vagueangel
in
__vam
Vampire Heart
Sequel to One Taste- Jonna and Mige find out about Ville's secret craving. (Still no VAM yet... Next part, I swear)
It’s been coming on strong lately, the urge to cut. That wonderful taste, thick and boiling on my tongue is almost all I can think about. It’s been a while since I allowed myself to indulge, so since I’ve been such a good boy, and since I’m leaving for tour in a few days, I think I deserve something special. If only Jonna will agree.
And if I can only get up the courage to ask. I mean, how exactly does one start that conversation? ‘Darling, I was wondering… How would it be if I cut you so I can taste your blood?’ The idea is so ridiculous, I have to laugh at it. “Really bril, Valo.”
“Talking to yourself again, dear?” Jonna leans against the doorway, smiling, eyes dancing. She is endlessly entertained by my habit of muttering to myself. “People will think you’re a bit dodgy.”
I shrug, smiling as I look her up and down. “They already do, love. Was it The Sun that said I ought to be in a mental lock up?”
Jonna laughs at me then, crossing the room to perch herself on my knee. “No, Ville. The Sun said you attempted suicide. Again. That poor man from Bild-Zeitung was the one who said you ought to be put into asylum” She kisses my forehead, still smirking at me. “You were quite awful to him.”
I love the way her dark chocolate eyes sparkle when she’s teasing me. “It’s fun to be awful to tabloid reporters.” I start to play with her hair, letting the silky strands slip through my fingers.
Suddenly, I am overcome by the urge to pull.. hard. I want to knot my fingers in her hair and yank, expose her slender tanned throat and sink my teeth into her flesh. So I let go and set my hands on her hips.
“You’ve gone all tense again, Ville.” Jonna climbs off my lap and moves behind me. Her fingers begin to dig into the muscles at my neck and shoulders. “What’s with you lately?”
What, indeed. The massage feels lovely, but it won’t do much to alleviate this tension. “Just pre-tour jitters. A bit harder, darling.” I let my head fall forward, hoping to distract her.
Jonna laughs when I start making a soft noise in the back of my throat. “Aw,” she coos. “My Ville-cat is purring. Shall I rub your tummy, too, little kitty?”
I laugh with her then, turning to pin her against the back of the couch. I dig my fingers into her ribs, tickling and making her shriek with laughter. Disturbingly, I find myself wondering how she would sound shrieking in pain.
What the fuck is with me lately?
Trying to fight me off, Jonna’s fingernails catch my jaw. She immediately stops struggling and begins apologizing. “Ville baby, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
Yes. It hurts. It stings, and when she gently touches my face, her fingers come away slightly bloody. In an instant, I’m half hard.
Without a thought, I suck her fingers into my mouth, greedily licking away my blood. It tastes different than I remember, and I fancy it’s because I taste her along with it. Then I kiss her, hard and deep.
Jonna finally breaks away from me, panting slightly, dark eyes wide. She is looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “..Ville?”
I try to kiss her again, try to slip my hand under her shirt, but she pushes me back. Apparently, there will be no distracting her this time. Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying. “Love, let’s go to bed.”
The look she gives me makes me cringe. “You have got to be kidding.” Jonna is still looking at me like I have seven heads. “What the bloody hell was that?”
“You look really sexy today?” Damn. That wasn’t meant to come out as a question. Suddenly, I miss my long hair; it was easy to hide behind.
“Uh-uh.” I didn’t think she was having any of that. “Ville Valo, you just licked blood off my fingers and tried to jump me. Start talking, boy.”
So, now I have to explain to my fiancé that the taste of blood turns me on. As Bam would say, rad. “It tastes good,” I mumble, not meeting her eyes.
I can almost hear her thinking about that, as she tilts her head and tucks her hair behind one ear. Her mouth opens and closes a few times while she tries to come up with some sort of response to the incredibly odd thing I’ve just said. The newest incredibly odd thing. “Well… Jesus.”
