musesandlyrics | 10.5. Dexter quote
10.5. “No blood. No sticky, hot, messy, awful blood; no blood at all. Why hadn't I thought of that? No blood. What a beautiful idea!”
Dexter
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
By the time night fell, the air was chilled and moist, with covering of cloud across the sky that indicated rain could be pending. Perfect weather, as far as Blaise was concerned. It hadn’t even crossed Blaise’s mind that someone, or more than one someone, might have been listening in on his conversation with Juliette. It had been confronting to him to realise Buffy and Riley were there, but he didn’t want to be in either of their presences. Not then. His senses were too piqued to have any sort of normal conversation. The anger at Juliette had only been one facet. He was still primed in the wake of draining Rory, and the taste on his tongue was all-encompassing, like it was engulfing him and taunting him over the turn of events that Blaise was less than content with.
Leaving the military facility, he had gone underground. Literally. It had still been in the last vestiges of daylight when he left, and he slipped into the back of his car to be taken into the city to a nightclub owned by his Gangrel Primogen. Beneath the club, there was a whole Kindred network, often used as an escape, and never would a human be allowed to grace it. He met with some colleagues, still trying to glean any information on a Brujah rebellion, but there seemed to be nothing but dead ends. Pun probably very much intended. He just hadn’t had the patience to remain in the meeting for very long, all of thirty minutes at the most. A gnawing restlessness clawed within him and he couldn’t shake it. The taste was overwhelming, eating him up. He had to be rid of it.
He left the meeting abruptly, without word or explanation. They had all seen his eyes, sensed his discontent. No one would dare question his departure. Luckily, darkness had fallen by the time he scaled the marble staircase back up to the ground floor and exited the club again. The doorway to it was unassuming, darkly tinted glass with stainless steel trimming. There were no signs on the door to indicate what it was, and entry was only via security codes unique to each person afforded access to it. The building’s facade matched the door, with absolutely nothing showing what it was hiding below. It was too early to be drawing crowds, and as Blaise stepped out onto the street, he surveyed the surroundings reflexively for any danger. His silver eyes were intense in the dull bathing of the street light and parked just up the street, he could see his car waiting. His driver was never very far away from him when he was out, always laying in wait to help Blaise escape from danger if necessary.
There was no approaching the vehicle, though. He turned away from it and stepped from the gutter onto the street, stalking across it with a predatory purpose to his steps. The street was quiet, but it wasn’t an unusual occurrence. The club was nestled in one of Paris’ one way back streets, deliberately sheltered away from the tourist bustle. It was rare a tourist would stray to these realms. Those who came here were local, likely with some sort of purpose for being in the area. It was only a few blocks from the red light district, but with a sneer of disgust, Blaise knew he couldn’t even face finding what he needed there. His destination became a boutique on the corner of the block, and his hungry eyes immediately fell on a woman sitting alone at the bar. There were enough patrons to blend in, but it was just calm enough not to set his already heightened senses into overload. Between the intensity of the drain and the fury at Juliette, hitting overload right now could have Blaise making some fatal mistakes. It had been a long, long time since he had been in this state, and he needed relief.
He had the solitary woman under his hypnotic charm within minutes, smiling at her and holding her gaze without a single falter. An American. Perhaps even that screwed with his already warped perception, but Blaise just found it deliciously and amusingly ironic. Why should he not take an American? He didn’t even have to buy her a drink. She was mesmerised and addicted to his Presence, all over him soon enough, kissing his throat, hands creeping possessively over his body as his own explored the curves of hers. There was no lead up, no nothing. At first glance, anyone would mistake them as lovers more than familiar with each other. The hunger burned through him, and he could feel just through her touch that she had fallen under the spell of true love, perhaps even recently. This is exactly what he needed, and he claimed her lips with his own, kissing her heatedly to the point that she was grabbing blindly for handfuls of his jacket to remain on the bar stool.
