Beneath the Skin [Lyonel]

[Blaize]

There was an itch that Blaize could not scratch, and it was an unfamiliar feeling. It crawled beneath his skin, and he felt like he’d stepped right out of a Linkin Park song. And he didn’t even like Linkin Park. He didn’t like this feeling, either. The only thing he could really attribute it to was his concern for his second childe, Ayunli. He had not seen the man in … how long had it been? And was getting no response to his messages.

The dancer tried to ignore the itch. He threw himself into dance, into his training. The Company had accepted Blaize as lead, which would mean travel in the near future as the company toured. The blonde went to rehearsals as soon as the sun set, and after rehearsals were done Blaize went back to his own studio at Harper Rock University to keep going. For hours and hours, like a never-ending wind-up toy, Blaize danced. The only thing he thought about was Albrecht; he was Albrecht, and Giselle was his one true love. Giselle, who died of a broken heart. Perhaps that was it, Blaize pondered. The role was getting to him. He was a jerk who’d caused the death of his love because of his own secrets. How could a man live with that?

How would Blaize know? He’d never had a true love. He was not sure he would ever have one. But to act this part, he had to pretend that he had one, and that he had lost her. Having never known what that would be like, it was new. It was an itch. It had to be it.

The mystic was so busy with this role that it slipped his mind to feed. It wasn’t his favourite part of the night and, really, not having to consume food and keep hydrated was a boon for the dance-aholic. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner meant nothing. Hunger was non-existent – not the same kind of hunger he’d suffered as a human, anyway. He’d been at the peak of his physical prowess when turned and he was only getting stronger, more graceful.

And he could not see himself in the mirror, so he could not see the way his cheeks had hollowed nor the new sharpness of his features. He could feel it, of course, but to him it felt healthy. It felt good. His strength did not wain and his stamina remained the same. He felt light as a feather, quick as a bee. What could be wrong with that?

When the University completely shut down around him and the studio was quiet, Blaize made his way back to the penthouse. When he got there, he went straight to the room that acted as his studio there. He went from one stage to another, and to another. It was a nightly routine, one that he barely broke. The music blasted and Blaize lost himself in the movements, completely oblivious to all else around him – whether anyone else was home, he was not aware. Nor did he particularly care.

[Lyonel]

While the door to the elevator slid open the ring of keys weighed in the killer’s hand. With all the technology available for security he opted for the typical deadbolt lock on the penthouse door. His reasoning is whoever really wanted to get in generally would. And when they finally did he would have them on the interior security surveillance and more than likely be there to meet them, or one of the family who was equally competent in dealing with the uninvited. With the raised awareness of the city and world in general things had calmed down. Surprisingly so. Either way the vampire he had become had grown to the level of independence that he found anything of excess in such regards not needed, for the moment anyways.

A few clicks of inner mechanisms releasing within the lock signaled he was home. With the grip of his hand the doorknob turned and permitted the movement needed for the heavy barrier in front of him to swing open. A general sense of calm washed over him in the first few steps. The sounds of silence were non-existent as he closed the door and bolted it secure from the inside. More than likely the swan was taking flight in the next room.

The current andantino was generous with the ample volume and impossible to ignore. Like a bear arriving to it’s claimed den he moved slowly without concern as he deposited his keys in his jacket pocket then removed it and placed it in the closet. To the tempo of the strings the white business shirt was unbuttoned. Slow, with flowing movements the buttons were popped free of their tailored captures. Down to mid chest with the gradual work of his fingers the material separated inviting the warm air to find his cool skin. Clearly not alone he saved the last of the buttons for later. More comfort was obtained by the unfastening of the cuffs and expert roll of each to rise below his elbows. Making his way through the first room that embraced the beauty of textiles and furnishings from India he took the time to step out of his shoes likely more gracefully due to the inspiring music. He leaned down and left the custom leather pair on the shoe port in their designated spot which just so happened to be out of view behind the chaise.

Soundless steps had the tall killer within the frame of hardwood serving as the portal to a room that became a world that was all it’s own when it was entered. Celadon eyes tracked the flight of the resident swan in his nightly flight. Cool, sober orbs fueled by a focus that could not be broken drank in every movement of the dancer as the Chassé en tournant flawlessly led to a breath taking proper extension that made his own body ache in all the places that it would if he attempted it himself. Finally his right foot took lead and had him moving to the closest chair at his right which served as the anchor of many lining the wall. He settled in without disturbing the one whom he always found a pleasure to watch.

