(no subject)
Drabble Collection Title: O’er Thy Heart Swift Lights and Shadows Pass
Chapter Three: The Differential Method
“I’d like to accompany you.”
The voice came without an entrance. Aro standing in the opening of a curtain while Carlisle suddenly grasped the menial clothing he was changing into instead to his chest as though in warding, his figure and face gone rigid at the combined announcement and appearance.
Before that blankness could collect itself, Aro glided further into the room. A new suit of purple with golden inlay accents under it. “I have yet to ask anything of you, and it is so little. I will not withhold you from your purpose. I mean only to observe, to be as you have been for me, a companion in this brand new time, if you will let me.”
“I know that it isn’t to your taste.” He’s seen the way they look at him when he slinks off to do his deed, to feed away from them, and he’s heard the screams, and smelled the people who come through following other vampires, not to mention, he has spotted one or two already in passing more than once in these labyrinth halls that seem not to be in either category.
“Do you deign to dictate what is or isn’t in my taste without asking?” Aro asked, with a tighter circumspectness. Only pausing to let Carlisle’s expression make a show of hesitation, he continued onward, with a gratified gesture of his hand. “Let me come and decide for myself upon proofs and not assumptions.”
His hands, as well as his eyes, were on the clothes clutched to him as he spoke. “I could not stop you.”
“You could. You have only to say the words and I will leave you to your pursuit alone. Perhaps,” Aro stopped with a faint pacing step back and forth, almost rocking, near the curtain again. “I should not have intruded. I will wait outside until you have finished preparing and you may give your answer then.”
By the time the words had faded, and Carlisle’s eyes had lifted, bewilderment brightest in the black-shot gold, the space Aro had been standing in was already emptied of any presence except the shivering of the curtain as though in an unseen breeze.
~*~
The brush broke way, and feet of all sizes scrambled the further in he went, the heart beats of millions sung in his ears, smaller and larger, faster and slower, each specified to its own design and something he knew better than anything he had yet to teach himself since the first rat he tore into with his bare hands in the cruel defeat which manifested his singular destiny and victory.
But he only focused on one.
She was running in front of him, fleet and slim, the exercise of this spring new spring showed in her steps. She was childless and hobbled from a fall somewhere, the weakest of her herd, and it was only her panic, only her desperate will to live - live, escape, run beat her heart fiercely - made this a chase.
But he had her scent and the sound of her footsteps lead him like men before water and fire and God.
They were not only footsteps in the forest. He had all but forgotten in the thirst, in plunge through thicket and past the twin trees, slamming into her with the force that broke a leg and shattered her rib cage on impact, when the blood, both spicy and bland coursed down his throat, and a twig snapped at the edge of the space he is in.
The snarl was instantaneous. This was his kill, his feast. He would not share or be stolen from.
And it was only in looking up, as the blood went down, down, down, down, flushing through his system, his limbs, that his eyes found the one watching him.
Dark eyes, vibrant scarlet even in pitch dark of a new moon, and a hand throw out clenching almost through the limb of a tree. Oh, not a twig. No, not a twig. A snapped branch in one hand. Erect and rigid in perfect stillness that even buildings cannot hope to emulate with perfect symmetry in their flaw of being made by man. Everything, except that face, a riot of the most subtle nuances, and that face, those eyes, gored into only his own.
The blood was still hot and somehow froze in his mouth at once.
Ashes of intention climaxing within the space of milliseconds, before he shoved the carcass away, hands clenching on air, as he rose, swallowing, tongue circumnavigating his mouth and his teeth and the stickiness left on them. The world between the two of them laid bare on embarrassments and shamed willfulness and pure survival.
It stayed unchanging, that face that watched him crouched beside the fallen doe.
Then Aro moved finally. His hand releasing the tree which swayed indelicately as the branch fell.
Carlisle shirked back as the elder vampire walked toward him, aware that his choice, his only one, was a mockery of the life that now freely embraced him. But Aro stopped on the opposite side of the creature, reaching slowly up toward his breast. Carlisle cringed in preparation for what he had known would come from the moment he had admitted the rumors were true.
When he opened his eyes, Aro had pulled forth a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it aloft.
The detailing matching perfectly, in lace and stitching, to his cravat and the purple jacket.
Carlisle stared at the hand, aware of the blood around his lips, dribbled across his chin. That he had waited days past when he should have gone, not wanting to draw too much attention to his alien habits. He rose, very slowly, animalistic edges and wild gold flattering his body as much as his eyes against the darkness.
His hand came out, without a tremble and yet hesitant, when his fingers touched the offering before him.
His mind seeming to have changed in the last second, Aro’s hand did not release the handkerchief, but instead he used its leverage to pull himself and Carlisle toward each other. His hand rising to wrap around the side of the man’s head so that his mouth landed securely against Carlisle’s.
Perhaps, it was shock. Perhaps, it was surprise. Aro’s touch and intent were both deft. The glide of those fingers into his hair, skimming the shell of an ear, which secured him from retreat. The texture of lips which met and then flared, followed by that of a tongue which traced his own and the extent of his mouth.
Until just as suddenly, Aro pulled back, the tip of his tongue worrying the center of his top lip. Then, he reached up to wipe clean the smear of blood that had transferred on to his skin. Without his eyes finding the blood on his finger or Carlisle’s stunned expression, he dipped it into his mouth as he finally looked to the younger vampire.
Clean now, he said simply as he stepped away, “I had wondered how it would taste.”
Between the sound of the deer’s rapidly failing heart beat and Aro’s footsteps then walking away, Carlisle was left thrall to what Aro had not specified - whether he had meant the deer, or himself, or his finalized opinion.