Yeah, that sounds about right. I risk a look at her face, and her lovely features are painted with shock and what I’m pretty sure is the beginnings of disgust. “Sweetheart-“
“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me.” Jonna grabs a tissue to clean the rest of the cut with. She licks it before dabbing at my face with it. The gesture is so absurdly intimate for this moment, so motherly, I have to smile.
Half a glare from her wipes it quickly from my face, though. “What are you smiling at?” I shrug helplessly, and Jonna relents. A bit. “How long have you been into.. this?” she asks, waving a hand toward the discarded tissue.
Good, an easy one. “Only a few months.” Somehow, that doesn’t sound like enough, so I continue. “Well, I mean, it sort of happened on accident. Only then, I thought I rather fancied it, so I tried it again.”
Jonna lifts an eyebrow and I remember what she once told me about ending all my stories one sentence sooner. “How many agains?” This woman knows me too damn well.
“Uhm, well, it- I, er… Four?”
“I see.” That is never a good response. Jonna starts fiddling with her hair, giving it small, sharp tugs the way she does when she’s super annoyed. It’s sort of turning me on again, but I try not to think about that now. “So, you’ve been cutting then.”
It’s more an accusation that a statement, and it sure as hell isn’t a question. So I hang my head, knowing I must look pathetic, and willing myself to look adorable and contrite as well. “Sort of. Sometimes. Only a little. But not to cut, just to taste.” Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“One sentence sooner-“
“I know!”
Jonna looks amused to the briefest moment before the shocked, decidedly *un*amused expression returns. “So… What, are you going all vampire on me now?”
Before I can answer, she squints her eyes and frowns. “Is this one of your weird jokes, Ville? Because I don’t find them nearly as charming as you seem to think I do.”
“It’s not a joke,” I mutter, fingering the scratch. Jonna bats my hand away from my face. “It just… I don’t know, love.” I try to explain it to her, the texture, that taste… When I mention sex on the list of things blood tastes like, the look on her face is definitely disgust.
“Ville… That’s just sick.”
God, she’s actually edging away from me a bit. But can I stop talking? No. “I can’t explain it properly with words. You’d have to try-“
“Oh, hell no.”
“Well, then at least let me taste-“
“*Hell* no!”
“Just once?” I watch her stand, quickly backing away from me. Just brilliant. Slowly, I get up as well, holding out a hand to her. “Jonna, darling, come on.”
She shakes her head, dark hair falling over one eye. “I’m serious; that’s really sick. Do you realize you just asked to.. to *cut* me and taste my blood? Fuck, Ville!”
And I think that pretty much sums it up.
So here we are, both of us just standing in the middle of the room, staring at each other. A smarter man would know what to say to calm her down, to convince her it was all a joke. A really smart man would be able to convince her to try it.
But there isn’t a smart man to be found at the moment. There is only me, Ville Valo, intellectual midget. The way Jonna’s reacting, I rather feel a sexual deviant and an emotion retard as well.
My mama would be so proud.
I want to hold out my hand to her again, or take a step toward her, something, but I can’t bear to see her run from me. “I won’t do it anymore. I promise.”
“But you’ll still want to, right?” Jonna shudders as I shrug helplessly. Dammit, woman, I’m trying to compromise here! She shakes her head again. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
She can’t deal. Good god. I watch her gather her purse and slip on a jacket, walking out the door. For a moment, I entertain the thought of going after her. But I have no bloody idea what to say when I catch her.
So I do what any sensible man would do in my position (nevermind that a sensible man would never be in my position)… I open a bottle of vodka, and start drinking.
Vodka is lovely. It has no color, no scent, and after the first few shots, no taste. It is pure, and somehow cleansing. It’s like drinking water. Water that gets one abo-fucking-lutely hammered.
I drink for three days straight.
There is no word from Jonna, and I’m feeling pretty miserable. At least, I would be if I wasn’t so fantastically drunk. The only reason I eventually leave the flat is because I’ve run out of fags and booze.
I stumble into the street, thanking god for the ridiculously large sunglasses Bam gave me last time I saw him. Deciding the sun is one cunty bastard, I flip him off and continue stumbling and weaving up the sidewalk.
