Play, part 17
The tone was measured, cold, and precise. "Company."
His lovely blue eyes bored into the back of my head, his sharpened mind into the back of my thoughts. Little icy blades of thought attempting to slice into my head, to cut out my secrets, to lay bear my soul.
Here's hoping my mental shields were up to par.
Of course, a little distraction never hurt.
I leaned my head back against him, molding my body into the contours of his, letting those auburn curls run along his shoulder, touchable, tempting. A very satisfied little smile had replaced my wicked smirk. Perhaps an improvement, perhaps not. Rather more annoying however, and that was the general goal.
I reached a hand up to wind a few golden hairs in my palm, toying with them in a deliberately absent manner. His hand parodied my action, fingering a curl directly by my neck, so close that his fingers brushed along my skin lightly, back and forth, back and forth, a little pressure, a little push, a little harder.
A warning, a promise, neither, both. It didn't much matter as his mind was still intently focused on dragging the truth from my mind. No time for physical play just now. More's the pity.
I stared at the twin pinpoints of green fire regarding me silently from the shadows not five feet away, all the while feeling his blue eyes burrowing deeper and deeper.
A delicate laugh bubbled forth as I pulled myself away suddenly, reaching out towards the looming darkness in front of me. "I'll save you the trouble of filtering through my thoughts, love."
Extending an outstretched hand, I assumed my best announcer voice, rising in volume and intensity at the precise moments to ensure maximum suspense, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you this evening, for your viewing pleasure, the renowned actor, thrilling audiences worldwide with his incredible comic ability, charming his way through nearly any scene, and generally stealing the show wherever he goes, Christo, ladies and gentlemen!"
I burst into mock applause as Christo stepped from the darkness, shadows trickling off him quite dramatically, taking a deep, sweeping, theatrical bow.
Jareth regarded this satirical spectacle with a mask of amusement fixed firmly on his lovely face. It was a rather nice mask, too - all cocked eyebrows and gently turned up lips, with almost enough patronizing amusement to go around. His eyes, however, remained cold and calculating, very carefully observing Christo, noting the long, soft black hair, the tall, slender frame, the exotic features, the wide cheek bones, the alabaster white skin, and the very fiercely sparkling green eyes.
Christo always did know how to make excellent first impressions. He had certainly made an incredible one on me a few hundred years ago.
His green eyes darted towards me at this thought. Not that he could have heard of it, of course. Our minds were forever closed. But he knew me well enough to know my reactions to him. He always had.
I was favored suddenly with a wickedly white smile with just a hint of fang.
His hand shot out then and enfolded my hand, pulling me towards him, closing the distance between us. His free hand rubbed softly down my neck, lingering over the skin, savoring the touch. His lips followed the hand, a butterfly's touch against my flesh.
I was reminded distinctly of Jareth's previous actions.
I pushed him away, teasing. "You little revenant! How long have you been lurking in the shadows watching us?"
He ran his fingers through my curls, pulling them, twisting them. Smiling bewitchingly all the while. At Jareth. Crafty little devil, Christo was. "Angelique, Angelique...long enough to see you having much too much fun without me. So who is your charming new friend, hmmm?"
Jareth's presence loomed behind me, menacing, powerful, intense - no one's friend, charming or otherwise. That point was being made abundantly clear.
A shock of warm power erupted from Jareth. Christo's power echoed it, mirrored it, cool, icy, intense. Little crackles of power building in the night, warm behind, cool in front, pressing closer, closer, closer...
I pushed my fingers against Christo's chest, moving away from his chill power - only to press into the fiery heat of Jareth's power. They were eyeing each other, green against blue, struggling, striving, testing. A classic male battle for dominance. With me in between and, apparently, as the prize. The night was not improving.
"As much as I love a good battle of the male ego, might we try something else right now, gentlemen?" I raised my hands to separate them, the perfect lady doing her best to keep the peace, laying a palm against each chest. Each smooth, luscious, absolutely delectable chest. There was no rule of etiquette that said the lady couldn't enjoy herself while attempting to keep the peace.
There was, however, a rule of common sense which made itself painstakingly clear in a very short time.
The power ran through my hands like current, freezing on one side, scalding on the other. It met in the middle and promptly exploded. I promptly let out an anguished cry and fell to the ground, palms still fixed to those two sources of power. They slid down each body, over each curve and contour, as I went.
On the plus side, the lady still got to enjoy herself.
On the minus side, she lost consciousness before she could enjoy herself for long.
The night was most definitely not improving.
Play, part 18
I lay in my daddy's arms, my head against his chest, cozy and warm and safe. Resting my head against the his shirt, feeling the run of the cloth down my cheek. Smooth, so smooth, smooth like silk.
I felt so safe, so absolutely secure. He would make the awful pain thundering inside my head go away, I knew he would. I had implicit trust in my daddy. He would be there for me forever.
