|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Feb 21, 2012 9:13:32 GMT 1
Stoney sat in the same chair he always sat on, in the same position he always sat in, leaning over his maker with his hands clasped in front of him and his head down, quickly fading as he gave into the call of the sun. His head nodded then jerked up then nodded again. This time he went still. Throughout the day he had cleaned the room, bathed Marcel and changed his dressing gown, making him the proper gentleman that Marcel always was. He put his slippers on his feet and combed his hair. He brushed his facial hair down, making it smooth and even, and had laid him back in his bed that was made up with clean silk sheets. He had laid his hands on his chest and fluffed his pillow and then he used an eyedropper to drop fresh blood into his mouth. Stoney had scored some angel blood after being told that it might actually help Marcel wake up…he had watched carefully as he fed him but nothing had happened. The entire time he fussed over his maker he sang the lullaby he had altered just for Marcel so he could sing it to him every morning. Close your sleepy eyes my little buckaroo. While the light of the western skies is shining down on you. I’ll protect you in your bed, another night is through. It’s safe to sleep my little buckaroo. Everything Stoney did for the last two centuries was for Marcel. Every move he made, every minute of every day was for Marcel. It had to be. As long as he was alive, Stoney had hope. If it were not for the bi-hourly thump of Marcel’s heart, one would have thought he had met the true death. But he took his nourishment and his heart continued to plug along, albeit very, very slowly, even by vampire standards so Stoney dedicated his life to waiting for his maker and lover to return to him. At first he had kept him hidden away in his home but after a couple decades he moved him back to France. Stoney hated it there and he remembered that Marcel found sorrow there. With the family’s blessing, he moved him back home. Over time he needed security so one by one, he added to his posse by turning strong young men who were skilled with a gun. Marcel had tighter security than the Presidents ever did before the apocalypse. The room they were in was lavish room decorated in 12th century French décor which were items that were Marcel’s from France. There were many vampires that would gladly kill Stoney to take these priceless treasures, but none had the balls to try to get anywhere near it, word had it that Stoney was mad and he planned to keep it that way. Stoney jerked awake one more time before he turned his head and laid it on Marcel’s stomach then reached a rough hand up to caress Marcel’s lightly stubbled cheek. “I miss you.” He whispered as the sun took him into the dead sleep vampires fell into every day.
|
|
|
Post by Marcel Chevalier on Feb 21, 2012 11:49:46 GMT 1
When the final shadow had fallen across Marcel's vision he knew that it was death. Darius had won and Marcel had failed his child. He seemed to hover a timeless moment in infinite darkness, waiting to fall or fade, for the final oblivion to claim the last of him, but it never came. Nothing came, nothing happened, nothing ended. He hung in a void, a drab and meaningless purgatory, changeless.
Somewhere, so very far away, he could almost feel the echoes of another place. Be it heaven or hell or the earth between, he did not know and he did not care, his child was surely dead and he closed his heart to it. After an unmeasurable pause it seemed to Marcel that he began to dream. Thoughts and sounds, flickers of light, familiar scents and sensations. But only in tantalising flashes, fleeting as a dream on waking.
He sensed the beating of a heart racing like a tiny bird, so very fast, a presence that flashed into his awareness and then was gone again. It was when he began to hear the fragmented voice that the first light broke through the armour around his heart. Snatches of song reaching to him, endlessly repeated, until he had heard every part of it and pieced it all together. He was sleeping and he needed to wake.
But the world was spinning by too fast for him to catch hold, and he could not find the strength to seize or chase it. Then.... something different happened. It began with the strangest taste, something beautiful that he had never before experienced. Gradually he began to regain a sense of his own body and his own seemingly racing heartbeat. A pleasant, almost euphoric warmth enveloped him and he willed his heart to slow and his perceptions of the world did with it.
Marcel felt... not a memory or a dream, but the true touch of a hand to his cheek, the weight of a body against him. His heart slowed yet more and his eyelids flickered once, granting him the most fleeting glimpse of those unmistakeable blonde curls that he had never thought to see again. Still the world slowed further and his hand moved agonisingly slowly to brush that golden hair. The weight of the sun pressed down and Marcel wanted to weep, he felt cheated, to wake only to sleep again, but he drifted back into slumber with a lullaby in his mind “It’s safe to sleep my little buckaroo.” …........
