Dalliance

Dalliance:- A short Affair.
Every time Marcel falls in love since the year 1665, has been a flicker in his existence. He has lost everything and can just about hold what he has left breathing in this world; everything else had been ripped from him. Jorik suggests something utterly ghastly; what can he do but be dragged along in this rediscovery of love. Yet everything comes down to a dalliance when you're immortal.

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1. C H I C K W E E D

The flowers died on Monday: the cat died that following Tuesday. On the bureau, to the side of the room where the window shredded two large rectangles of light, there was a wilting sunflower head. It had become eerily brown. From the stem came a sweet scent that flooded the room as it’s occupant returned to the double bed. He perched on the edge speckled in mud and clearly exhausted; under his eyes were two large dark purple bags and his pale skin seemed to mold to his skull as if all flesh had vanished to leave a layer of pallid skin.

For him it was just another grave dug and filled in what seemed to the man like mere seconds. It wasn’t his first cat or his first burial; he supposed it wouldn’t be his last in his extended lifetime. He sniffed and then wiped his nose against his forearm in a spot that to him was clean enough, before unbuttoning his shirt. He knocked his head to one side and peered at the digital clock. He had an hour until his shift started at the lab.

He supposed the death of his late cat was a good enough excuse to be twenty minutes late as he changed the deep purple shirt for a blood red one, that he snatched greedily out of his wardrobe. Hunger had begun to set in his bones as he replaced jeans with slacks and stuffed his personal artifacts into a duffel.

Before stepping out of the Victorian city house he dashed into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He moved round several bottles of wine and a pack of Marlboro, that really had no reason to be sat in the fridge; snatching at one of the remaining pouches at the back. Ordinarily, he would allow the red liquid to sit out for a few minutes. He felt the constriction and pulls of it; his body seeming to move by impulse rather than by will. He felt the familiar pain in his gums as his canines pulled out of the rather human shape to resemble stilettos. The points dug into the surface of his mouth, he opened wide as the plastic of the bag became an obstacle that was easily defeated by the four fangs.

It was a salivating flood of red that leaked into his mouth, a cocktail of truth and the very liqueur of life itself. He moaned into the plastic slowly draining it as he felt warmth and life rejuvenates his cold dead skin. With some aggression he slapped the plastic pouch down and began to stretch with feline like grace as he left once again for the empty hallway.

He snatched his keys from the hangers and shrugged on his lab coat making sure to click on his badge before sliding into the black dress coat. The house did not notice his departure and made no effort to say goodbye as the door clicked closed, shaking the foundations of the white house. He pulled at his BMW’s door and slid into the driver’s seat; rolling up his sleeves he swears under his breath at the muddy marks still up his arms and no doubt on his face. He guessed he would be having a longer stay in the locker room. He put his foot down and drove down and into the heart of the city.

The hospital appeared, rising up into a bare area of the city, it was old made of heavy red brick walls and concrete. He drove past these old things that were barely even a quarter the age of himself and went for a more modern building. It was a monolith of what science meant. The glass forced out panes of white light onto the pavement and as he parked he became increasingly tired and fed up. He could feel the encroaching loneliness in his heart.

The locker rooms for lab 3 were down the hall near the large fridges full of organs and blood and an array of other samples. It was like any other locker room or he supposed it was. The doors slid open to reveal the dark and cosy interior that was juxtaposed by the white outside. On one side three little dorms filled with single beds with two occupied and then an array of normal locker room things like lockers and mirrors. The man grimaced at his reflection as he went to locker 156B, he unlocked it and had a nosy, nothing had been added since yesterday. He then threw in the duffle and locked it. The door slammed against its metal frame.

“Hello Marcel." the voice was alluring sending a shiver over Marcels back as he pivoted only to feel a hand move across his chest.

The ginger that stood in front of Marcel was Jorik. He was a tall man who towered easily over him and stood lordly over all others. He had hair the colour of fox fur and wide aware amber eyes. For Marcel, Jorik sent shivers of need around his body. The pair had been mated for at least two centuries now but still could barely stand the other so the term was used loosely.

Jorik turned him round to face the locker quite roughly the considerably older creature gaining strength from years of practice. He heard the familiar snap of a hairband as the long dark copper brown strands were gathered into a hair tie. He could feel the other’s breath on his cheek as he came close to kiss him lips lingering.