After the kiss broke, Blaise seized the final vestiges of control and purred a dirty proposition in her ear in French as he trailed the tip of his tongue up over her throat in a smooth, sweeping motion. He could feel the blood pumping through her veins and the hunger caused him to emit an impatient growl, which she obviously mistook as nothing more than a gesture of his burning desire for her. His hand was under her royal blue evening dress now, on her thigh and moving higher as he pressed a trail of kisses over her throat to her jaw. When his fingers brushed between her legs, she whimpered out a breathy moan of agreement to his request and likely would have permitted Blaise to take her right there on the bar in front of everyone if he had wanted to. But words were lost on him now. Prey. That’s all he was seeing, that’s all he was feeling. He could feel the first hints of frenzied hunger burning deep down inside him, and he merely smiled wickedly at her, grabbing her hands tightly in his and pulling her up off the stool.
It was a hurried path back to the door, and as soon as they were outside, she was clawing the buttons open on his shirt and kissing over his chest up to his throat. At the top of the steps, Blaise let his head fall back a little, indulging in her warm lips against his skin. It was almost like he could hear every beat of her heart now, pulsing under her skin and taunting him. There was going to be no more games, no playing. She didn’t even notice how quickly he got her into the side alley beside the bar they just departed. She was giggling, intoxicated not on alcohol but on the sensations of euphoria he was already feeding her so her emotions piqued. She didn’t fumble getting his belt unlatched and his trousers unzipped, and her hand slipped inside to cup him in her palm. But he pushed her hand away roughly as he hitched her dress up, and pressed as another bruising kiss to her swollen lips. She wasn’t swearing any underwear, not that it would have been a deterrence to him. Nudging her legs apart with his hip, he entered her deeply in one forceful thrust and she cried out in pleasure, the sound reverberating off the bricks of the surrounding buildings of the darkened alley.
It was rough and it was quick, and he was taking her hard, holding her hands up over her head so she didn’t have any sort of control over him. She spiralled into ecstasy rapidly, crying out again when he bit down on her lower lip and drew blood. It was like flicking a switch inside him. As soon as that coppery tang hit his tongue, there was no turning back. His growl was low and hungry as his fangs descended, and as soon as he felt her start to shudder beneath him in climax, he bit down forcefully on her neck with the blood rushing over his tongue and down his throat. This was what he needed. The sensations of her climax mixed with his own frenzied and hungry rush claimed him, disguising the taste that had been plaguing him since he drained the Scot.
She was subdued almost immediately beneath him, and he just continued to feed with predatory intensity. Something had gone wrong, though. Something was missing. It wasn’t holding. It wasn’t satiating him. The more he feed, draining her of more of her blood, the deeper the panic started to build in him, battling with the uncontrollable urge to keep swallowing and keep the taste drowning his senses. He pulled off abruptly, a choked cough catching in his throat as she fell limply to the ground at his feed, blood dripping from her throat garishly down onto her diamond-littered gown.
Diseased blood.
“Merde, non...” It was already turning sour on his lips, and he choked again in disbelief. How had he not sensed that? What had caused him to make such a dire mistake when it came to his prey? He fell to his knees, putting his hand over the puncture wounds on her throat in an attempt to stop the blood flow. The terrible weakness was already setting in as the blood absorbed into his system, and he was even struggling to focus his vision. His phone was fumbled from his pocket and he dispatched an urgent, yet slurred, phone call to his driver to demand his immediate presence. “Appelez une ambulance,” he added hoarsely before losing his grip on the phone. The thought of healing the wounds on her throat was immediately sickening for him and he could only turn away in fear that his body was about to reject the infected blood. It didn’t, though. It stayed within him, breeding the tainted substance that was fast claiming all his remaining inner strength.
All he could smell now was the diseased-ravaged cells of her body, and he barely had any recognition when his car screeched around the corner and pulled up onto the curb behind him. Two suited men jumped out and had Blaise lifted into the back of the vehicle, while a third swooped on the woman slumped against the wall, leaning over her to heal the wounds on her throat. The scene was all over in a flash, and the car reversed out of the alley and sped off around the corner again into the blackened night as thunder sounded in the distance and a heavy rain started to fall on the Paris streets...
