily look young, but you certainly taste it.  And so pure, too," he told her wonderingly, resting his elbows on his knees (hands dangling in the gap between his crossed legs) as he leaned closer to her, gaze roving obsessively over her face.

"Do you... do anything in particular to taste so good?  Exercise a lot?  Eat something special?" he prompted, thinking of Reed despite not wanting to.  It was difficult to ignore the connection, though; Reed had treated his body like a temple and been so fucking good to drink from that Tom had turned fag just to get near him.  He assumed that Vivi had to be doing something special along those lines as well, to keep her blood so clean.

[Harlequin]

Once again, she felt pinned by that gaze, unsure how to answer him, but unable to look away. Did he think she took Tasty Pills every morning? Gee, maybe today I\'ll net the vampire of my dreams! The thought was ludicrous. She hadn\'t wanted him to bite her -- that much had been quite apparent, despite the fact that she\'d ended up enjoying it.

That concept confused her, still. She let it slip through the cracks of her tired thoughts.

"I-I don\'t know," she said, uncomfortable, "I like to run. Sometimes. And I walk a lot, which is exercise. I don\'t eat meat?" she volunteered this last more hesitantly, "I mean, I don\'t drink or smoke or do drugs or kiss with tongues, either, if that has anything to do with it."

Alcohol polluted the blood, she knew, as did cigarette smoke, and most (if not all) illegal substances, but she mentioned them more in terms of what most people described as \'clean living\'. Vivianne\'s lifestyle didn\'t arise from a desire to keep her body clean, but rather her mind. The fact that she presented the absolute picture of physical health (aside from being much too thin, and a little pale from lack of sun) was just an added bonus.

[Existentially Odd]

The vampire\'s eyebrows arched and he chuckled disbelievingly, instinctively looking at her mouth as he spoke.  "You don\'t kiss with tongues?  You\'re kidding, right?" he asked, bemusedly.

Apparently his question was rhetorical, however, for his left hand snuck out of his lap and covered her closest foot as charmingly as one could accomplish such a task.  "But you\'ll try it with me," he grinned cockily.  It wasn\'t a question, it was a statement of the facts as he saw them.  She\'d come home with him, she was in his bed, he thought the chances were good that she was interested...

Funnily enough, however, he wasn\'t certain of her stance, despite his confident claims, and this prompt was his way of clarifying things.  He\'d learned the hard way (with Reed) that mixing... well, pleasure with pleasure didn\'t work out in his favour all the time and, at this stage in his life, he valued someone to drink from that made his body zing with awareness rather than a good fuck that had him temporarily sighing with satisfaction.

His fingers caressed her warm, soft skin as he watched her appealingly, hoping she\'d be up for some mixing.  She did feel as awesome as she tasted.

[Harlequin]

"I don\'t," she confirmed anyway, suddenly as aware of her lips as he was, she drew her bottom lip into her mouth absentmindedly for a moment.

His touch drew her eyes downward, partially to avoid the look in his eye, and partially to see where that hand was going. Apparently nowhere. She pulled her foot gently out of his grasp – unless his grip tightened, which would cause a frown and an uncertain glance – and folded her legs daintily under her.

"No," she said, hoping to imbue her words with the same amount of confidence, and mostly succeding – for this was something she was fairly confident about – though there had been that moment, in the throes of – "I won\'t."

Joe was the only person in the world who knew that Vivianne was a lesbian. She had accepted it as fact, but – generally speaking – she would rather die than admit it out loud.

Instead, she lifted her head to look at him again, tilting her head to one side, "What kind of music do you like?" she asked, inspired (if anything played on MTV could be accurately labeled \'inspiring\') by a fleeting glance at the television, which had so far served as nothing more than background noise.

[Existentially Odd]

The redhead frowned, meekly allowing the frail blonde to remove his hand from her person but not happy about it.  She seemed adamant that she didn\'t want to get intimate with him - though she was obviously nervous about saying it out loud - and he couldn\'t figure out exactly why.
 
The most likely reason was innocence; if the girl didn\'t kiss with tongue, then she sure as Hell hadn\'t been punctured yet.  He thought that the most feasible, or that he intimidated her too much for her to allow herself to indulge immediately.  The notion that she might not be attracted to him was a distant but present option - he supposed - as was the barely-cresting-the-horizon idea that she really wasn\'t into guys.  Or vampires.  Or both.
 
Either way, it seemed he wasn\'t getting any action tonight and that made him pouty, even if he could understand and tell himself that she\'d given him plenty when he drank from her anyway.  He shrugged when asked what sort of music he liked, not really having an answer because music really wasn\'t part of his world.  "I dunno... loud?" he offered, not being familiar enough with it to segregate the noise into genres.  "The only music I ever really listen to is adrenalin."

[Harlequin]

Endlessly glad that he hadn\'t pushed the issue, Vivianne smiled at him. She was only halfway used to the idea that he might not turn on her at any moment, and the fact that he\'d so readily complied with her unspoken wishes was enough to make miss the sulkiness that followed, and to make the jump from halfway to mostly.  

Adreneline rock? About as far past her own taste as one could get. He\'d said he liked them, though, so he couldn\'t be all that bad (or it could just be that The Hunt was just that loud). She chuckled softly, either way – "I can\'t say that I\'m surpr–" The rest was lost in the gaping yawn that took her by surprise, the words sucked back into her the pinkness of her mouth like debris into a black hole.

At the same time, she seemed to find the effort of sitting up to be too much, and she let her back slump against the propped-pillows that had taunted her so when she\'d first laid eyes on them. Lips parted in a grateful sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment. She wasn\'t as tired as she\'d been an hour ago, but damned if it didn\'t feel good to lean back and

Continue the conversation? She turned her head sideways to look at him, opened her eyes, and found that she had no idea what that conversation had been, or what she\'d been in the middle of saying. She remembered changing the subject, but the actual subject was lost to her.

"Um...what were we talking about? I\'m sorry." One hand buried itself in her hair, fingers pressed against her temple as if to pluck the memory out.

[Existentially Odd]

He gave a dismissive snort and waved her question aside.  "Doesn\'t matter," he told her despondently, having come to the conclusion that she was unable to continue even talking with him.  She was interesting to look at while she slept but that minute of silence was not something he was all that keen to experience again.
 
"Go to sleep," he instructed, uncurling his legs and leaning down to grab the covers, anticipating that she would take care of arranging her pillows and sliding down into a horizontal position while he did that.  "I\'ll drop you at your bike tomorrow night when I wake up.  We can talk then."  He still wanted to discuss arrangements for drinking from her again, even if they weren\'t fated to get intimate right away.
 
It wasn\'t close enough to dawn for him to be tired - especially with her blood in him - so he supposed he might as well... go out and watch a movie or play the X-Box or something.  Once he had the covers up, he turned the television off, leaving only the golden glow of the dimmed overhead light.  He would turn that out when he got up to leave the room.  He slid away from her, depositing the remote on his bedside table as he got up to find something to do that wouldn\'t disturb her.