After what seems like hours, I find myself standing in front of a door. I peer at it in drunken confusion for a moment. This is not the right door. This is not the door to the wonderful room filled with smooth, shiny bottles full of happiness and oblivion.
But I know this door. While I try to think, my gaze drops and I find myself looking down at my shoes, annoyed. “Where have you taken me, you stupid feet?”
“Ville?”
Fucking hell, my feet are talking to me.
“Ville, what are you doing here?”
“That’s what I’ve just asked you!” I glare at my feet; they are being super difficult.
Suddenly, my feet are laughing at me. “Look up, you idiot.” I do, and there in the mystery doorway is Mige.
“Mizee!” I try to hug him, but mostly I just fall into him. “My feet are complete wankers,” I inform him, and fuck, is that fuzzy, slurred voice really mine?
Mige grins wider, arm around me to guide me to the couch. “I always thought they were rather cute. Sit down before you fall down, little one.”
I sit- or fall- on the couch, looking up at him. “I’m taller’n you.”
“Yes, but you’re still my little, stupid one.” Mige lights two cigarettes, handing me one. “Why the hell are you this drunk in the middle of the afternoon?”
“Been drinking for a few days, mate.” I smoke happily for a few minutes before I remember why I’ve been drinking for a few days. “I think Jonna left me.”
Mige’s eyes go wide, and his jaw drops a bit. “You think? How can you not be sure about something like that?”
I shrug, trying to stand and quickly giving it up as a bad job. “Got anything to drink, love?”
“Water or coffee?”
“Vodka. Or I’ll settle for a pint.”
He shakes his head. “Take a break. I’ll make you a coffee.” Mige goes into the kitchen and makes a lot of noise. Or maybe I’m just that drunk. “What the hell happened?”
“Hunh?” I frown, trying to remember what we were just talking about. Oh, right. Jonna. “She left three days ago. Haven’t heard from her since.” I snicker, even though it’s not really funny. “She was rather put off with me when she left.”
Mige brings me a mug of coffee, only half full; he knows exactly how coordinated I’m not when I’m drunk. “Have you been drinking since?” I nod, and he rolls his eyes, amused. “How you haven’t had liver failure yet is beyond me. Well, what did you do to piss her off?”
I hear the unspoken ‘this time’, and between being drunk, and becoming defensive, my mouth suddenly has a mind of its own. “I just told her that I think blood tastes like life and sex and death and it turns me on like crazy and that she should try it, or at least let me have a taste of hers. And she turned into a right stroppy twat, all for no good reason. Oi Mizze! You’ll let me taste you a bit, hey?”
Mige is staring at me again, but thankfully, the look on his face is without disgust. Actually, I think he’s rather amused. “Just when I think you can’t possibly get any weirder.”
I pout at him, in what I think is my cutest way. He laughs; that look has worked on him for as long as I can remember. “Why don’t we put you to bed? You can have a nice lie down.”
“Ooohhkay.” Mige mostly carries me into his room and stuffs me under the covers, after removing my shoes. I cuddle into his pillow, the scent of my best friend comforting me. “I don’t think she’s coming back, Mizee.”
“Go to sleep, runkkari.” Mige kisses my head as I try to remember which finger is the rude one. Once he leaves the room, I pass out fairly quickly.
When I wake, all the lights are dimmed and there is a large glass of water and two tablets on the nightstand. God bless Mige.
I shuffle into the sitting room, finding him watching some horror movie. He looks up at me with a grin. “Lazarus arises. You look like you’ve licked your finger and stuck it into an outlet.”
While I grumble and drop down beside him, Mige gently smooths my hair, rubs my throbbing temples. “Am I that awful, sweetheart? Is it really that bad?”
“You aren’t awful, WillyWoo. Just a bit off.” Mige puts a cigarette in my mouth and lights it for me. “But you aren’t drinking my blood, you fucking vampire.”
I sigh, smoking slowly. “Well, at least you aren’t calling me sick and leaving me. I think I’ll just be happy with that.”
So maybe Jonna was right. Maybe I have gone a bit vampire on everyone. Blame my Hungarian heritage.
It doesn’t bother me that Mige turned me down. He usually does what I ask. Eventually. So I think I can convince him, with time. And maybe a little liquor.