Word Count | 1,783
Dexter
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
By the time night fell, the air was chilled and moist, with covering of cloud across the sky that indicated rain could be pending. Perfect weather, as far as Blaise was concerned. It hadn’t even crossed Blaise’s mind that someone, or more than one someone, might have been listening in on his conversation with Juliette. It had been confronting to him to realise Buffy and Riley were there, but he didn’t want to be in either of their presences. Not then. His senses were too piqued to have any sort of normal conversation. The anger at Juliette had only been one facet. He was still primed in the wake of draining Rory, and the taste on his tongue was all-encompassing, like it was engulfing him and taunting him over the turn of events that Blaise was less than content with.
Leaving the military facility, he had gone underground. Literally. It had still been in the last vestiges of daylight when he left, and he slipped into the back of his car to be taken into the city to a nightclub owned by his Gangrel Primogen. Beneath the club, there was a whole Kindred network, often used as an escape, and never would a human be allowed to grace it. He met with some colleagues, still trying to glean any information on a Brujah rebellion, but there seemed to be nothing but dead ends. Pun probably very much intended. He just hadn’t had the patience to remain in the meeting for very long, all of thirty minutes at the most. A gnawing restlessness clawed within him and he couldn’t shake it. The taste was overwhelming, eating him up. He had to be rid of it.
He left the meeting abruptly, without word or explanation. They had all seen his eyes, sensed his discontent. No one would dare question his departure. Luckily, darkness had fallen by the time he scaled the marble staircase back up to the ground floor and exited the club again. The doorway to it was unassuming, darkly tinted glass with stainless steel trimming. There were no signs on the door to indicate what it was, and entry was only via security codes unique to each person afforded access to it. The building’s facade matched the door, with absolutely nothing showing what it was hiding below. It was too early to be drawing crowds, and as Blaise stepped out onto the street, he surveyed the surroundings reflexively for any danger. His silver eyes were intense in the dull bathing of the street light and parked just up the street, he could see his car waiting. His driver was never very far away from him when he was out, always laying in wait to help Blaise escape from danger if necessary.
There was no approaching the vehicle, though. He turned away from it and stepped from the gutter onto the street, stalking across it with a predatory purpose to his steps. The street was quiet, but it wasn’t an unusual occurrence. The club was nestled in one of Paris’ one way back streets, deliberately sheltered away from the tourist bustle. It was rare a tourist would stray to these realms. Those who came here were local, likely with some sort of purpose for being in the area. It was only a few blocks from the red light district, but with a sneer of disgust, Blaise knew he couldn’t even face finding what he needed there. His destination became a boutique on the corner of the block, and his hungry eyes immediately fell on a woman sitting alone at the bar. There were enough patrons to blend in, but it was just calm enough not to set his already heightened senses into overload. Between the intensity of the drain and the fury at Juliette, hitting overload right now could have Blaise making some fatal mistakes. It had been a long, long time since he had been in this state, and he needed relief.
He had the solitary woman under his hypnotic charm within minutes, smiling at her and holding her gaze without a single falter. An American. Perhaps even that screwed with his already warped perception, but Blaise just found it deliciously and amusingly ironic. Why should he not take an American? He didn’t even have to buy her a drink. She was mesmerised and addicted to his Presence, all over him soon enough, kissing his throat, hands creeping possessively over his body as his own explored the curves of hers. There was no lead up, no nothing. At first glance, anyone would mistake them as lovers more than familiar with each other. The hunger burned through him, and he could feel just through her touch that she had fallen under the spell of true love, perhaps even recently. This is exactly what he needed, and he claimed her lips with his own, kissing her heatedly to the point that she was grabbing blindly for handfuls of his jacket to remain on the bar stool.