By the time the sun was sinking slowly into the west once again, Marcel's heart was beating slow and steady in time with Hoyt's. His eyes finally fluttered open and he murmured softly in a voice unused for near two centuries, “Je t'aime mon cow-boy d'or.”
|
|
|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Feb 24, 2012 4:10:41 GMT 1
Hoyt dreamed of Marcel as he succumbed to the sun’s powerful drug-like affect. He dreamed of the first time he truly looked at him. Hoyt had built a campfire in the Texas desert that night, stacking the dry tinder and logs high, creating a blaze that licked the darkness form their small camp. In Marcel’s character, there was something attractive and elusive that disposed men and women alike to his favor and allured them. His brilliant blue eyes shimmered in the flickering firelight as he stared at it, deep in thought. His dark hair twisted and meandered across the shoulders of his brown leather duster. Hoy’s eyes rested on the only thing that set Marcel apart from the other cowboys on the range. On his finger was an onyx ring, studded with a glistening diamond inlaid in the center of this royal crest. He was a prince and in all of Texas, only Hoyt knew that fact. Hoyt had seen a man try to steal the ring on one occasion. He never saw Marcel move, but the man screamed and clung to three broken fingers that were bent and twisted in an unnatural fashion. The memory of it made Hoyt smiled as he gazed across the fire at Marcel; the best friend he ever had.
He was snapped out of his revelry by the smooth languid voce that uttered the simple words, “J’taime mon cow-boy d’or.”
Hoyt looked up to see Marcel’s loving gaze meet his. The soft smile always melted Hoyt’s heart.
The voice…
Hoyt stirred in his sleep. The voice was rasped and grated, familiar…yet…
Hoyt’s eyes snapped open and quick as lightening he was on the defensive, hovering protectively over his maker with a growl of warning. His face twisted in a demonic visage as his fangs clicked out, ready for combat. One hand twisted into Marcel’s dressing gown, ready to hoist the helpless vampire out of his door-less casket to protect him at all costs.
His eyes darted left and right, resting intently on each shadow in the room. “Who’s there?” He demanded. No answer set him into action. He scooped his maker up out of his bed and backed against the far wall where the alarm button was and slammed it with his palm. He held his maker close and cradled his head against him. “I got ya.” He whispered, “No one will hurt you again as long as I’m alive.” He looked toward the door as his posse of six black clad cowboys blurred into the chamber. Hoyt was a relatively young vampire and with the number of elder vampires moving into the area, he was not taking any chances. In numbers, he and his posse would stand a good chance against an older vampire. The posse spread out in the room, looking in all directions, each in a defensive stance with fangs bared.
“A voice…” Stoney hissed, “It woke me, find it.” He growled the command and held Marcel tighter. The men looked uncertain, some sniffed the air and listened but all eyes were on Stoney and Marcel. The tallest and oldest of the group cleared his throat and pointed at Marcel, “Pa…” he spoke with awe in his voice, “Look at Grandfather.”
Murmurs filled the room, “Pa? Is he alright?” One voice whined.
“Pa? Is he…” another voice choked.
They all looked somewhat uneasy and uncertain. It worried Stoney to see his children acting thusly.
Stoney froze for a moment then turned his face to gaze into the perfect countenance of is maker.
|
|
|
Post by Marcel Chevalier on Feb 24, 2012 11:52:31 GMT 1
It had taken a great deal more from Marcel than he had anticipated just to speak those few words. His voice didn't sound quite right in his own ears and he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He had intended to brush his fingers through those blonde curls but his reactions were so agonisingly slow that his body had not yet processed the thought. Hoyt was instantly alert and he was frightened, which was unexpected and troubling and Marcel's mind was still too foggy to articulate further to him. Hoyt was ready to fight and his eyes flickered around seeking a threat, looking everywhere but at Marcel.
He heard Hoyt calling out angrily but he was still thinking in French and his mind was slow translating. Before he had really registered what was happening Hoyt had lifted him from the bed and sped across the room. His senses reeled, things still seemed to be moving too fast and he felt weak as a kitten. His eyes slipped closed as he tried to focus on Hoyt's comforting voice and unravel his words. He was suddenly aware of more bodies spilling into the room, vampires all or so his senses told him and confusion gripped him again as they began to murmur together.