[Blaize]

Blaize wore only tights, the lycra leaving nothing to the imagination. The muscles of his legs and backside were taut, tightly strung like coils and springs that launched him into the air where he spun and pirouetted. His hair should have been slick with sweat but there was none; it was as soft and silken as it always had been, though all the bleached dead ends were now healthy and vibrant. They created a halo around his head as he spun and leapt. And yet, as focused as he was, there was nothing that could have numbed the sensation of his sire entering the building.

It started as a mild tingle and, as he rode the elevator up, as he approached the door and came through it, the feeling only swelled. It was a wave of recognition, like a piece of string was tied to Blaize’s soul, the other end attached to Lyonel. And the closer the older male got the less that string tugged. It got looser and looser until Blaize could only leap higher and spin faster, a new freedom in his steps. Even when that string got so loose that the Swan knew by instinct that his sire had entered the room, he did not stop dancing. Now, he was not only practicing, he was performing.

The variation ended with Blaize on the floor, body flat but gracefully so, like a sleeping prince. By all rights he should have been heaving, pulling breath into his lungs like a man desperate for air, fatigued from so much practice. The music finished and Blaize pulled himself to his feet, sauntering over to the stereo as he pushed the hair from his face. The same song started, on repeat, but Blaize pressed stop before it continued. The silence, after so much noise, was near deafening.

“You’ll have to come to the ballet to see more,” he said, finally turning to his sire with a lopsided grin. He was almost, almost shy. But not quite. “That was just a teaser…”

[Lyonel]

Breathless.

That is what his first sensation was as he watched with a fixated stare at the prone position of deathly yet hypnotically pale skin spread out so invitingly in front of him. A subtle twitch of appreciation in his lips could not be avoided. The lycra that covered its generous spans in a way that would make a lover jealous of its skin clinging fit caught him off guard. That is if he were such.

Truth be told Lyon was far from it. He admired his swan with the best intentions thanks to a willpower that had for better or worse served him well. He had his weaknesses and one perhaps was that when it came to Blaize he was dangerously close to possessive but understandably so. The newly turned and his attire that fit like a glove was unforgettable. Isn’t that why they were sharing the same space and the darkest of nights bound by blood? There was no denying the ethereal beauty of who was on his floor and essentially transformed it into a stage worthy of a worldwide audience. Few had that irresistible quality for Lyonel and Blaize was clearly one who could capture him repeatedly as if it were the first time he set eyes on him. His sire and wife were in the same standing. Wolfgang was beneath his skin and vein deep. Eva existed in his bones. And Blaize. Well he was a creature that was finding rather curious ways of reeling him in that left him enjoying the space between them disappearing.

Celadon orbs searched for a rise in the sculpted body that never really needed another breath. He needed no air beyond the last lungfuls that he stole from the young dancer he kept watch over. Towering closer to the penthouse ceiling than the swan currently was he felt the confident and relaxed roll of his broad shoulders backward beneath the white cotton. The slow massage of his fingertips tracing the frame of his mouth and lips gave him the time to collect his thoughts. While the dancer found his feet in what appeared to be an effortless move of lithe muscles he tracked him in each and every step that created distance between them. An invitation was extended to see more when Blaize turned around. The lopsided grin he wore as he said it was met with a look on the killer's own that could make almost anything happen if not careful. Even Lyonel West was known to have his moments.

“It sure was.” Then his own half smile appeared and anchored the depths of haunting green pools fixing on the one across the room from him.

[Blaize]

If it were anyone else, Blaize would have asked the visitor why they were there. He’d have asked them all snappy like; why are you in my studio? Ask your question, get out. I’m working. For all the dancer knew, the West lineage could be party central and he’d have had no idea. Or, if he’d had any idea, he would have been the old man in a young man’s body, telling them all to shut the **** up because they were disrupting his focus. Beyond his own childe and a couple of conversations with Kaspar and Skoll, Blaize couldn’t say he was particularly friendly with anyone in the group. And it was through no fault of theirs. It was all on him.

Had he always been so serious, so grumpy? No. He blamed it on his schedule, on the role he’d worked so hard for and the one he now held. He had to keep it, and in order to soar he had to continue to work and damn all else. If there was another reason for his darkening mood he paid it no mind, ignoring it like one ignores a fly buzzing, near-dead in a window frame. That fly would soon be completely dead, its wings no longer an incessant annoyance. Blaize was banking on the mood to simply just go away.

