Immortalis Caris -- Chapter 8 - Tasting
Immortalis Caris -- Chapter 8
“Carlisle,” she smiled. “That didn’t take long.”
You have no idea...
She drew him into the room.
She flipped the deadbolt.
The curtains were open.
Twilight.
He could see his rooftop at the hospital across the way. He imagined himself standing there against the wall, smoking, seeing the glow in this room, imagining what it would be like to be here.
I can’t believe I’m here now.
She had changed into soft shorts and a top that left an intriguing glimpse of waxen flesh above the waistline. Barefoot, she moved with confidence and strength, silent feline grace. His heart sped up a little with admiration and ... intimidation?... as it does when you watch a wildcat in its own habitat.
More lioness than woman... But there’s really no categorizing her... I’ve never seen anyone like her...
He allowed himself to be led to the futon on the floor. She had doubled a purple comforter over it and moved the coffee table to the wall. She removed his jacket. It seemed her hands never left him, the constant contact guiding him willingly into whatever her gentle will dictated. Once he was seated, she knelt between his knees, her thumbs symmetrically stroking his jaw, framing his cheeks, smoothing his eyelids.
“You need to relax,” she whispered.
Her eyes never left his face as her hands dropped to the buttons on his shirt, manipulating them as adeptly as the pieces of her puzzles. She slipped the shirt from his shoulders. She ran her hands along the inseam of his scrub pants from knees to crotch. He swallowed in mute compliance and anticipation. She untied the loose pants, bidding him wordlessly to lift his hips as she slid them off. Her strong, no-nonsense hands guided him down and turned him over onto his chest. Once positioned, she removed his briefs, trailing the absence of the fabric with the touch of her palms on his skin.
He filled his lungs gratefully as she increased the pressure of her thumbs and lesser fingers, flowing upwards from his buttocks to his shoulders. Pulling up on his neck steadily with both hands, she stretched his spine.
“Thank you,” he exhaled as she soothed and kneaded, “So much.” Her hands maneuvered with sensitivity and dexterity - absolutely perfect for this task. She worked for ten minutes in silence, listening attentively to his breathing and the soft involuntary sounds of gratification deep in his chest, collecting clues to what pleased and comforted him.
“You’re beautiful,” came her disembodied voice near to his left ear. Her palms followed the masculine curves of his back, circling his shoulder blades, spreading the width of his ribs, traveling the knobby path of his spinal cord as it tapered to a sculpted waist and smooth, rounded buttocks. She lightly swept the hairs on his rose-undertoned skin; they glinted gold in the warm lamplight.
“You,” he mumbled. “Beautiful.”
He suddenly became aware that cool, taut lips had joined her hands in their journeying. A wave of goosebumps raised the flesh across his arms and legs, and there was no denying the rise of other flesh pressed into the satiny quilt. He groaned and tried to turn his head to face her -- but she had other ideas. She straddled his hips with her cat-dancer’s legs. Her hands continued their methodical ministrations, the new angle allowing her to massage more deeply. She bent over him, her clothed chest lightly pressing his naked back, teeth and tongue tenderly alternating with lips on the back of his neck.
She moved her mouth along the bottom of his hairline, combing his hair back with slow strokes of her fingernails. She ran the edge of her tongue around his ear then sucked in the velvet of his earlobe as he arched his hips underneath her.
She turned his head in her hands expertly, lifting her lithe frame so his body could follow, rotating beneath her. Now on his back, she settled on top of him again, her buttocks nestling his exposed hardness. He now had the pleasure of observing her, and an expression of bliss crept across his face as his eyes followed her sensuous movements.
“Take your shirt off,” he prompted lazily, enjoying the slow, pleased smile that dimpled her face in response. But she made no move to comply. She massaged his muscles, hands splayed, moving in slow, elongated strokes across his diaphragm, his ribcage, burnishing the sinewy chest that glinted with a light scattering of golden hairs. She paused momentarily, putting her thumbs in her mouth. She resumed, lingering at his nipples, circling his areolas lightly with moistened thumbs, blowing on them until they prickled in response. His hands rose from his sides to grasp hers as his hips pushed up into her rear.
