Fallen Blood Roses
folder
Vampire › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,262
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Vampire › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
2,262
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Staircase
The melodious thumping finally ceased, and brushing off her thick coat, she closed her eyes, and smoothed back her dark curls. Anne bit her lip..hard, stopping only before drawing blood. Cat like, she edged silently off the stairs, and climbed the final three.... Sighing, she reached for the bronze doorknob, and twisted it. Locked, it was of course, everything was, for the 'manor lord', as he enjoyed calling himself, was dark and private, his mind riddled with paranoia and an illusion of importance. No one cared where he dwelled, his enemies that did had long ago perished... Pulling out a simple hairpin, she placed it in the lock, opening it quickly, she entered the room, and shut the door not so quietly behind her.
James shivered, sensing her presence.... Michael met her eye, before closing the curtains, and blowing out the candles, leaving them all in darkness... "Just a moment," he whispered uneasily. Anne sat, her legs crossed, her coat flapping from the open window, simply waiting, her heel hitting the floor again and again...as she taped..and taped..and taped....
Her lack of patience guiding her fingers, she struck a match, and lit the candle nearest to her. The smell of tallow and fresh lemons filled the room... "Much better," she murmured breathing in. Anne stared down at the floor, counting the crevices, the slight dents, the imperfections, and in her mind, she imagined herself filling them, correcting them, restoring each and every blemish.
The light flickered, and died. Michael and James, pulled on their clothes slowly, finally sitting atop the bed, before James turned to once again light the candles on the left nightstand... They both watched Anne, looked at the annoyed expression on her face, watched the unlit cigarette dangle from her lips, drunk in her demeanor, her temperance, and her fire. Michael opened his mouth, but James quickly whispered to silence him. Anne, enjoying the attention finally interrupted the tenseness. "James?" she asked demurely, "I thought you were to meet me at the Cafe' de Chileans" at 12?" she questioned. " I waited for you until 1, and presumed you must be here," she snapped. James sighed, "Yes, I meant to, but we needed to discuss business, and I was here longer than I believed I would be," he answered quickly. "Business? Is that what its called now? Well I hope you got your money's worth," she spat at him. Michael simply looked at the back of his hands, counting his knuckles again and again, fighting not to rise to her bait. He loved James, and James loved Anne, and any strife between the two of them would crush him once again.
Anne was James' half sister, the bastard of his "un-admirable" Admiral father... Her mother had been a field nurse, and they'd met during the aftermath of a horrendous battle. Despite the dishonorable union, James' father had welcomed her in the household whenever her mother sent Anne. Anne, wild, big eyed Anne, would run the servants ragged, drove his mother to migraines and tears, and delighted his father.. Nearly everyone would breath a sigh of relief, when providence gave them rid of her, everyone except James, he'd morn her leave for weeks. Summers, and holidays were usually spent with them. As she got older, the house became a base, simply a place to change clothes, and re-apply her hair and makeup, for in minutes, she'd be off again, not coming back for weeks, simply going from friend's house to friend's house, drinking in the taste of the city, before departing once again.
Despite her cold nature, she had been his mentor. It was she who taught him how to write, not just scribble letters, but how to put his heart, soul, and passion into his work. She who instilled a sense of importance in the son of a far too busy father, and an absent and weak mother. She who awoke him at night to take him to the great opera houses, who payed for them to ride in carriages together as they ate sweet meats and drunk in the darkness of the night. Anne, sly, manipulative Anne to the world, to him was caring, sweet, loving, and the only mother he'd even known. Only when they were together, did Michael witness an ounce of tenderness or humanity from her. Michael knew he must tolerate her, and that James adored her above all others... For it was she, who had decided to share with him a troublesome yet everlasting gift.....A demonic saint she was, a child like beauty, with abusing wit, and a silvery tongue....