“What has you in such a state old friend?” Jorik smiled, Marcel wondered what he looked like when he was that handsome Viking warrior of the past

“Just the fact eternity never stops.” Marcel was far too tired to fight off the sturdy arms with dark black runes pricked into his skin. He wondered what Da Vinci had thought about each marking and shape.

He was guided to a sink, where Jorik washed his arms. Before guiding him over to the lab, his station was no cleaner than it had been the night before but the pile of folders was a new addition. Marcel growled wiping one pale forearm across his forehead and setting upon the work like a greyhound on a rabbit.  

Chicken scratchings were left on the page in margins in bright red as he edited doctor’s notes on what he saw. Marcel didn’t like his job in the past centuries; he had lived some amazing lives along with Jorik. Yet this one was by far the worst out of them all and it was no real shock to him. He sighed deeply as he closed another folder and watched his human counterparts get to work finishing their pile. Time ticked by so that at once it was midnight and their shift was over.

‘Are you coming?’ Jorik grunted as he rested his hands on Marcel’s shoulders rubbing them slightly with an air of confidence ‘I have some samples to drop off.’’

In his hand Marcel was aware of three tubes of blood that had something mixed in, no doubt he was on some difficult test. He nodded his head and stood taking his own samples back into the large fridge. From a back pocket he pulled out a bag and opened it wide as Jorik edited the numbers on a supply chart to the left.Both vampires took enough blood for a week and stuffed it into the bag before clearing out into the locker room.

 

Jorik was quick to leap onto the ecstasy of their weekly raid, his pupils dilated wide as he approached his mate with wide arms and wolfish grin. If it wasn’t for a quick pushed hand against Jorik’s lips, the pair would be enraptured by heat. There was need and desperation in the older vampire’s eyes; he moved away from Marcel’s hand. Things were split and packed into bags as they walked out of the lab.       

"You’ll come to mine and stay the whole week won’t you?" Marcel said as he closed the gap between them.

"You never want me to stay more than a day." Jorik pointed out as he stood between their two cars.

"Please, I promise I won’t kick you out in the middle of the day" Marcel said softly closing the gap further and wrapping two arms around his neck.

"It is possible you should think about solving this problem permanently." Jorik said, pressing his lips against Marcel’s

"Our agreement won’t let me have a fledgling, and I can’t bunk with a mortal, can I?"

"Dr Jameson’s brother-in-law’s nephew requires a place." Jorik went for his phone and began to type out the words with his long stained black fingers against the cool glass of his phone.

"No, don’t be an idiot I can’t live with a human," Marcel waved his hands frantically trying to grasp the other’s attention "I’ll get another cat it’s fine who said I was that lonely."

"You require someone who will live a lifetime," Jorik’s typing had stopped and he quickly sent the message "There done expect him on some night this week."

Marcel growled and pulled his car door open and slammed it shut before starting it; there was a knock on the window as Jorik leaned in and smiled "I’m still coming to yours."

By the time the two met in the house both placing the blood in the silver fridge in Marcel’s kitchen their lips could not stay apart. With no need for oxygen a part from the comfort it gave the pair the two kissed for what seemed to them like seconds. Jorik’s hands had rooted themselves to Marcel’s left breast as he began massaging it deeply.

They clung to each other, sparks in a world that moved so fast and yet so slow; Jorik pulled him up and over his shoulder dropping onto the sheets of the bed. Marcel bounced for a few seconds before letting out a giggle as he watched the predator approach him.He was low and dangerous, Jorik working swiftly to rid him of his layers and engulfed him.

Strong displays of dominance and masculinity as the two fought, only for Marcel to be subdued and taken like a newlywed bride against thee end of the bed. Jorik growled the runes on his body shifting as each muscle in his body contracted. He grunted happily into the moaning male below him, whose legs were spread on the worn wood floor and body lay on the soft mattress. There was no moving for Marcel, he could barely shift against the strength that held him against the bed which moved in and out methodically.

He gasped and moaned at each thrust until the pair eventually came, Jorik pulled out allowing Marcel to crawl onto the bed. The smell of sex still flooding his veins with excitement; he grabbed at the purple shirt still on his floor from before and cleaned up too lazy to go to the shower. He stretched before falling back into the soft pillows, Jorik returned perfect in his nakedness; lying also on the bed passing a bag of blood to him with one lazy gesture. The pair drank without the same dark thirst but with a lazy fashion of playfulness that led to blood shots on each other.