“Relax,” she whispered. “You can let go.”
She began to move rhythmically on top of him. Her hair rippled hypnotically as she rocked. His breathing escalated; his eyes closed irresistibly though he wanted to keep watching her labor over him. He felt her hand slip between her thighs to grasp him. Her cool grip continued the intense motion her hips had started. She hovered over him, dipping her head down to pull his bottom lip into her mouth. Colors and emotions washed over him with her kiss, accompanied by the pulsing surge of his orgasm. His body melted into the bed beneath him as the images behind his eyes faded to black.
The last thing he remembered before yielding to sleep was the violet flush on her pale cheeks, the vibrant contrast of her hair and the impossible blackness of her eyes.
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
I’ve dreamed this before.
There beside him was the angel, the fiery hair, the impossibly white skin. Its eyes were closed, shadows dancing on the lids in the light of a candle-flame, as if the angel itself were dreaming. The closed lips, as beautiful as before, now glistened with a dark liquid, which had begun to drip from the mouth onto its marble chin. The liquid seemed alive. He wanted to lick the lips, to taste the substance from them.
He glanced the length of its body. Below its waist, as before, was the male part of it he remembered, now erect. He licked his palm generously, then encircled it, running his fist the length of it. The angel did not react, but he did, feeling his own hardness increase, reveling in the control he now exercised over this dream and this being. As he stroked the cock in his hand, his own pleasure grew.
He leaned down eagerly to touch the still lips with his tongue. The liquid was alive, the sensation more than taste. He forced the mouth with his lips and suddenly, he was drinking.
There wasn’t much fluid evident there, but he was drinking. He could feel it pouring down his throat, quenching a dryness he hadn’t known was there until he started to swallow-- and then he didn’t want to stop. The taste was metal and earth, warm and rich, overwhelming all other sensations. It fed his hunger and his lust as well. It assuaged the nameless loneliness that had accompanied him for as long as he could remember.
He gave himself over to it. He knew he was crying, but he felt so perfect, so nurtured, so complete.
“Carlisle...”
No! I don’t want to wake up!
Falling.
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
He opened his eyes. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. He was nude, but he had been covered with a blanket. He was alone.
The clouds had cleared while he slept, and moonlight poured in on him from the desert sky through the huge window.
She was beside him. He hadn’t seen or heard her until that moment.
I must be groggy. What time is it?
“It’s after midnight,” she said, pressing his stomach gently. “Are you hungry?” His stomach growled on cue.
“Evidently!” he chuckled. It’s like she can read my mind. She folded the blanket down to his waist, her hair sweeping heavily across his bare chest.
She turned to switch on a lamp on the little coffee table, revealing a plate of steaming spaghetti, a piece of garlic bread and a can of cola. She offered him her hands, and pulled him to a sitting position on the futon with seemingly no effort whatsoever. With the same fluid ease, she pulled the coffee table in front of him.
He looked down at the plate. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Oh no. I’m fine. Go ahead.”
He tucked the blanket around his waist and picked up the fork with a grin. He took a bite of the pleasantly hot noodles, and bit into the buttery bread. “Ummm... So good... you cook?”
“No!” she laughed. “Uh... Marie Callender.” What a delightful laugh. Deep, sincere, comforting. “Frozen dinner, you know?” She made a face, meaning to look disgusted, but she only succeeded in charming him more.
“Oh!” he said sheepishly. “You don’t like them? I live on frozen dinners.” He held his fork in the air in front of him, pointed it at her accusingly, but with a smile. “Why are you so nice to me?”
She looked away shyly. “I like taking care of you. Anyway, this,” she motioned to the food, “Is nothing special.”
He reached to take her chin, turned her face to him. “What you did, earlier, here, to me, was definitely not nothing.”
She said nothing, but it was clear the compliment pleased her.
“Dee, I have to ask you something. And I’m not saying this to be mean or weird... or… you know… ungrateful…” He took a bite of bread. She nodded, raising her eyebrows in question. “Do you, ‘take care’ of Jess too?”