But still… I wonder what Bam would say.
It’s been coming on strong lately, the urge to cut. That wonderful taste, thick and boiling on my tongue is almost all I can think about. It’s been a while since I allowed myself to indulge, so since I’ve been such a good boy, and since I’m leaving for tour in a few days, I think I deserve something special. If only Jonna will agree.
And if I can only get up the courage to ask. I mean, how exactly does one start that conversation? ‘Darling, I was wondering… How would it be if I cut you so I can taste your blood?’ The idea is so ridiculous, I have to laugh at it. “Really bril, Valo.”
“Talking to yourself again, dear?” Jonna leans against the doorway, smiling, eyes dancing. She is endlessly entertained by my habit of muttering to myself. “People will think you’re a bit dodgy.”
I shrug, smiling as I look her up and down. “They already do, love. Was it The Sun that said I ought to be in a mental lock up?”
Jonna laughs at me then, crossing the room to perch herself on my knee. “No, Ville. The Sun said you attempted suicide. Again. That poor man from Bild-Zeitung was the one who said you ought to be put into asylum” She kisses my forehead, still smirking at me. “You were quite awful to him.”
I love the way her dark chocolate eyes sparkle when she’s teasing me. “It’s fun to be awful to tabloid reporters.” I start to play with her hair, letting the silky strands slip through my fingers.
Suddenly, I am overcome by the urge to pull.. hard. I want to knot my fingers in her hair and yank, expose her slender tanned throat and sink my teeth into her flesh. So I let go and set my hands on her hips.
“You’ve gone all tense again, Ville.” Jonna climbs off my lap and moves behind me. Her fingers begin to dig into the muscles at my neck and shoulders. “What’s with you lately?”
What, indeed. The massage feels lovely, but it won’t do much to alleviate this tension. “Just pre-tour jitters. A bit harder, darling.” I let my head fall forward, hoping to distract her.
Jonna laughs when I start making a soft noise in the back of my throat. “Aw,” she coos. “My Ville-cat is purring. Shall I rub your tummy, too, little kitty?”
I laugh with her then, turning to pin her against the back of the couch. I dig my fingers into her ribs, tickling and making her shriek with laughter. Disturbingly, I find myself wondering how she would sound shrieking in pain.
What the fuck is with me lately?
Trying to fight me off, Jonna’s fingernails catch my jaw. She immediately stops struggling and begins apologizing. “Ville baby, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
Yes. It hurts. It stings, and when she gently touches my face, her fingers come away slightly bloody. In an instant, I’m half hard.
Without a thought, I suck her fingers into my mouth, greedily licking away my blood. It tastes different than I remember, and I fancy it’s because I taste her along with it. Then I kiss her, hard and deep.
Jonna finally breaks away from me, panting slightly, dark eyes wide. She is looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “..Ville?”
I try to kiss her again, try to slip my hand under her shirt, but she pushes me back. Apparently, there will be no distracting her this time. Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying. “Love, let’s go to bed.”
The look she gives me makes me cringe. “You have got to be kidding.” Jonna is still looking at me like I have seven heads. “What the bloody hell was that?”
“You look really sexy today?” Damn. That wasn’t meant to come out as a question. Suddenly, I miss my long hair; it was easy to hide behind.
“Uh-uh.” I didn’t think she was having any of that. “Ville Valo, you just licked blood off my fingers and tried to jump me. Start talking, boy.”
So, now I have to explain to my fiancé that the taste of blood turns me on. As Bam would say, rad. “It tastes good,” I mumble, not meeting her eyes.
I can almost hear her thinking about that, as she tilts her head and tucks her hair behind one ear. Her mouth opens and closes a few times while she tries to come up with some sort of response to the incredibly odd thing I’ve just said. The newest incredibly odd thing. “Well… Jesus.”
Yeah, that sounds about right. I risk a look at her face, and her lovely features are painted with shock and what I’m pretty sure is the beginnings of disgust. “Sweetheart-“
“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me.” Jonna grabs a tissue to clean the rest of the cut with. She licks it before dabbing at my face with it. The gesture is so absurdly intimate for this moment, so motherly, I have to smile.