I shifted slightly and the pain burned behind my eyes. Rather, pain so cold it seemed to burn. It was a dying ache, a residue. Nothing compared to the force of whatever had come before it. That thought was somewhat comforting. The pain, however, was not. Imagine that.
A small moan escaped my lips. I realized suddenly that daddy's fingers were resting in my curls and had been for some time, gently tugging them here and there, bouncing back and forth and back and forth. Oddly familiar sensory memory, that.
I nestled my cheek further into his chest, curling tighter against him, feeling the safety of his arms around me now, feeling his chin resting on my head now, safe now, seeking solace once more, away from the bothersome thoughts that sliced through my brain. Harsh thoughts, dark thoughts of suspicion that brought searing knives of pain with them. Better to concentrate on something else, something solid. Something physical, tangible, reassuring. Daddy.
I felt his chest rise and fall in the rhythm of his breathing. So comforting, that simple movement, that constant force of a body. His hands moved to my forehead, resting just above my eyes, a butterfly's touch against my skin. A comforting warmth flowed from his fingertips, mmmm...yes, that felt better, so much better, the warmth, the warmth...easing the frigid burning away, a balm for my wounded mind.
Sweet liquid warmth at my lips, ah yes, medicine. So delightful the taste, so rich and full and warm. It coursed through my veins, a flush of energy and r revitalizing power. Ah....sweeter than life itself, wasn't it?
Daddy's voice penetrated the inky blackness of my thoughts. Strange that it seemed to come from behind me, not from the comforting form I was lying against. Softly, gently, concentrating, it came, winging its way through the coolness of the air. "Angelique, Angelique."
Angelique?
I pulled away from the source of the "medicine." And sighed. Awareness did have a way of rushing back at less than convenient times.
I still had the taste of that cool, silky vampire flesh on my lips. It was rather distracting, actually. Just like old times. Or rather, just like the first time. Ah well.
I absolutely refused to open my eyes, however. There's only so much battering an ego can take at once. Instead, I addressed the shimmering presence I felt sure was hovering so close above me. My voice was soft, throaty, with just a smattering of annoyance, spiced liberally with saracasm. Nice to know my sharp wit hadn't been damaged.
"Thank you for destroying yet another comforting delusion, Christo. Whatever would I do without you?"
Jareth's voice now. It washed over me, pouring into my ear, intimate. "Find someone else's lap to curl into, no doubt."
Flush of realization. Again. And a rather embarassing flush at that. Drat.
Of course, my daddy had never worn silk. He had been more of a velvet man when you came right down to it. Really should have been a clue. Ah well. Semi-lucid dreams were like that, after all. Couldn't be held accountable for the strange assumptions in them. Well, couldn't be held accountable unless you had, more or less, cuddled into your resident adversary's lap under the charming misconception that he was your father. For that, you could be held accountable. Drat, Drat, and Double Drat.
Play, part 19
I could feel the flood of embarassment washing over me, pouring, thundering, overpowering. Fiercely intense and threatening to wash away all semblance of poise.
This would rank rather high on the Not Good list.
I, therefore, erected a suitable emotional dam in record time and recollected the glittering shards of my cracked dignity. Record time, however, took a few moments. A very long few moments. A very long few moments during which I could feel the magnetic force of two sets of jewel-like eyes observing my every move and, while they were at it, my every thought.
Damnable men.
I opened my eyes then, looking about. Christo hovered, as expected, less than a foot away. Elegantly hovering, movements full of grace, but hovering nonetheless. Green eyes stared at me through a veil of fine black hair, measuring me, measuring my reactions to him. He moved a white hand near me in an achingly slow way, closing the air between us. His eyes regarded mine the entire time, watching, waiting. Anticipating.
The hand reached my skin, one elegant finger touching my cheek, brushing along the skin. His eyes suddenly flicked upwards to Jareth's and then back to mine, puzzlement bleeding into them, then concentration. The finger caressing my face was joined by the rest of the hand, softly touching my cheek, my jawline, my neck. The eyes were still waiting, still watching...still anticipating.
He stopped after a little while and drew back, his eyes looking from his hand to my face and back again. "Nothing," he whispered, genuine surprise coloring the rich tones of his voice.
Genuine annoyance was coloring mine. "What, you were expecting, perhaps, an act of God?"
The green eyes regarded me again. "Perhaps."
This received a few eyebrows of the raised variety. "Perhaps?" I leaned forward into those eyes, aggressive, impulsive. "Perhaps?" I showered him with a beautific smile, theatrically menacing. The kind of smile a hardened interrogater showers the suspect with before the blinding torrent of questions begins. A very apt analogy, that. "I think an explanation, my dear Angel, is in order."
The silky tones of Jareth's voice whispered again, mocking, with a definite patronizing ring. "Angel and Angelique - how very...quaint."