Long make out sessions and lazy sex rounds eventually led to dawn. Both retreated to the coffin under the bed, Marcel lay down first before Jorik joined him pulling the lid tight shut. The two shared two great yawns as they settled in for the day only to wake at nightfall.

Jorik was the first to leave. The last beams of sunlight didn’t injure him as age had made him twice as strong as he would have been at Marcel’s age. The redhead also woke without much of a whine finding food and feeding almost automatically unlike Marcel. Marcel woke with a primal growl his hair stuck to his face in all sorts of angles as he hauled himself up and over the age of the coffin. He picked automatically at a bit of velvet as he felt life flood through his bones once again.

It was when Jorik returned holding a crystal class full to the brim with blood that the vampire stirred in such a serpentine way that every bone cracked. His hand opened and closed at Jorik in a ‘gimme’ fashion as the older man walked toward him passing the glass over. Four full gulps later and Marcel strode over to his closet to dress, there was a growl that came from Jorik.

"We should do something more than just lie around," Marcel threw his arms up after pulling up his jeans "Let’s go to the cinema!"

"I like lying around." Jorik said softly as he pulled on his own clothes from the night before watching the younger pull on a Beatles t-shirt. There was a large contrast in the formal work clothes and the casual clothes they both wore.

"Please Jorik," Marcel pleaded eyes puppy dog shaped and lip pouting "For me."

"Fine, we take my car and we go to my home before we go."

This wasn’t a big deal, immortality made you patient so Marcel just nodded and grabbed a trench coat from the hook by his bedroom door and herded his mate out and down the stairs.

It wasn’t long for them to find themselves at the foot Jorik’s apartment building. It was modern and glass but every pane was one way which made it loom and glower at those below. Marcel was led to the elevator and they went up and up until they reached the top.

It was an open-plan apartment with only two rooms, a bathroom and a bedroom. He had bought a storage unit just for the benefit of living a minimalist life. Marcel watched him disappear into a room and he strode about the flat to where the black fridge sat. Jorik always had champagne lying about, and Marcel wasn’t surprised to find a cheap bottle waiting in the fridge. He didn’t ask permission, their assets were the same by document and so with one strong pull on the cork he was lapping up the liquid. Being able to stomach alcohol was one of the best parts Marcel discovered during the seventeenth century when it had become a necessity.

"And who said you could have that?" The Viking had raised one eyebrow as he spoke.

"I did." Marcel smiled as he came close, he flicked his tongue against Jorik’s ear before pulling away giggling.

"You are such a child." the Viking stated taking the rest of the bottle and gulping it down in two large swallows.

"You married me," Marcel squeaked as he pulled at the Viking’s hand and escorted him out of the apartment "Hey, why did you never buy me a ring?"

"Shut up." Jorik said merely.

The champagne bottle had been left on the marble of the kitchen work service casting green shapes onto it as light ripple through it shifting constantly. The sunflowers were still dying, and the grave was still unmarked.

The pair didn’t spare a thought to any of it; they strutted the streets in a speed a little too fast to be human. Settled on a long night of fun. It was rare for the mates to hunt the streets together and yet both were always reminded to how fun it was.

In the dark ambience of the cinema, half drunk and spending more time snogging than watching Chris Pine make love faces in Wonder woman; they had settled down near the back and had given each other quite a few different kinds of jobs while trying not to gain attention from the others here. Eventually, they grew bored with the film although it could be agreed this had happened minutes ago.
"I’m bored," Marcel whispered quite badly as he leant into Jorik’s side "Do you want to ditch?"
"It was just getting good." Jorik had been trying unsuccessfully to pay attention to the film; after the third hand job the plot had begun to fade away.
"Come on lets go to a club." Marcel could be a brat when there was alcohol in his veins, transported back into the house of Philippe I among the sexual parties of the 1600s.
"Okay, lets go." Jorik bent to the will of the dark-haired vampire and how Marcel knew it. The grin he bore was shit eating and he led the way down the alley and out into the light of the foyer. It smelt of popcorn and cheap food cooked in salt water. Marcel was smiling half driven by a new-found ecstasy that came with the alcohol.
The club they went to was all bright lights and fancy drinks that both men made almost too graciously. It was twelve long island iced teas and Russian whites later when Marcel decided to go off dancing.
The place was crowded, and he parted it with a spread out arm, that pressed against the smalls of backs as he made his way to the floor. Glow Sticks and strobe lights made it clear that the hook was going to be the worst but something made him not care. It was in his bones to be far more indulgent that he possibly should be. He was brought up a good christian boy but that could all be forgotten as the music moved through him with a loud thump.
Marcel was a good dancer, he had learnt every style in the need to hold on to something and in the twenty-first century it was easier. He danced freely unattached to anyone, he looked back playfully at the form of Jorik knocking back whiskey and watching his mate with an air of warning.
Infidelity went with the pair like mayo went with chips; when it came down to it the arguments about it all were worse when the pair had been close for longer than about three hours. Marcel had always felt… faintly excited by it all. Jorik grew violent in his rage and he left marks that lasted nights offering cold shoulder and slaps when Marcel mewled his complaints. He remembered the worst argument the two had shared; a broken jaw had to be nursed for several days before he could talk again. There was never a pair so imperfect as the two vampires sharing the city but Marcel wouldn’t have any other.
It was with these arousing thoughts as he felt someone press against him with the same lazy fuck-boyish attitude that every male shared in this century. It reminded him of lions in a zoo whose mates had been provided without much effort; he didn’t mind much. He turned to face the charmer; he was a tall blond guy well built and with deep brown eyes.