As Hoyt froze with Marcel cradled against his shoulder, the elder vampire began to recover his balance. He realised then that it wasn't just his mind playing tricks, Hoyt really was moving that fast. His child had grown considerably in strength in the time that he had been sleeping. Whilst in this moment there were a great many things he was uncertain of, the single thing that he knew without doubt was Hoyt. This was his child and he was safe. His lips twitched into a small smile and he opened his eyes again to look into Hoyt's own blue gaze as his child turned to look at him. His tongue struggled to wet his lips as his brain finally caught up with the language. “Good Evening, Hoyt.” he whispered.
The incredulous look on his child's face made Marcel almost want to laugh, but his unused throat protested the effort and so he simply smiled wider. “I do believe....” he murmured softly as his throat began to loosen a little, “...that I may have overslept?” His eyes, so long empty and near lifeless, now sparkled with personality and humour, and his pleasure at the sight of his beautiful, golden-haired child was unabashed.
|
|
|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Mar 2, 2012 23:18:26 GMT 1
Stoney almost didn’t believe his eyes and ears. If it had not been for the witness of his posse to draw his attention to the manifestation of his every dream come true, he would not have believed it for even a moment. There, staring back at him with what was once the most infuriating look of pompous smugness was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Tears sprang to his eyes and he let out a small laugh of joy, “Mar..” he choked on the word, “Oh…Oh sweet merciful Jesus.” His smile was only stifled by the painful relief that wracked his frame. He sank to his knees, holding his maker close.
“My every prayer…” he murmured as he tried to blink the tears away. He looked into his eyes with such joy, “Why, you rascal, you scared the boots off me.” He laughed and pulled him into a crushing embrace. He realized he was breaking his own rules. One, Marcel was on the floor, two, he was getting blood on him. Quick as he could he had Marcel up and in the bedroom and laid him out on the bed. “Don’t try to move too much, you’ve been in the sleep of the dead almost two centuries.” he murmured then turned back to his waiting posse, “Lonnie, get Jimmy, we need to get a message to Thor that your Grandfather is awake, Hank, you go get that South American kid, let’s get some live blood into him. And get security back on that door. Close the club for tonight, make something up.”
Each order he gave was returned with clear obedience and a “Yes, Pa.” Once what had to be done immediately had been done, Hoyt turned his eyes back to his maker, “I knew you’d come back to me.” He pulled him into another embrace before a damp cloth was handed to him and he laid him gently back and began cleaning droplets of bloody tears off him. “You’d be so proud of your grandsons. They help me keep you safe. We even took out a 700 year old vampire all by ourselves to keep him from killing you and taking your stuff, didn’t lose one man.”
|
|
|
Post by Marcel Chevalier on Mar 3, 2012 4:59:55 GMT 1
Marcel gazed at his child as the myriad emotions flashed across his features. His own relief as the fear and tension in Hoyt melted away was equally great but his refined sensibilities would not permit him to express it quite so bluntly. He had been so certain that his golden child was lost to him that he had hardly wanted to live at all. To be here, wherever 'here' was, alive and held in his arms... it was more than Marcel had thought possible. Fate it seemed had smiled upon him and Hoyt's tears of joy were beautiful things. As they sank to the floor Marcel melted into his rugged embrace with a soft sigh, a pale pink tear trickling slowly down his own cheek.
He should have had more faith in Hoyt he thought ruefully. From that first moment he had set eyes upon him in the desert, the boy-child who lived only because he refused to die. Whilst he had nursed the boy through his infirmity and fever he had listened to him talk in his sleep and delirium. Angry, stubborn, always defiant. Marcel had been uncertain as to whom the boy thought he was speaking, Marcel himself, his attackers perhaps, but it appealed to the romantic in his soul to believe that Hoyt's defiant mutterings had been addressed to death himself.