"You look pale, Michael," Anne interrupted the silence. James giggled, and together they chuckled at the overused joke. Michael merely smiled thinly, and stared out the window. "Well, since you were supposed to have met at 1, I suppose I'll leave you two alone," Michael rose, waiting for James to insist he could stay, but never receiving the message ventured closer to the door. Anne and James nodded, and she joined him by the bed. "Yes, James...the trustees of father's estate believe..." Michael heard her voice trail, as he closed the door behind him, creaking down the narrow staircase, past the first floor, and down into the musty basement.
if you like..please let me know. feedback is appreciated.
James shivered, sensing her presence.... Michael met her eye, before closing the curtains, and blowing out the candles, leaving them all in darkness... "Just a moment," he whispered uneasily. Anne sat, her legs crossed, her coat flapping from the open window, simply waiting, her heel hitting the floor again and again...as she taped..and taped..and taped....
Her lack of patience guiding her fingers, she struck a match, and lit the candle nearest to her. The smell of tallow and fresh lemons filled the room... "Much better," she murmured breathing in. Anne stared down at the floor, counting the crevices, the slight dents, the imperfections, and in her mind, she imagined herself filling them, correcting them, restoring each and every blemish.
The light flickered, and died. Michael and James, pulled on their clothes slowly, finally sitting atop the bed, before James turned to once again light the candles on the left nightstand... They both watched Anne, looked at the annoyed expression on her face, watched the unlit cigarette dangle from her lips, drunk in her demeanor, her temperance, and her fire. Michael opened his mouth, but James quickly whispered to silence him. Anne, enjoying the attention finally interrupted the tenseness. "James?" she asked demurely, "I thought you were to meet me at the Cafe' de Chileans" at 12?" she questioned. " I waited for you until 1, and presumed you must be here," she snapped. James sighed, "Yes, I meant to, but we needed to discuss business, and I was here longer than I believed I would be," he answered quickly. "Business? Is that what its called now? Well I hope you got your money's worth," she spat at him. Michael simply looked at the back of his hands, counting his knuckles again and again, fighting not to rise to her bait. He loved James, and James loved Anne, and any strife between the two of them would crush him once again.
Anne was James' half sister, the bastard of his "un-admirable" Admiral father... Her mother had been a field nurse, and they'd met during the aftermath of a horrendous battle. Despite the dishonorable union, James' father had welcomed her in the household whenever her mother sent Anne. Anne, wild, big eyed Anne, would run the servants ragged, drove his mother to migraines and tears, and delighted his father.. Nearly everyone would breath a sigh of relief, when providence gave them rid of her, everyone except James, he'd morn her leave for weeks. Summers, and holidays were usually spent with them. As she got older, the house became a base, simply a place to change clothes, and re-apply her hair and makeup, for in minutes, she'd be off again, not coming back for weeks, simply going from friend's house to friend's house, drinking in the taste of the city, before departing once again.
Despite her cold nature, she had been his mentor. It was she who taught him how to write, not just scribble letters, but how to put his heart, soul, and passion into his work. She who instilled a sense of importance in the son of a far too busy father, and an absent and weak mother. She who awoke him at night to take him to the great opera houses, who payed for them to ride in carriages together as they ate sweet meats and drunk in the darkness of the night. Anne, sly, manipulative Anne to the world, to him was caring, sweet, loving, and the only mother he'd even known. Only when they were together, did Michael witness an ounce of tenderness or humanity from her. Michael knew he must tolerate her, and that James adored her above all others... For it was she, who had decided to share with him a troublesome yet everlasting gift.....A demonic saint she was, a child like beauty, with abusing wit, and a silvery tongue....
"You look pale, Michael," Anne interrupted the silence. James giggled, and together they chuckled at the overused joke. Michael merely smiled thinly, and stared out the window. "Well, since you were supposed to have met at 1, I suppose I'll leave you two alone," Michael rose, waiting for James to insist he could stay, but never receiving the message ventured closer to the door. Anne and James nodded, and she joined him by the bed. "Yes, James...the trustees of father's estate believe..." Michael heard her voice trail, as he closed the door behind him, creaking down the narrow staircase, past the first floor, and down into the musty basement.
if you like..please let me know. feedback is appreciated.