She looked down at the plate and said with a straight face. “Jess bought them, and heats them up himself. But he’s never here, and he rarely eats...” She broke into a grin.
“You know that’s not what I mean...” She must have noticed the stiffening in his shoulders but he was pleasantly surprised she didn’t overreact to the prying question he really had no right to ask. “Were you ever ‘with’ Jess?”
“If you mean sexually,” she sighed. “Yes. A few times. When he’s high, he can be very demanding.” I wonder if that’s her way of saying abusive... “There were times... I let him... when he had really gone out of his way to help me. Jess isn’t my boyfriend, I told you that. He’s useful to me, but, he lives his own life, mostly. The kind of life he’s living right now - now that you gave him the stuff.”
I had to ask the damn question, but I really don’t want to deal with the answer, do I...
He downed the rest of the pasta in a few large bites, and stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth as well.
She touched his bare shoulder. “Slow down!” she smiled. “So... tell me what happened at the bar.”
Still chewing, he reached for his jacket, pulled out the money, handed it to her. “I sold it to him,” he said with his mouth full. “I couldn’t just hand it to him. He’d be suspicious.”
She cocked her head as she gingerly accepted the crumpled bill. She peered at him curiously with a side glance. “You didn’t try it?”
He choked momentarily. Her eyebrows shot up. He chewed, swallowed most of his mouthful and reached to open the soda. He took a swig, swallowed, coughed, then drank some more. He took a breath. “Why would you say that?” he countered.
She didn’t respond, just looked down at her hands.
“I don’t do that shit, Dee. I’m clean. I’ve haven’t used for more than a year.” She nodded, but didn’t look up at him. Fuck. I can’t lie to her. I just can’t. She sees right through me. It wasn’t cold in the room, but he pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and tightened it around his chest. “Dee, I -- Shit. Shit. Shit! -- I took some out of the bag. It’s in my car. But I didn’t use. I swear.”
She raised those incredible green eyes to his and simply said, “I know.” She slid the table away at an angle, dropping down in front of him in its place. She placed his palm on her face, and continued to look at him in silence. So perfect... my God! What an angel! Don’t fucking blow this, Carlisle! You are such an idiot!
“How could you know?” he asked gently. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
She kissed his palm, whispering into it, “I know what you think you’re capable of. You’re not an idiot. And I’m not perfect, or an angel.
He pulled his hand back from her. Her expression was almost pleading. “And you’re not going to blow it. I won’t let you.”
“What the fu--,“ he began, staring at her. “How the --? It’s like you’re reading my mind.”
“Yes.” She said simply. She waited to let it sink in.
“No,” he said finally. “That’s not possible.” It’s just a head game. She’s upset I took a cut. She’s getting back at me.
“Yes. It is possible. I’m not playing a game. I’m not upset. I care about you.”
She waited and watched the gamut of his expressions. She waited as he ran back through their conversation and found evidence he hadn’t noticed or hadn’t believed before. She’d been through this with others. Best to just let them take their time. It was always a shock at first. They felt invaded.
“There’s something else I want to tell you,” she said after a minute. He looked up at her sharply, a little paranoid, but she pressed on. “I saw you the first day you saw me.” She pointed out the window. “On the roof.”
His eyes widened, he was trying not to remember the thoughts he’d had that day… because then she would know… he had fantasized about her.
“It’s OK, Carlisle. I could hear your thoughts that first day.” He closed his eyes in embarrassment. “And every day afterwards. Even when you couldn't see me. I could see you up there. I could hear you." He opened his eyes, shaking his head.
"That’s how I knew you were attracted to me. That’s why I was confident when I approached you in the games store. That’s why I came to the window after you dropped me off. I knew you were watching from outside. I could hear you.” He put his hands in front of his face in shame, but she continued. “I took off my hood so you would see my hair -- and know who I was.” She took his hands from his face. “I wanted you too.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and fell slowly back onto the quilt. She finished drying them with her thumbs and kissed his eyelids.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Please. Stay.”