It filled Marcel with such joy to hear Hoyt laugh that he chuckled himself, though a little gratingly. He kissed Hoyt's neck gently as he was hugged close and tight. “You? frightened? That would be a first my golden one.” he murmured as Hoyt lifted him again and carried him back to the bed. Marcel was actually glad when Hoyt turned his attentions briefly to his ….children? His child's distraction allowed him to conceal his own concerned surprise. Just how many children had Hoyt created? At least six from what he could see... he hoped desperately that Hoyt had remembered his teachings and obtained consent for his brood.
Two centuries? That was a considerable span of time. It did however explain his current weakness and Hoyt's new-found strength. What else he wondered had occurred during that interlude? The mention of a name caught his attention again. “Thor? Thor is here? That is.... a pleasant surprise...” he murmured to Hoyt. “We were... friends, once upon a time...” The authoritative manner with which Hoyt spoke to his brood warmed Marcel's heart and the reverent obedience his children showed was reassuring.
“...and you waited for me... Where else could I ever want to be?” Marcel smiled at Hoyt, his eyes sparkling again as he revelled in the strength and beauty that Hoyt had grown into. He relaxed into the gentle touch and loving care of his devoted child, the damp cloth soothing to his skin, which seemed drier and tighter than it should. He finally managed to raise his hand enough to brush is fingers lightly through Hoyt's hair. That such children had successfully dispatched an elder was a shocking revelation to him, but he was beginning now to see that there was nothing Hoyt could not achieve in need. “I have always been proud of you Hoyt, and I shall treasure them as you do.”
|
|
|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Mar 4, 2012 7:41:30 GMT 1
Hoyt was satisfied he got the last smudge from Marcel, leaving him spotless and he handed the damp cloth to whoever was in the vicinity and turned his eyes back onto those beautiful eyes that he had willed to open and look at him for so many years. “I kinda waited for ya, more like I took you with me wherever I could find to keep ya safe.” He leaned down and kissed his jaw just because he felt like he had to. He drew back once more and brushed one stray lock of Marcel’s hair back from his face. “A lot has happened in the world, Marcel. Yeah, Thor is here, because he is the magistrate over this Sanctuary City.” He sighed softly, knowing Marcel would not understand but that he had to tell him enough to appease the initial curiosity.
“First, you been asleep all this time because you lost your head.” He winced at the memory, “I got it back on and kept you immobile for 50 years. I couldn’t protect you by myself. I kept ending up in these battles and nearly lost my own head a couple times, so I made me a posse to help out.” He indicated the four figures dressed in black, grinning at the person they had been protecting all this time. “These are my boys, four of them. Hank’s there with your dinner, “ he pointed at a dark haired cowboy with big white teeth and hazel eyes, holding the leash of a blood slave, “Jack, Sam, and Matthew, “ he pointed at the other three that were standing there just as two more practically flew in, grinning ear to ear, “and these two are Jimmy and Lonnie.” He turned and smiled at Marcel, “Say hello to your Grandfather, boys.” The respectful murmurs or greeting caused Hoyt to swell with pride. He turned again to his posse, “Jimmy, you get that message out?” he asked authoritatively. “Shutters still up on the casino, Pa. I’ll go soon as they come down; you can’t get near the Valhalla until they come down.” The vampire looked like he couldn’t have been more than 19 when he was turned. “Alright, you see to it now, if Drake finds out we tarried even a moment, he’ll be angry. And if it were not for his mercy, we would all be dead.” He turned and smiled at Marcel again, “Watch this.” He whispered. Then in a clear voice he asked, “Who do we live for?”
“Our King, Drake Legend.” Came the answer in unison.
“Who do we die for?” Hoyt asked in the same clear tone.
“Grandfather.” Was said in unison by all six.
“Great, now get back to work.” Hoyt smiled as his posse filed out the door but not before the leash was placed in his hand. “You will never be in danger as long as those boys got your back.”
|
|
|
Post by Marcel Chevalier on Mar 5, 2012 18:35:49 GMT 1
Marcel smiled softly as Hoyt kissed him. He longed to take him in his arms and kiss him properly but right now even the strength to sit up seemed to elude him and he was not going to start flailing around like an idiot. He would wait, he could be patient, and he would show his beloved child his appreciation and love all in good time. Hoyt would do what needed to be done for him now, with love and with dignity. Marcel tried to relax a little though his mind churned with questions. The touch of Hoyt's rough fingertips brushing his hair back into place was soothing and when their eyes met again his own conveyed the promise that 'later' would be worth the waiting.