But this wasn’t just anyone who’d come to join him in his personal space. This was Lyonel. Ask anyone from his youth and they’d tell you Blaize was straight as an arrow but there was something about this suave, graceful vampire that had him stopping in his tracks. There was an odd urge to go and curl himself up at Lyonel’s feet, to rest his head in his sire’s lap like a loyal dog happy that its master had returned.

Rather than do either of them the disservice of such an embarrassing display, however, Blaize merely cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against one of the nearby bars.

”To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, seeking after the reason for Lyonel’s visit. Perhaps there was no reason. The guy had given Blaize nothing beyond an unnerving silence beyond his agreement, a silence that Blaize sought to fill.

[Lyonel]

“You owe nothing.”

The words could not ring more true than when Lyonel spoke them. His height folded to sit down in one of the many seats lining the wall in the penthouse dance studio. The slide of his cool bare soles over the resilient wood proved to be soothing as he expected it would. Enough so that he brought his long legs back toward him to feel it again. The beauty of the detailing beneath his moving feet did its work to hide the foam blocks that were essential in supporting the sub floor. It was the fine quality that could have one or a full company of dancers landing repeatedly without increased risk to injuries from regular hard surfaces that proved to be hazardous. Nothing but the best came to mind as his eyes shifted from the floor to the one who was worth any price required to keep him safe from any potential harm.

“Call me selfish but the pleasure is mine.” His arms stretched like cotton covered wings that spanned wider than usual due to his killer height. Each hand settled on the back of a chair and his backside eased just enough in the leather cradle of cushion beneath him. “Come and sit if you can spare the time.”

His head slowly dipped to the side avoiding the appearance of a sharp cocking. Instead he was subtle and relaxed lacking the pretension of assuming his swan would do whatever he pleased. As tempting as the dancer was the closer he was to Lyonel’s reach he would want anything but that. Blaize held a fire in the pits of his soul that captured something within Lyon that very well could take the rest of their shared eternity to fully understand. Simply put Lyonel savored the challenge Blaize delivered from the first moment he set eyes on him. For that to fade or be lost would be a tragedy to both of them.

“You need a drink?” His eyes took stock in what he watched closely searching for any needs that were lingering that could be met. Drink was one way to put it. Tactfully open, if needed, was the intention.

[Blaize]

Time was a commodity, and though Blaize would say he could spare none, in actual fact he could spare quite a lot. Not just because he was immortal, and whatever chances he lost could be reached for again and again, over and over. And this chance wasn’t even slipping through his fingers. The dancer trained because it was all that he knew, and there were no limits now. Each night he could push himself further before fatigue took hold. He didn’t feel like the practice was doing anything until he felt his muscles give out and his eyes wanting to close.

Tonight, he hadn’t yet reached that point. If it were anyone else, he’d have told them so. He’d have asked for a raincheck that he’d never fill, keep putting off any future meetings until the other person gave up. It was no wonder the guy rarely got laid on the regular – only when he felt that pent-up steam needed to be released.

”I think the pleasure can be shared, don’t you? Mutual,” he said with gesture from his own chest to Lyonel’s and back again. He meandered across the floor of the studio and resisted the urge to sit right there beneath Lyonel’s spread wing. He instead took the seat just beyond Lyonel’s fingertips. He was cool as ever.

”I need nothing,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him, curling his toes. There should have been a familiar ache attached to his muscles, a bone-deep pain that proved the pounding hard work he’d put himself through. But there was no ache, no pain. Whatever bruises his muscles sustained were immediately healed by the magic rushing through his veins. This was the reason he wanted to get up again, to keep going. Instead, he stayed where he was, still stretching, unable to keep still. He pulled his right leg up to his chest and pulled, and repeated the same with his left leg.

”If you want one though, feel free…” he said, vaguely waving toward the door, suggesting that Lyonel could go get a bag of blood or… whatever it was that he needed. Blaize would not stop him.

[Lyonel]

Lyonel made no attempts to move from where he sat. If anything he appeared to settle in even more like he planned to be there a while. Given his schedule was cleared he could do just that. He was home and that would be reasonable. While he took some measure of comfort in his surroundings he focused on his current company and remained intrigued at whatever the dancer did as if he was witnessing it for the first time. The length of his finger curled up like an inchworm making its way slow but sure. It stretched back out and it was then that he had an idea.

“Have plans tonight?”