I turned my eyes to regard him then, very slowly, very deliberately. I was on a theatrical bent tonight, certainly. "Yes, well, stage names die hard." I raised a hand to entwine a few golden strands hanging down onto his shoulders, down onto his lovely chest, running my fingers across his bare flesh, sensuous, slow. "As do terms of endearment, love. However, this is another discussion for another time." I turned back to Christo, casually inquisitive look in place. "Explanation, if you please."
A light blossomed behind the emerald eyes. "Keep your hand where it is, Angelique."
The silky voice whispered into my ear, very intimate again, very soft. "Oh yes, Jalen, do keep your hand where it is."
I smashed the aformentioned hand into the aforementioned chest where the former made a most satisfying thump against the latter. I then gave him my most polite smile, all bright and shiny as a new penny. "Shut up, love."
The blue eyes were laughing into mine, the voice a parody of a scolding tone. "Such language, Jalen, to one in whom you so recently sought refuge - how very ungracious."
My polite smile widened with sincerity. "Well, the refuge bit wasn't by choice, I can most graciously assure you."
He regarded me in his characteristically amused fashion, eyebrows cocked, mouth set in a condescending smile - Standard Jareth Emotional Mask 1, complete with accompanying voice. "That's not how it appeared from here."
I was set to make a properly scathing, yet wryly amusing, remark about this latest bit of news when Christo's hand touched my skin and my crystalline world exploded for the second time in fifteen minutes.
The night had ceased to be "definitely not improving" and was heading faithfully towards "being quite unpleasant."
*************
Play, part 20
I did not, however, lose consciousness.
Lovely. Just lovely. That was worth at least a few hundred bonus points.
I became aware, then, of the electrifying hum of power singing through my veins - winding its grasping way through my body, building and burning, twisting and turning, reaching and searching, mixing and bursting, fire and ice, pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing-
I whipped my gaze towards Christo, piercing those sea-green eyes with the force washing through me - his force, Jareth's force, my force, our... Energy. Moving into him, up against him, my lips brushing across his flawless skin, breathing into him, I held him immobile by the matchless menace of my gaze, by the caressing curl of my mouth against his, by the fierce intensity winding sinuously between us.
The words came, imperious, malevolent. "Remove. Your. Hand. Now."
His voice came softly through the night, straining, breathy. "Not...just...yet."
And the hand stayed melded to my flesh. Immovable.
Annoying man.
Having no better course of action, I paused a moment to take in the sight that confronted me. This strange new energy had cast my darling Christo in a different light, actually. A curious cerulean mist seemed to surround him, to penetrate him, encircling and tinting every part of him. From the long luxurious strands of ebony hair to the ivory white flesh to the glinting shimmer of his nails - all was ensconced in cool cerulean. A lovely, deep cerulean. A cold cerulean aura, really.
I glanced then at the gloved hand that had been draped artfully across my shoulders, resting gently on my neck. Purposefully draped there, of course, for maximum capacity of sensual teasing - but then, everything with my dear Jareth had an ulterior motive. It was his stock and trade.
Of course, the fact that I was still in his lap was my fault. Well, that particular problem would be remedied shortly. That is, as soon as I deduced what in the proverbial hell was going on.
I noted the golden light encompassing said gloved hand draped artfully across my shoulder. A fine stream of golden particles almost, dancing around and through. Turning, I glimpsed the blue eyes coursing with it, that hot golden light. It was forming a regular halo about him.
That observation produced a snort for a variety of reasons.
Still, I could devote a great deal of time to ironic thoughts later. For now, I had a few other observations to make. A few other connections, as it were, to forge before I made any amusing remarks regarding devils who looked like angels. Which could very well apply to Christo while I was at it. My darling Christo and my dear Jareth.
Cerulean and gold, cold and hot.
I glanced down.
Green, of course. A flaming emerald green. Of a rather fair-to-middling temperature by the feel it. So I had my own little aura apparently.
Well, well, well.
The rush of power, meanwhile, strained within me, bubbling, volatile.
Threatening.
It wanted out very, very soon.
Well, more than happy to oblige.
Without thought, I flicked a stream of it at Christo. Blood flowed suddenly from a slender cut on his cheek, a steady oozing of crimson against the alabaster white skin. It was a stark contrast, the dark against the white, marring the perfection of his face momentarily.
His eyes widened, still caught in my gaze, and he raised his other hand to the torn flesh, running it along the wound now, steeping it in the ruby drops of blood now before his body could heal itself. A crimson fingertip moved to his lips, slowly, provocatively, his eyes fixating on mine purposefully. Christo was never one to waste a good bit of blood. Or a good situation.
He smiled then, that savagely angelic smile. My Angel forever.
"Angelique, Angelique...my, how you've grown."
********************
::singing::
Comments and comments and comments again...
comments and comments, they are my friends...
comments that come and never do end...
these are a few of my favorite....um...things.....
Okay, well, it didn't rhyme. Do forgive me.
Xarael called Jalen