He listened intently as Hoyt began to summarise 'recent' events for him, but it seemed every answer just provoked another question. A Sanctuary City? He knew his confusion must be showing as Hoyt sighed. “Where exactly are we?” he murmured softly, trying to keep the uncertainty from echoing in his voice. He did not like to feel so helpless and unprepared and even less to show it. Even though these children had been his guardians it seemed, through the centuries of his long sleep, it still felt wrong to Marcel to show such frailty before them.
As Hoyt presented his children, Marcel graced each in turn with his gentle smile and softly appraising gaze, growing more and more pleased with each mannerly greeting and he allowed them to see that he was indeed pleased with them. When Hoyt had them recite their litany of loyalty and allegiance Marcel's heart swelled with joy and pride, and another pale tear came to his eye. “You have worked a miracle Hoyt, my golden cowboy.” he murmured as the 'boys' trooped obediently out of the room.
Marcel finally had the chance to observe the room in which he had awoken with more than a passing glance. It was painstakingly rendered in the old pre-gothic style, the one he had always found the most comforting and that reminded him always of home and his childhood, far away and long ago. He was surrounded by his most personal and treasured possessions, many of which he knew he had left behind in Europe when he had travelled. Marcel had trouble picturing Hoyt in France, somehow he did not think the ambiance would have agreed with him, but much had changed in the world whilst he slept, or so Hoyt had gently warned him.
A tiny frown marred his smooth brow for a moment, he must get Hoyt to elaborate on that and soon, but it was important to prioritise. He was feeling tired, more than tired... drained. Marcel knew that he could not risk slipping back into the sleep of death. Who knew how long it would take him to wake again if he should? If this were Thor's city he would need to speak with him, propriety demanded no less, and old friend or no, for that Marcel would need his strength back.
He needed blood and his eyes flickered to the mocha skinned boy on the leash Hoyt was now holding. The boy stood obedient and demure, his eyes lowered but Marcel could feel his fear, for some reason being in this room seemed to frighten him. Marcel's lips parted slightly in anticipation and his feeding fangs slid free. He looked back into Hoyt's beautiful, devoted eyes and smiling face and smiled his own charming and sensual smile that lit up his fine aristocratic features and brought a sparkle to his eyes. “Let me sample this sweet morsel you have chosen for me.”
|
|
|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Mar 8, 2012 21:05:24 GMT 1
Hoyt was still trying to get over the fact that Marcel was awake and talking to him but he also knew he had to tend to him still. Now that he was awake, it was even more imperative that security be stepped up. Many people thought he would never wake up and therefore forgot about him. If word got out that he actually woke up, he could be in grave danger.
“We are in New Vegas, Marcel. A place that didn’t exist until 40 years ago, roughly. It’s a Vampire Sanctuary City to keep the humans safe and rebuild the population.” He said as he pulled the leash on the young man and pointed to the other side of the bed, “Bare your neck for you master, boy.” He commanded. The slave moved to the other side of the bed and made his vein accessible. “The world flourished after you were incapacitated, great cities were built and millions of people lived in them. Technology always astounded me. There were telephones with no wires, pictures sent over the air into little boxes, although the bigger the box, the happier people seemed to be. It made security easier, with cameras and motion detectors. Men walked on the moon. I built a mass fortune and dedicated it to preserving you and your things.”
He waved a hand around the room. “But something really bad happened and the world fell apart. The cities have fallen. Technology is all but gone and most the people in the world have died. The vampires had to come out to the people, and save them. They know about everything now, even the Lycans. There are even zombies now that scare the hell out of me; vampires are not immune to the virus that causes it. There is so much to tell you. But, I’m going to stop now. You need your strength. You think about what I have told you already, and when you finish your meal, you ask me anything.”