After the kiss broke, Blaise seized the final vestiges of control and purred a dirty proposition in her ear in French as he trailed the tip of his tongue up over her throat in a smooth, sweeping motion. He could feel the blood pumping through her veins and the hunger caused him to emit an impatient growl, which she obviously mistook as nothing more than a gesture of his burning desire for her. His hand was under her royal blue evening dress now, on her thigh and moving higher as he pressed a trail of kisses over her throat to her jaw. When his fingers brushed between her legs, she whimpered out a breathy moan of agreement to his request and likely would have permitted Blaise to take her right there on the bar in front of everyone if he had wanted to. But words were lost on him now. Prey. That’s all he was seeing, that’s all he was feeling. He could feel the first hints of frenzied hunger burning deep down inside him, and he merely smiled wickedly at her, grabbing her hands tightly in his and pulling her up off the stool.
It was a hurried path back to the door, and as soon as they were outside, she was clawing the buttons open on his shirt and kissing over his chest up to his throat. At the top of the steps, Blaise let his head fall back a little, indulging in her warm lips against his skin. It was almost like he could hear every beat of her heart now, pulsing under her skin and taunting him. There was going to be no more games, no playing. She didn’t even notice how quickly he got her into the side alley beside the bar they just departed. She was giggling, intoxicated not on alcohol but on the sensations of euphoria he was already feeding her so her emotions piqued. She didn’t fumble getting his belt unlatched and his trousers unzipped, and her hand slipped inside to cup him in her palm. But he pushed her hand away roughly as he hitched her dress up, and pressed as another bruising kiss to her swollen lips. She wasn’t swearing any underwear, not that it would have been a deterrence to him. Nudging her legs apart with his hip, he entered her deeply in one forceful thrust and she cried out in pleasure, the sound reverberating off the bricks of the surrounding buildings of the darkened alley.
It was rough and it was quick, and he was taking her hard, holding her hands up over her head so she didn’t have any sort of control over him. She spiralled into ecstasy rapidly, crying out again when he bit down on her lower lip and drew blood. It was like flicking a switch inside him. As soon as that coppery tang hit his tongue, there was no turning back. His growl was low and hungry as his fangs descended, and as soon as he felt her start to shudder beneath him in climax, he bit down forcefully on her neck with the blood rushing over his tongue and down his throat. This was what he needed. The sensations of her climax mixed with his own frenzied and hungry rush claimed him, disguising the taste that had been plaguing him since he drained the Scot.
She was subdued almost immediately beneath him, and he just continued to feed with predatory intensity. Something had gone wrong, though. Something was missing. It wasn’t holding. It wasn’t satiating him. The more he feed, draining her of more of her blood, the deeper the panic started to build in him, battling with the uncontrollable urge to keep swallowing and keep the taste drowning his senses. He pulled off abruptly, a choked cough catching in his throat as she fell limply to the ground at his feed, blood dripping from her throat garishly down onto her diamond-littered gown.
Diseased blood.
“Merde, non...” It was already turning sour on his lips, and he choked again in disbelief. How had he not sensed that? What had caused him to make such a dire mistake when it came to his prey? He fell to his knees, putting his hand over the puncture wounds on her throat in an attempt to stop the blood flow. The terrible weakness was already setting in as the blood absorbed into his system, and he was even struggling to focus his vision. His phone was fumbled from his pocket and he dispatched an urgent, yet slurred, phone call to his driver to demand his immediate presence. “Appelez une ambulance,” he added hoarsely before losing his grip on the phone. The thought of healing the wounds on her throat was immediately sickening for him and he could only turn away in fear that his body was about to reject the infected blood. It didn’t, though. It stayed within him, breeding the tainted substance that was fast claiming all his remaining inner strength.
All he could smell now was the diseased-ravaged cells of her body, and he barely had any recognition when his car screeched around the corner and pulled up onto the curb behind him. Two suited men jumped out and had Blaise lifted into the back of the vehicle, while a third swooped on the woman slumped against the wall, leaning over her to heal the wounds on her throat. The scene was all over in a flash, and the car reversed out of the alley and sped off around the corner again into the blackened night as thunder sounded in the distance and a heavy rain started to fall on the Paris streets...
Word Count | 1,783