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
Chapter 9
“Carlisle,” she smiled. “That didn’t take long.”
You have no idea...
She drew him into the room.
She flipped the deadbolt.
The curtains were open.
Twilight.
He could see his rooftop at the hospital across the way. He imagined himself standing there against the wall, smoking, seeing the glow in this room, imagining what it would be like to be here.
I can’t believe I’m here now.
She had changed into soft shorts and a top that left an intriguing glimpse of waxen flesh above the waistline. Barefoot, she moved with confidence and strength, silent feline grace. His heart sped up a little with admiration and ... intimidation?... as it does when you watch a wildcat in its own habitat.
More lioness than woman... But there’s really no categorizing her... I’ve never seen anyone like her...
He allowed himself to be led to the futon on the floor. She had doubled a purple comforter over it and moved the coffee table to the wall. She removed his jacket. It seemed her hands never left him, the constant contact guiding him willingly into whatever her gentle will dictated. Once he was seated, she knelt between his knees, her thumbs symmetrically stroking his jaw, framing his cheeks, smoothing his eyelids.
“You need to relax,” she whispered.
Her eyes never left his face as her hands dropped to the buttons on his shirt, manipulating them as adeptly as the pieces of her puzzles. She slipped the shirt from his shoulders. She ran her hands along the inseam of his scrub pants from knees to crotch. He swallowed in mute compliance and anticipation. She untied the loose pants, bidding him wordlessly to lift his hips as she slid them off. Her strong, no-nonsense hands guided him down and turned him over onto his chest. Once positioned, she removed his briefs, trailing the absence of the fabric with the touch of her palms on his skin.
He filled his lungs gratefully as she increased the pressure of her thumbs and lesser fingers, flowing upwards from his buttocks to his shoulders. Pulling up on his neck steadily with both hands, she stretched his spine.
“Thank you,” he exhaled as she soothed and kneaded, “So much.” Her hands maneuvered with sensitivity and dexterity - absolutely perfect for this task. She worked for ten minutes in silence, listening attentively to his breathing and the soft involuntary sounds of gratification deep in his chest, collecting clues to what pleased and comforted him.
“You’re beautiful,” came her disembodied voice near to his left ear. Her palms followed the masculine curves of his back, circling his shoulder blades, spreading the width of his ribs, traveling the knobby path of his spinal cord as it tapered to a sculpted waist and smooth, rounded buttocks. She lightly swept the hairs on his rose-undertoned skin; they glinted gold in the warm lamplight.
“You,” he mumbled. “Beautiful.”
He suddenly became aware that cool, taut lips had joined her hands in their journeying. A wave of goosebumps raised the flesh across his arms and legs, and there was no denying the rise of other flesh pressed into the satiny quilt. He groaned and tried to turn his head to face her -- but she had other ideas. She straddled his hips with her cat-dancer’s legs. Her hands continued their methodical ministrations, the new angle allowing her to massage more deeply. She bent over him, her clothed chest lightly pressing his naked back, teeth and tongue tenderly alternating with lips on the back of his neck.
She moved her mouth along the bottom of his hairline, combing his hair back with slow strokes of her fingernails. She ran the edge of her tongue around his ear then sucked in the velvet of his earlobe as he arched his hips underneath her.
She turned his head in her hands expertly, lifting her lithe frame so his body could follow, rotating beneath her. Now on his back, she settled on top of him again, her buttocks nestling his exposed hardness. He now had the pleasure of observing her, and an expression of bliss crept across his face as his eyes followed her sensuous movements.
“Take your shirt off,” he prompted lazily, enjoying the slow, pleased smile that dimpled her face in response. But she made no move to comply. She massaged his muscles, hands splayed, moving in slow, elongated strokes across his diaphragm, his ribcage, burnishing the sinewy chest that glinted with a light scattering of golden hairs. She paused momentarily, putting her thumbs in her mouth. She resumed, lingering at his nipples, circling his areolas lightly with moistened thumbs, blowing on them until they prickled in response. His hands rose from his sides to grasp hers as his hips pushed up into her rear.