Half a glare from her wipes it quickly from my face, though. “What are you smiling at?” I shrug helplessly, and Jonna relents. A bit. “How long have you been into.. this?” she asks, waving a hand toward the discarded tissue.
Good, an easy one. “Only a few months.” Somehow, that doesn’t sound like enough, so I continue. “Well, I mean, it sort of happened on accident. Only then, I thought I rather fancied it, so I tried it again.”
Jonna lifts an eyebrow and I remember what she once told me about ending all my stories one sentence sooner. “How many agains?” This woman knows me too damn well.
“Uhm, well, it- I, er… Four?”
“I see.” That is never a good response. Jonna starts fiddling with her hair, giving it small, sharp tugs the way she does when she’s super annoyed. It’s sort of turning me on again, but I try not to think about that now. “So, you’ve been cutting then.”
It’s more an accusation that a statement, and it sure as hell isn’t a question. So I hang my head, knowing I must look pathetic, and willing myself to look adorable and contrite as well. “Sort of. Sometimes. Only a little. But not to cut, just to taste.” Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“One sentence sooner-“
“I know!”
Jonna looks amused to the briefest moment before the shocked, decidedly *un*amused expression returns. “So… What, are you going all vampire on me now?”
Before I can answer, she squints her eyes and frowns. “Is this one of your weird jokes, Ville? Because I don’t find them nearly as charming as you seem to think I do.”
“It’s not a joke,” I mutter, fingering the scratch. Jonna bats my hand away from my face. “It just… I don’t know, love.” I try to explain it to her, the texture, that taste… When I mention sex on the list of things blood tastes like, the look on her face is definitely disgust.
“Ville… That’s just sick.”
God, she’s actually edging away from me a bit. But can I stop talking? No. “I can’t explain it properly with words. You’d have to try-“
“Oh, hell no.”
“Well, then at least let me taste-“
“*Hell* no!”
“Just once?” I watch her stand, quickly backing away from me. Just brilliant. Slowly, I get up as well, holding out a hand to her. “Jonna, darling, come on.”
She shakes her head, dark hair falling over one eye. “I’m serious; that’s really sick. Do you realize you just asked to.. to *cut* me and taste my blood? Fuck, Ville!”
And I think that pretty much sums it up.
So here we are, both of us just standing in the middle of the room, staring at each other. A smarter man would know what to say to calm her down, to convince her it was all a joke. A really smart man would be able to convince her to try it.
But there isn’t a smart man to be found at the moment. There is only me, Ville Valo, intellectual midget. The way Jonna’s reacting, I rather feel a sexual deviant and an emotion retard as well.
My mama would be so proud.
I want to hold out my hand to her again, or take a step toward her, something, but I can’t bear to see her run from me. “I won’t do it anymore. I promise.”
“But you’ll still want to, right?” Jonna shudders as I shrug helplessly. Dammit, woman, I’m trying to compromise here! She shakes her head again. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
She can’t deal. Good god. I watch her gather her purse and slip on a jacket, walking out the door. For a moment, I entertain the thought of going after her. But I have no bloody idea what to say when I catch her.
So I do what any sensible man would do in my position (nevermind that a sensible man would never be in my position)… I open a bottle of vodka, and start drinking.
Vodka is lovely. It has no color, no scent, and after the first few shots, no taste. It is pure, and somehow cleansing. It’s like drinking water. Water that gets one abo-fucking-lutely hammered.
I drink for three days straight.
There is no word from Jonna, and I’m feeling pretty miserable. At least, I would be if I wasn’t so fantastically drunk. The only reason I eventually leave the flat is because I’ve run out of fags and booze.
I stumble into the street, thanking god for the ridiculously large sunglasses Bam gave me last time I saw him. Deciding the sun is one cunty bastard, I flip him off and continue stumbling and weaving up the sidewalk.
After what seems like hours, I find myself standing in front of a door. I peer at it in drunken confusion for a moment. This is not the right door. This is not the door to the wonderful room filled with smooth, shiny bottles full of happiness and oblivion.