Stoney felt a wave jealousy that Marcel was going to feed on the human so he kicked his boots off and lay next to him and put his arms around him. Marcel was his. He was his maker, his father, his brother and most of all his lover and he did not share well. He could not help but nuzzle Marcel’s neck and hold him tight, “I missed you so much.” He murmured softly as he took in his scent.
|
|
|
Post by Marcel Chevalier on Mar 9, 2012 15:20:12 GMT 1
The wide eyed incredulity that still lingered in Hoyt's expression made him seem much younger again to Marcel, more the innocent young man that had woken to a new life and a new world in his arms. He found it strangely reassuring that he could still see that boy in the man he had become. When Hoyt spoke of the technologies Marcel had missed he found himself laughing softly. He could just picture how excited Hoyt would have been by such things and wished he could have seen it.
The conversation took a darker turn however as Hoyt spoke of how swiftly and thoroughly the world had fallen to ruin, and its technologies scattered uselessly like broken toys. It was shocking to hear how openly vampires now walked in the human world, or was it how carefully humans now walked in the vampire world? And a disease that affected vampires? There were horrors unleashed in the world indeed. His thoughts were racing as he tried to process the information and the ramifications it must have had for their kind. If most of the humans were dead, how many vampires had survived? Were all humans now like the boy kneeling beside his bed?
Marcel looked toward the human boy as he bared his throat. He could scent the fresh blood pumping through the throbbing vein in the boy's neck and hear his racing heartbeat. He flickered his tongue lightly across the boy's pulse, seeking the perfect place to bite. The taste of his warm skin roused Marcel's appetite, and a dire hunger he had not even realised he had been suppressing, it had become such a pervasive part of him during his long sleep. Yet however much he hungered, Marcel would not succumb to the animal instinct to feed like a pig at a trough.
Hoyt was a comforting presence at his side as he climbed onto the bed beside him. Marcel wondered how many times Hoyt had held him thusly as he slept. Often he would surmise, his beautiful loving child. It was where he belonged, always by Marcel's side and now he had awoken that was exactly where he intended to keep him, his golden child. Marcel made an approving sigh as Hoyt wrapped his arms around him. He could feel the urgency in Hoyt's embrace and he shared it, longing to hold his child and lover and answer his need with his own. A pox upon the weakness of his flesh, he needed the human now.
Marcel's fangs pierced delicately into the boys throat and the warm fresh blood rushed into his mouth in a wave. He almost gasped at the sweet shock to his system that the blood provoked. He forced himself to slow down, to sip and not to guzzle. He had not the energy to spare for soft games with the boy and as Hoyt nuzzled into his neck it was not the human that he desired to expend his energy upon. The warm glow of the human blood began to spread slowly through his limbs, bringing some small return of strength to them. He continued to drink, more than a sample, far more than a taste. Marcel did not begin to pull back until he felt the boy's heart slowing its beat. He withdrew his fangs with a final flicker of his tongue and took a slow deep breath.
The boy slid limply from the bed to the floor. Marcel knew the human would survive, but he would not be doing much beyond sleeping for the next week or so. However Marcel had other more pressing things on his mind in that moment than one random human boy. He turned a little in Hoyt's arms, his limbs finally beginning to respond to his will, if sluggishly. “I knew you were with me.” he whispered gently, comfortingly, to him. “I could feel the beat of your heart. It was the sound of your voice that drew me back from the sleep of death.” Marcel blinked back a blood red tear.
“You have grown so strong and so beautiful, and I have missed so much of you. When I thought you were... “ his voice became for a moment too hoarse to finish the awful thought. “I did not wish to wake again without you.” He ran his lightly trembling fingers through Hoyt's curls, he did so love to do that, it brought him such comfort and pleasure. His fingers continued to trace a path brushing the edge of Hoyt's ear then along the stubbled line of his strong jaw. Fingertips played over the deep slow pulse at the side of his neck, the human had merely whetted Marcel's appetite, not sated it. A glass of water to a thirsty man, but his beautiful Hoyt... he was a fine rich wine to be cherished and savoured.
“Darius is dead...” Marcel did not make it a question. That Hoyt was here beside him after two centuries of sleep made it an inevitability. His child would not have repeated his own mistake. “...and I am not.” His hand brushed along the collar of Hoyt's black button-up shirt and popped open the top button before sliding down to open the next. He smiled the soft smile that he reserved just for Hoyt, “Love truly does conquer all.”
|
|
|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Mar 11, 2012 2:47:46 GMT 1
Hoyt sighed in the comfort of his makers embrace. It had been so long since he had felt him return his affections, he felt starved for it. The physical contact was so sweet and welcome he did not move when the slave fell to the floor.