“Relax,” she whispered. “You can let go.”
She began to move rhythmically on top of him. Her hair rippled hypnotically as she rocked. His breathing escalated; his eyes closed irresistibly though he wanted to keep watching her labor over him. He felt her hand slip between her thighs to grasp him. Her cool grip continued the intense motion her hips had started. She hovered over him, dipping her head down to pull his bottom lip into her mouth. Colors and emotions washed over him with her kiss, accompanied by the pulsing surge of his orgasm. His body melted into the bed beneath him as the images behind his eyes faded to black.
The last thing he remembered before yielding to sleep was the violet flush on her pale cheeks, the vibrant contrast of her hair and the impossible blackness of her eyes.
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
I’ve dreamed this before.
There beside him was the angel, the fiery hair, the impossibly white skin. Its eyes were closed, shadows dancing on the lids in the light of a candle-flame, as if the angel itself were dreaming. The closed lips, as beautiful as before, now glistened with a dark liquid, which had begun to drip from the mouth onto its marble chin. The liquid seemed alive. He wanted to lick the lips, to taste the substance from them.
He glanced the length of its body. Below its waist, as before, was the male part of it he remembered, now erect. He licked his palm generously, then encircled it, running his fist the length of it. The angel did not react, but he did, feeling his own hardness increase, reveling in the control he now exercised over this dream and this being. As he stroked the cock in his hand, his own pleasure grew.
He leaned down eagerly to touch the still lips with his tongue. The liquid was alive, the sensation more than taste. He forced the mouth with his lips and suddenly, he was drinking.
There wasn’t much fluid evident there, but he was drinking. He could feel it pouring down his throat, quenching a dryness he hadn’t known was there until he started to swallow-- and then he didn’t want to stop. The taste was metal and earth, warm and rich, overwhelming all other sensations. It fed his hunger and his lust as well. It assuaged the nameless loneliness that had accompanied him for as long as he could remember.
He gave himself over to it. He knew he was crying, but he felt so perfect, so nurtured, so complete.
“Carlisle...”
No! I don’t want to wake up!
Falling.
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
He opened his eyes. It took him a few moments to remember where he was. He was nude, but he had been covered with a blanket. He was alone.
The clouds had cleared while he slept, and moonlight poured in on him from the desert sky through the huge window.
She was beside him. He hadn’t seen or heard her until that moment.
I must be groggy. What time is it?
“It’s after midnight,” she said, pressing his stomach gently. “Are you hungry?” His stomach growled on cue.
“Evidently!” he chuckled. It’s like she can read my mind. She folded the blanket down to his waist, her hair sweeping heavily across his bare chest.
She turned to switch on a lamp on the little coffee table, revealing a plate of steaming spaghetti, a piece of garlic bread and a can of cola. She offered him her hands, and pulled him to a sitting position on the futon with seemingly no effort whatsoever. With the same fluid ease, she pulled the coffee table in front of him.
He looked down at the plate. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Oh no. I’m fine. Go ahead.”
He tucked the blanket around his waist and picked up the fork with a grin. He took a bite of the pleasantly hot noodles, and bit into the buttery bread. “Ummm... So good... you cook?”
“No!” she laughed. “Uh... Marie Callender.” What a delightful laugh. Deep, sincere, comforting. “Frozen dinner, you know?” She made a face, meaning to look disgusted, but she only succeeded in charming him more.
“Oh!” he said sheepishly. “You don’t like them? I live on frozen dinners.” He held his fork in the air in front of him, pointed it at her accusingly, but with a smile. “Why are you so nice to me?”
She looked away shyly. “I like taking care of you. Anyway, this,” she motioned to the food, “Is nothing special.”
He reached to take her chin, turned her face to him. “What you did, earlier, here, to me, was definitely not nothing.”
She said nothing, but it was clear the compliment pleased her.
“Dee, I have to ask you something. And I’m not saying this to be mean or weird... or… you know… ungrateful…” He took a bite of bread. She nodded, raising her eyebrows in question. “Do you, ‘take care’ of Jess too?”