"I bet you taste like chocolate." Marcel shouted as he stood on his tippy toes and pressed his lips against the shell of the mortal's ear.

"I’d bet you’d love to know," he taunted back as he bent down to kiss the corner of Marcel’s jaw, "I’d like to know what that pretty mouth of your’s can do?"

"Buy me a drink or five." Marcel stopping his grinding to stand a little way away from the blond. He swung his head back to look at Jorik’s glare before taking the newly offered hand to the VIP area.

This area was quiet and clean with the bar empty, he ordered something pink and watched the blond pay by offering a card in a rich boy manner.

"So what do you-," the blond began as he passed the drink over to Marcel.

"I don’t want this to be personal," Marcel watched a change in the boy's face as he set his hand down on his "I’m a married man but my husband, I despise him sometimes."  

"Urm… okay." he said this after draining the rest of the old-fashioned in one long gulp of the glass. The ice clinked against the glass as if the bell to a boxing match and the pair stood.

"My car is…" the blond began his innocence almost too much as Marcel pushes him into the gents.

The cubicles are clean and without the usual filth written on the stall, Marcel kicked down the toilet seat lid and push the blond to sit on top. Their lips met and the blond froze under the smaller man's force eventually kissing back; they were drunk beyond belief and as Marcel pulled away he saw the boy flush pink and try to hide his arousal.

"Oh, honey." Marcel purred his words slurring together as he bent down ‘So eager and young not like him at all’

He used one had to unbutton his jeans as the other slid in to caress him. This was no power match but a gentle art of sculpting them together, the boy took what Marcel gave; gasping against the vampire’s pale hand that had clapped around his mouth as he began his thrusts. The lad had no chance of being his usual self; no human male had the stamina of a vampire. By the time Marcel came, the boy had been left a dirty mess on top of the loo.

Marcel smiled like a wolf at the tired face that had dutifully sucked him off after. The vampire pitied the boy who was no better than a hooker at this point. His ears picked up on the angry slamming of glass against the bar mingled in with the music; smiling while rolling his neck and walking out with an air of predatory power.

By the time he joins Jorik, the vampire is heavily drunk and has to be guided back to his apartment. The ginger has an air of hate about him. At several points pushes himself away from Marcel only to end up leaning against a lamppost and needing more aid to move about.

Marcel thought it funny.

Jorik was growling around a glass of ice water partly sober. It didn’t take long for the ice to clink against the glass again.

The first punch was to the stomach, and the next was to the face. He screamed at Marcel for some time before turning him out on the street. All Marcel did was laugh.

Immortality was a task that needed the strongest and kindest people to complete it. Marcel Choiseul was not that being, he had been through too much to show and had watched many a death to really feel a grain of kindness. He walked home nursing a healing bruise and a grin the size of Russia; his house rose on an old street. He remembers the first time walking down it; with perfect black riding boots and a tall black top hat nursing a copy of the latest Charles Dickens’ novel and a bouquet of forget-me-nots for his sailor.

He had loved so many in his life; he is sure that his heart had only stopped when his last fledgling had been shot on the fields of Vietnam, caught in the bright light of the day.

Marcel just made it into the safety of his coffin when the sun rose.

 

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