His hand left the chair where it rested and found that there was more than enough time left in the night to make it memorable. All work and no play really made for a boring West. Lyon certainly had his hours logged in that department. Too many to admit without sounding like he was decades older than he actually was. He was due for something different than the predictable and no better time than the present to make a change. His barefeet pulled back and his arms refrained from reaching down to take hold of what he planned on leaving behind. The chair was fine right where it was.

“If you do no big deal.” His steps took him towards the door until he appeared to be leaving. But that was not the case. Instead he turned on his bare heels and positioned each hand up on each side of the doorframe and made it seem smaller in comparison when he curled his fingers over the wood. “I wanted to take VEGAS out since it is getting to be that time of the year. I am told I should not attempt a few things on my own surprisingly enough.” His hands slid down the wood leaving the subtle hiss of his cool flesh gliding over an expertly crafted hardwood finish. “I believe it was determined I shouldn’t cook. Which really isn’t primary anymore but I have made the attempt on a few occasions all of which resulted in reasons I shouldn’t. The second would be taking out VEGAS alone. A friend of mine, actually make that two, believe I should never have been given the keys. So, you in or out?”

[Blaize]

The dancer watched as the man beside him, larger than life, first looked like he was settling in for the night and then stood up, headed for the door with an invitation on his lips. Lyonel didn’t strike Blaize as the restless type and nor did he even look restless. Every move was deliberate and graceful and yet there was a quiet haste to them. Like Lyonel didn’t want to hang around in the dance studio all night – which was exactly what Blaize had planned. The swan stood and, instead of taking a couple of steps toward his sire, he meandered toward the centre of the studio. He gestured toward the stereo and then to the space in general.

”I got a part. A lead. We’re touring soon – I need to practice,” he said. Even as the words rolled from his tongue, he wondered whether it were true. And, just as soon as he wondered it, he knew that it was. This was how Blaize had spent his life, and why his siblings and parents rarely called him. They had given up. He’d always declined their invitations, and though they came to see him when he performed and they passed the usual pleasantries, they knew that their brother and son was generally too busy for them. It was habit, and it was easy now, to say no. Even to someone alluring as Lyonel.

It was strange, this sensation Blaize had, like he didn’t want the other man to leave the room. It was a sensation that Blaize fought against. He had always been independent, and he wasn’t going to stop now.

”… why aren’t you allowed to take the boat out alone?” he asked. How couldn’t he? His curiosity was suddenly piqued. He understood Lyonel to be… well, what he knew of his sire was strength and direction, the ability to put the independent and wild dancer in his place. Did he not actually know how to drive a boat? ”I’m not sure you’re going to convince me to get on a boat with you if you don’t know how to drive it…”

[Lyonel]

“Then a rain check it is. Congratulations on the part.” He patted his hands at the hardwood surface of the door frame beneath his fingers. Lyonel couldn’t help but find amusement in Blaize’s pointed response at not being so willing to take the ride with him after what he revealed about his friends. “Handling a boat like VEGAS isn’t something you pick up on Wiki how to. Takes more than a set of keys to make her follow her captain’s command. She was in rough shape when I came across her. A lot of time and attention went into making her what she is now.”

Lyonel used the seconds he stood still looking at Blaize to take in all that was not being said. Yes, the swan had his priorities and a leisurely night ride in a boat was hardly something that he expected the dancer to fit into his strict and rigid routine. His career was successful for a reason and the dedication he applied to it was key. Lyon nodded with acceptance. It was still worth extending the invitation regardless of the expected decline on the young vampire’s behalf.

It was then that taller than average vampire discovered something well hidden beneath the exposure of the lighting. From the angle of his view he realized the skin that he found enticing was appearing in more need than usual. Compromised perhaps. A sense of concern that was not easily found in the killer surfaced just as he was about to pull his gaze back to the hall that would lead him out of the room and from Blaize’s sight.

“Have you been taking the time to replenish yourself?”

If anyone could see when one of their kind was worn down more than reasonable it was him. Especially if they were blood to him and Blaize certainly was. It was something that kept him on his own two feet through his own trials and errors. He cut it close many times with his moments of questioning and found out more than once the hard way. Blood was crucial and vital. More so than for the humans that were the more often than not sought out source. His mention of going on tour only emphasized what he was finding increasingly difficult to brush off. Lyonel wasn’t going anywhere until they discussed it.

Could it be? Was Blaize knowingly neglecting his most basic need?