You wanna make something of vampires in love

[edenfrost]

Eden hadn't been to Paris since he was mortal, and then the visit had been bittersweet. A trip around Europe with his love, tainted by death looming over them. This time was different. Wonderfully different. He had a lover who would not leave him, one that he would not waste away, one that he would not have to watch die.

He was different, and he

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[bastien_d]

Bastien was bored, and when he was bored (as he often was in these times, seeing as how he had been up nightly for three hundred years) he tended to wander. He wasn't like the others in the pack; Bastien still enjoyed mortal company at times. Sure, they smelled like animals with their sweat and their filthy mouths, but sometimes they were more than amusing.

He was walking through Montmartre, looking for a girl with long, loose auburn waves, or maybe one with some sort of razored blonde bob (hair. It was always the hair that mattered) when he happened to inhale and catch a familiar scent. Vanilla, and beneath it was vitae that he knew.

Bastien turned, tucking his hands into the pockets of his carefully-distressed jeans, and followed the scent down a narrow, cobblestone alley. There were two men (not mere men, said his Auspex, but Cainites) standing close to each other, holding hands while one pointed out a particularly lovely plaster arch over a doorway. Bastien watched them, delighted to have found either a tasty snack (should they be Camarilla) or perhaps some new friends, visiting the city. They were almost certainly Toreador, and Bastien liked those most of all.

He leaned one shoulder against the brick, watching as the taller one pulled his counterpart back against him, brushed his hair to the side and perhaps Kissed him upon the nape of his neck. How sweet. Bastien was about to call to them, was about to make himself known when the smaller of the two turned, and his profile was illuminated by the street light.

Julien Thorn.

"Merde," Bastien muttered, pulled off his sunglasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket. Little Julien had balls to come back to Paris after being cast out by his Sire. He wondered if maybe he had been called back, if perhaps Amelie was lonely, or if she had had a change of heart. This would be impossible, however, because Amelie Merchant had no heart.

It was what Bastien loved most about his Ductus.

He let the lovers move on, following at a discrete distance until they were out of the alley and onto a proper, but no less-deserted, street. They were relaxed, obviously not anticipating some sort of attack. And in truth, Bastien had no malice for the little Toreador. He had quite liked him, had had such a thing for Julien's pretty dark hair and the fetching amber eyes. Nothing had ever come of it, but they had, at times, been quite affectionate.

Bastien closed the distance easily, waiting until he was a little over a dozen feet behind the lovers, and then he ran at them, grabbing Julien around the waist and swinging him to press him against the wall, one hand sliding into his hair. "Chaton," he whispered, then pressed his lips hard to Julien's.

"To me manques putain..."