But I know this door. While I try to think, my gaze drops and I find myself looking down at my shoes, annoyed. “Where have you taken me, you stupid feet?”
“Ville?”
Fucking hell, my feet are talking to me.
“Ville, what are you doing here?”
“That’s what I’ve just asked you!” I glare at my feet; they are being super difficult.
Suddenly, my feet are laughing at me. “Look up, you idiot.” I do, and there in the mystery doorway is Mige.
“Mizee!” I try to hug him, but mostly I just fall into him. “My feet are complete wankers,” I inform him, and fuck, is that fuzzy, slurred voice really mine?
Mige grins wider, arm around me to guide me to the couch. “I always thought they were rather cute. Sit down before you fall down, little one.”
I sit- or fall- on the couch, looking up at him. “I’m taller’n you.”
“Yes, but you’re still my little, stupid one.” Mige lights two cigarettes, handing me one. “Why the hell are you this drunk in the middle of the afternoon?”
“Been drinking for a few days, mate.” I smoke happily for a few minutes before I remember why I’ve been drinking for a few days. “I think Jonna left me.”
Mige’s eyes go wide, and his jaw drops a bit. “You think? How can you not be sure about something like that?”
I shrug, trying to stand and quickly giving it up as a bad job. “Got anything to drink, love?”
“Water or coffee?”
“Vodka. Or I’ll settle for a pint.”
He shakes his head. “Take a break. I’ll make you a coffee.” Mige goes into the kitchen and makes a lot of noise. Or maybe I’m just that drunk. “What the hell happened?”
“Hunh?” I frown, trying to remember what we were just talking about. Oh, right. Jonna. “She left three days ago. Haven’t heard from her since.” I snicker, even though it’s not really funny. “She was rather put off with me when she left.”
Mige brings me a mug of coffee, only half full; he knows exactly how coordinated I’m not when I’m drunk. “Have you been drinking since?” I nod, and he rolls his eyes, amused. “How you haven’t had liver failure yet is beyond me. Well, what did you do to piss her off?”
I hear the unspoken ‘this time’, and between being drunk, and becoming defensive, my mouth suddenly has a mind of its own. “I just told her that I think blood tastes like life and sex and death and it turns me on like crazy and that she should try it, or at least let me have a taste of hers. And she turned into a right stroppy twat, all for no good reason. Oi Mizze! You’ll let me taste you a bit, hey?”
Mige is staring at me again, but thankfully, the look on his face is without disgust. Actually, I think he’s rather amused. “Just when I think you can’t possibly get any weirder.”
I pout at him, in what I think is my cutest way. He laughs; that look has worked on him for as long as I can remember. “Why don’t we put you to bed? You can have a nice lie down.”
“Ooohhkay.” Mige mostly carries me into his room and stuffs me under the covers, after removing my shoes. I cuddle into his pillow, the scent of my best friend comforting me. “I don’t think she’s coming back, Mizee.”
“Go to sleep, runkkari.” Mige kisses my head as I try to remember which finger is the rude one. Once he leaves the room, I pass out fairly quickly.
When I wake, all the lights are dimmed and there is a large glass of water and two tablets on the nightstand. God bless Mige.
I shuffle into the sitting room, finding him watching some horror movie. He looks up at me with a grin. “Lazarus arises. You look like you’ve licked your finger and stuck it into an outlet.”
While I grumble and drop down beside him, Mige gently smooths my hair, rubs my throbbing temples. “Am I that awful, sweetheart? Is it really that bad?”
“You aren’t awful, WillyWoo. Just a bit off.” Mige puts a cigarette in my mouth and lights it for me. “But you aren’t drinking my blood, you fucking vampire.”
I sigh, smoking slowly. “Well, at least you aren’t calling me sick and leaving me. I think I’ll just be happy with that.”
So maybe Jonna was right. Maybe I have gone a bit vampire on everyone. Blame my Hungarian heritage.
It doesn’t bother me that Mige turned me down. He usually does what I ask. Eventually. So I think I can convince him, with time. And maybe a little liquor.
But still… I wonder what Bam would say.