He did however; help Marcel turn towards him so he could look into his beautiful eyes. He listened to his makers words as his hand lifted to Marcel’s cheek, his eyes gazing deep into Marcel’s. “I missed seeing your eyes Marcel.” He whispered, “Where else would I be when you opened them?” He leaned in and kissed the tear away with a flick of his tongue.
If Hoyt could have, he would have blushed. His eyes dropped and he smiled bashfully, “Shucks, I couldn’t live without you, you know that. You’re the reason I’m alive.” He half chuckled the words. He shuddered softly at Marcel’s caresses and leaned his hand into the delicate fingers.
He knew it was too soon for Marcel to be too physical but he wanted to feel him touching him. He needed it. He didn’t hesitate to quickly pop the buttons on his shirt then lean in to softly kiss Marcel then rest his stubbled cheek against his, “My love for you could conquer the world.” He murmured softly and ran his fingers through Marcel’s hair. He felt like he couldn’t get close enough and pressed himself closer. “Don’t overdo it…I just got you back.” He whispered and kissed Marcel’s neck again. “God, I missed you.”
|
|
|
Post by Marcel Chevalier on Mar 11, 2012 16:29:12 GMT 1
It felt so good to be held by Hoyt. Though Marcel's mind did not seem to have registered the passage of time as it should, his body had and the sensations that Hoyt's tender embrace generated in him were intense and unsated. The gaze of his eyes, the touch of his hand, the gentle kiss; as the slave's proximity had fanned his hunger for blood, he now hungered for ….Hoyt.
Hoyt's bashful smile lifted Marcel's heart. The years of waiting could not have been kind to his child and he would never allow Hoyt to suffer such pain again. But in that smile, in his soft chuckle and lowered eyes, Marcel could see all those most beautiful qualities that had first drawn him to fall so hopelessly in love with his young cowboy. Hoyt had been strong for them both for so long, it was time for Marcel to recover his own strength, though that seemed easier said than done.
He could feel Hoyt shuddering at his touch, so much need in him and it pained Marcel that he could not yet answer it. The strength he had gained from feeding was already waning, but he could still take pleasure in physical closeness with his lover though he feared it might leave Hoyt only more frustrated. He smiled a little roguishly as Hoyt followed his lead and near tore his shirt open for him. He ran his hand over the firm, perfect musculature of Hoyt's torso, his sense of touch reacquainting itself with the glorious feel of his lover's body. So beautifully masculine... and so his.
He returned Hoyt's kiss equally gently but with a deep and passionate longing. He made another pleasured sigh as Hoyt began to stroke his hair. “Hold me close” he whispered. “Hold me tight.” He nuzzled into the side of Hoyt's neck, touching with every inch of flesh he could as Hoyt pressed their bodies closer. “I want you Hoyt, I want you now, desperately.” he murmured softly into Hoyt's ear. He kissed the side of Hoyt's neck and his tongue flickered over the pulse. “And I will have you one way or another...” the last came out as a lusty whisper as Marcel's fangs slid out once again. “I in you and you in me.”
|
|
|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Mar 13, 2012 16:31:18 GMT 1
Hoyt’s protective instincts were fighting with his need to feel Marcel again. He knew Marcel needed more strength but he wanted him so badly. The kissing and nuzzling were driving him mad with desire and he held Marcel tighter. But then the thought that tiring Marcel too much might cause him to enter the sleep of the dead again, even for a short time was too much to bear. He reached for Marcel’s hands and grasped them firmly. He leaned his head in so his lips were against Marcel’s delicate ear.
“Marcel…I want you too, but if you tire yourself…I couldn’t bear to lose you to that terrible sleep again.” He said in a soft gruff voice. “If you’re need is urgent, I can service you, but you gotta try to relax partner, and after you need to feed again. I got the rest of that angel blood that woke you up, you should finish it.” He added, hopefully it would restore even more of Marcel’s strength, “If it woke you up, I’m certain it will restore more of your strength, one drop is like a whole feeding from a human.”