Chapter Three: The Differential Method
“I’d like to accompany you.”
The voice came without an entrance. Aro standing in the opening of a curtain while Carlisle suddenly grasped the menial clothing he was changing into instead to his chest as though in warding, his figure and face gone rigid at the combined announcement and appearance.
Before that blankness could collect itself, Aro glided further into the room. A new suit of purple with golden inlay accents under it. “I have yet to ask anything of you, and it is so little. I will not withhold you from your purpose. I mean only to observe, to be as you have been for me, a companion in this brand new time, if you will let me.”
“I know that it isn’t to your taste.” He’s seen the way they look at him when he slinks off to do his deed, to feed away from them, and he’s heard the screams, and smelled the people who come through following other vampires, not to mention, he has spotted one or two already in passing more than once in these labyrinth halls that seem not to be in either category.
“Do you deign to dictate what is or isn’t in my taste without asking?” Aro asked, with a tighter circumspectness. Only pausing to let Carlisle’s expression make a show of hesitation, he continued onward, with a gratified gesture of his hand. “Let me come and decide for myself upon proofs and not assumptions.”
His hands, as well as his eyes, were on the clothes clutched to him as he spoke. “I could not stop you.”
“You could. You have only to say the words and I will leave you to your pursuit alone. Perhaps,” Aro stopped with a faint pacing step back and forth, almost rocking, near the curtain again. “I should not have intruded. I will wait outside until you have finished preparing and you may give your answer then.”
By the time the words had faded, and Carlisle’s eyes had lifted, bewilderment brightest in the black-shot gold, the space Aro had been standing in was already emptied of any presence except the shivering of the curtain as though in an unseen breeze.
~*~
The brush broke way, and feet of all sizes scrambled the further in he went, the heart beats of millions sung in his ears, smaller and larger, faster and slower, each specified to its own design and something he knew better than anything he had yet to teach himself since the first rat he tore into with his bare hands in the cruel defeat which manifested his singular destiny and victory.
But he only focused on one.
She was running in front of him, fleet and slim, the exercise of this spring new spring showed in her steps. She was childless and hobbled from a fall somewhere, the weakest of her herd, and it was only her panic, only her desperate will to live - live, escape, run beat her heart fiercely - made this a chase.
But he had her scent and the sound of her footsteps lead him like men before water and fire and God.
They were not only footsteps in the forest. He had all but forgotten in the thirst, in plunge through thicket and past the twin trees, slamming into her with the force that broke a leg and shattered her rib cage on impact, when the blood, both spicy and bland coursed down his throat, and a twig snapped at the edge of the space he is in.
The snarl was instantaneous. This was his kill, his feast. He would not share or be stolen from.
And it was only in looking up, as the blood went down, down, down, down, flushing through his system, his limbs, that his eyes found the one watching him.
Dark eyes, vibrant scarlet even in pitch dark of a new moon, and a hand throw out clenching almost through the limb of a tree. Oh, not a twig. No, not a twig. A snapped branch in one hand. Erect and rigid in perfect stillness that even buildings cannot hope to emulate with perfect symmetry in their flaw of being made by man. Everything, except that face, a riot of the most subtle nuances, and that face, those eyes, gored into only his own.
The blood was still hot and somehow froze in his mouth at once.
Ashes of intention climaxing within the space of milliseconds, before he shoved the carcass away, hands clenching on air, as he rose, swallowing, tongue circumnavigating his mouth and his teeth and the stickiness left on them. The world between the two of them laid bare on embarrassments and shamed willfulness and pure survival.
It stayed unchanging, that face that watched him crouched beside the fallen doe.
Then Aro moved finally. His hand releasing the tree which swayed indelicately as the branch fell.
Carlisle shirked back as the elder vampire walked toward him, aware that his choice, his only one, was a mockery of the life that now freely embraced him. But Aro stopped on the opposite side of the creature, reaching slowly up toward his breast. Carlisle cringed in preparation for what he had known would come from the moment he had admitted the rumors were true.
When he opened his eyes, Aro had pulled forth a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it aloft.
The detailing matching perfectly, in lace and stitching, to his cravat and the purple jacket.
Carlisle stared at the hand, aware of the blood around his lips, dribbled across his chin. That he had waited days past when he should have gone, not wanting to draw too much attention to his alien habits. He rose, very slowly, animalistic edges and wild gold flattering his body as much as his eyes against the darkness.
His hand came out, without a tremble and yet hesitant, when his fingers touched the offering before him.
His mind seeming to have changed in the last second, Aro’s hand did not release the handkerchief, but instead he used its leverage to pull himself and Carlisle toward each other. His hand rising to wrap around the side of the man’s head so that his mouth landed securely against Carlisle’s.
Perhaps, it was shock. Perhaps, it was surprise. Aro’s touch and intent were both deft. The glide of those fingers into his hair, skimming the shell of an ear, which secured him from retreat. The texture of lips which met and then flared, followed by that of a tongue which traced his own and the extent of his mouth.
Until just as suddenly, Aro pulled back, the tip of his tongue worrying the center of his top lip. Then, he reached up to wipe clean the smear of blood that had transferred on to his skin. Without his eyes finding the blood on his finger or Carlisle’s stunned expression, he dipped it into his mouth as he finally looked to the younger vampire.
Clean now, he said simply as he stepped away, “I had wondered how it would taste.”
Between the sound of the deer’s rapidly failing heart beat and Aro’s footsteps then walking away, Carlisle was left thrall to what Aro had not specified - whether he had meant the deer, or himself, or his finalized opinion.