She looked down at the plate and said with a straight face. “Jess bought them, and heats them up himself. But he’s never here, and he rarely eats...” She broke into a grin.
“You know that’s not what I mean...” She must have noticed the stiffening in his shoulders but he was pleasantly surprised she didn’t overreact to the prying question he really had no right to ask. “Were you ever ‘with’ Jess?”
“If you mean sexually,” she sighed. “Yes. A few times. When he’s high, he can be very demanding.” I wonder if that’s her way of saying abusive... “There were times... I let him... when he had really gone out of his way to help me. Jess isn’t my boyfriend, I told you that. He’s useful to me, but, he lives his own life, mostly. The kind of life he’s living right now - now that you gave him the stuff.”
I had to ask the damn question, but I really don’t want to deal with the answer, do I...
He downed the rest of the pasta in a few large bites, and stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth as well.
She touched his bare shoulder. “Slow down!” she smiled. “So... tell me what happened at the bar.”
Still chewing, he reached for his jacket, pulled out the money, handed it to her. “I sold it to him,” he said with his mouth full. “I couldn’t just hand it to him. He’d be suspicious.”
She cocked her head as she gingerly accepted the crumpled bill. She peered at him curiously with a side glance. “You didn’t try it?”
He choked momentarily. Her eyebrows shot up. He chewed, swallowed most of his mouthful and reached to open the soda. He took a swig, swallowed, coughed, then drank some more. He took a breath. “Why would you say that?” he countered.
She didn’t respond, just looked down at her hands.
“I don’t do that shit, Dee. I’m clean. I’ve haven’t used for more than a year.” She nodded, but didn’t look up at him. Fuck. I can’t lie to her. I just can’t. She sees right through me. It wasn’t cold in the room, but he pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and tightened it around his chest. “Dee, I -- Shit. Shit. Shit! -- I took some out of the bag. It’s in my car. But I didn’t use. I swear.”
She raised those incredible green eyes to his and simply said, “I know.” She slid the table away at an angle, dropping down in front of him in its place. She placed his palm on her face, and continued to look at him in silence. So perfect... my God! What an angel! Don’t fucking blow this, Carlisle! You are such an idiot!
“How could you know?” he asked gently. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
She kissed his palm, whispering into it, “I know what you think you’re capable of. You’re not an idiot. And I’m not perfect, or an angel.
He pulled his hand back from her. Her expression was almost pleading. “And you’re not going to blow it. I won’t let you.”
“What the fu--,“ he began, staring at her. “How the --? It’s like you’re reading my mind.”
“Yes.” She said simply. She waited to let it sink in.
“No,” he said finally. “That’s not possible.” It’s just a head game. She’s upset I took a cut. She’s getting back at me.
“Yes. It is possible. I’m not playing a game. I’m not upset. I care about you.”
She waited and watched the gamut of his expressions. She waited as he ran back through their conversation and found evidence he hadn’t noticed or hadn’t believed before. She’d been through this with others. Best to just let them take their time. It was always a shock at first. They felt invaded.
“There’s something else I want to tell you,” she said after a minute. He looked up at her sharply, a little paranoid, but she pressed on. “I saw you the first day you saw me.” She pointed out the window. “On the roof.”
His eyes widened, he was trying not to remember the thoughts he’d had that day… because then she would know… he had fantasized about her.
“It’s OK, Carlisle. I could hear your thoughts that first day.” He closed his eyes in embarrassment. “And every day afterwards. Even when you couldn't see me. I could see you up there. I could hear you." He opened his eyes, shaking his head.
"That’s how I knew you were attracted to me. That’s why I was confident when I approached you in the games store. That’s why I came to the window after you dropped me off. I knew you were watching from outside. I could hear you.” He put his hands in front of his face in shame, but she continued. “I took off my hood so you would see my hair -- and know who I was.” She took his hands from his face. “I wanted you too.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and fell slowly back onto the quilt. She finished drying them with her thumbs and kissed his eyelids.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Please. Stay.”
…..ll x ll x ll x ll…..
Chapter 9