He realized he may have left this information out before, but that was par for the course with Hoyt, he was not the sharpest tool in the shed but he was stubborn, reliable and loyal to his core. “Oh yeah, there are angels on the earth, they walk among us, and the Archangel Michael, he gave me some of his blood to heal you with. He’s a real nice guy.” He blushed slightly, “I guess I forgot to tell you that.”
|
|
|
Post by Marcel Chevalier on Mar 14, 2012 18:40:20 GMT 1
Marcel nuzzled Hoyt's neck. He was so sure he could still scent there after all this time, the scent of sunlight. Perhaps it was true after all that he was simply too romantic for his own good. However nothing felt too romantic, too affectionate, too much, for his precious Hoyt. His desire was aflame for his beautiful lover and it was a trial to even think how badly he could weaken himself by claiming him again here and now. The frustration was enough to make him weep.
It was almost frightening when Hoyt took his hands firmly in his own, to feel and to know that he could not in that moment have resisted nor broken free even should his life have depended upon it. Not that he would or could ever have reason to fear or distrust Hoyt, but the weakness it his flesh made him fearful in a manner he had never experienced before. When Hoyt whispered into his ear he quite suddenly did not know how to answer.
However what Hoyt said next... Angel blood? That was enough to shock and distract Marcel, at least momentarily, from his burning need for Hoyt. It was now his turn to wear a look of overwhelming incredulity as Hoyt spoke of angels on earth and the Archangel Michael. His lips moved as if he were about to say something but he could find no words to fit. Softly he began to laugh... at Hoyt, at himself and at this strange new world he found himself in.
“Oh Hoyt...” Marcel chuckled. “You never cease to amaze me...” His pale beautiful eyes sparkled with the love he felt for his incomparable child.
|
|
|
Post by Hoyt 'Stoney' Blackwell on Mar 23, 2012 3:00:14 GMT 1
Hoyt sighed, sat up, and looked at the floor. It didn’t surprise him that Marcel found it funny. Only he didn’t know why Marcel found it funny. Hoyt didn’t find it funny at all. Hoyt automatically thought it made Marcel laugh at him for the same reason everyone else laughed at him, because he was loony.
“Well?...what was I supposed to do, dadgummit? I was losing my mind.” He said shamefully and ran his hands through his blonde curls. “I was walking around, missing you so bad, I just started talking to you, like you were there. Everyone started laughing at me. They said I was crazy. Poor crazy Hoyt…” He toyed with a stray thread on the coverlet for a moment then took out his pocket knife and trimmed it before putting the knife away. He was meticulous as always.
“The only guy other than my boys that understood was Michael. I went to the sanctuary park…I’m not even going to start telling you about that place, you gotta see that for yourself…anyway, I was talking to you and here comes this real nice guy. I asked him if he thought I was crazy. He’s the first one that didn’t dance around it. He simply said no. He missed some guy he loved, another angel, and he said he went to the park to talk to him every day. He even sang to him, just like I sang to you every day. We had a lot in common. No, he didn’t think I was crazy at all…so, I started talking to him and I told him all about you. I even cried, Marcel. I never cry. You know that.”
He nervously rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Then he made me make him a promise. He made me promise him never to tell anyone but you what he was about to tell me. He told me it would help you wake up and I could have you back.” A note of childlike excitement filled his eyes. “I’ll tell you what, I promised him right then and there.”
He reluctantly pulled himself away from Marcel and gently covered him with a blanket out of habit and fluffed his pillow before walking to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. He took out a small plastic blood bag, no bigger than a deck of cards, and held it up. “In this here bag, is angel blood. It never goes bad because the only thing that can kill it is demon blood, but I chilled it anyway.”
He turned on the hot water tap in the sink and placed the bag in it. “It only takes a few seconds to warm up, Michael says it’s because it has the light of love in it.” He dipped the bag a few times then removed it from the water and carried it to Marcel. He looked torn between handing it to him and feeding it to him, but felt silly so he sat down on the bed next to him and handed it to him. “I tasted a drop. Felt like power exploded in my mouth, like I had a whole feeding from a healthy youngster.”
He watched Marcel to see if he laughed at him again or sampled the blood. “I promise you, it’s real. Or I never would have gave it to you.”
|
|