From: "eve_marie78" <umdutto3@cc.umanitoba.ca>

To: <ravenawards@yahoogroups.com>

Subject: [ravenawards] Primus: "Reckless Pantomime" part 01/01

Date: Saturday, December 29, 2001 8:55 PM

This came into being as the result of a writing exercise I did with a

friend, then grew and metamorphosed into... whatever this is. When

all was said and done, there wasn't much else left to do but post. ;)

The title is from a song called "Out of Bounds" by Amanda Marshall.

To see the lyrics, check out my videos site at

http://www.angelfire.com/mb/malecandra/fkvideos.html . To hear the

song, visit http://www.amandamarshall.com, or better still, buy the

album "Tuesday's Child".

"Reckless Pantomime"

by Eve

His days were mostly the same:

Intermittent slumber, waking with blood-sweat pearled on his upper

lip, her name still echoing in the empty room as he rocketed back to

consciousness, weak with hunger and need. He sought the cold comfort

of a bottle, rather than the warmth she might offer if only he asked.

He would not ask.

He always heard Natalie before he saw her, of course; heard the

quickening of the sweet nectar in her veins as the elevator ascended.

Her heart usually beat fast in the first, uncertain moments after her

arrival, then gradually slowed as it became clear that neither of

them intended to deviate from the set pattern: a video, a discussion,

a drink, occasionally a drive if the weather was nice, and then, as

the first rosy fingers of dawn streaked the sky, she would leave him

to his empty bed and his empty bottles. And his dreams.

He had promised the life of a non-existent being in exchange for his

sister's innocence. But now his mortal love had a name, and a face.

And LaCroix knew them. He had taken a foolish chance, and nearly

forfeited one or both of their lives for it. Now, he loved her in

dreams, in all the ways he would never be able to in reality. There,

he touched her without fear of stirring the monster within him--the

traitor beneath his skin and behind his eyes that stood ready to

surface and take her, without warning. It wanted her, too.

Today was different, however.

Today, she had not gone home.

It started so innocently: "Nick, look, it's snowing outside!"

Contentedly shuttered away within, they had ignored the raging

blizzard. The video was a heady little French comedy, her choice.

They had both smiled throughout, but Nick's mirth had been occasioned

more by Natalie's reactions than anything on the screen. Her knowing

murmurs and soft gasps of surprise, the way she tried to muffle an

unexpected giggle with her fingertips--he found every sound, every

movement, equally endearing.

He'd said goodbye to her as usual, pressing a kiss into her hair and

wishing her pleasant dreams. (Dreams!) He had already changed into

his pajamas and closed the shutters when she buzzed the intercom.

"My car's snowed in," she called up.

The entire street was inundated, and, not being a residential area or

a snow route, would likely remain that way most of the day. He would

have flown her home, but the sun had already risen. Natalie,

shivering, offered to walk out to the nearest bus stop. It was an

offer whose selflessness touched him, as so many of her acts of

kindness did. Even as he was touched, the monster was stirred into

awareness. Here was an opportunity, perhaps the one it had been

waiting for.

"You'll just have to stay," he remarked pleasantly, masking his fear

and frustration for her sake.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course." He wasn't. "Let me find you something to sleep in."

When he came downstairs with a button-down shirt and a pair of cotton

pajama pants, he could sense her disappointment--she had expected

something a little more... personal. But even the thought of her in

one of his own black silk pajama tops strained his control almost to

the breaking point. Best not to risk it. He also brought her a pair

of warm socks; she always found the loft too cold. She had given him

the socks as a Christmas present, but he'd never worn them,

preferring the feel of the chill floor beneath his feet.

"You can turn the thermostat up if you like," he told her.

She admired his red brocade dressing gown. He thanked her, wisely

electing not to let on that it had been a gift from Janette. After

all, it was a very intimate sort of present, and far more expensive

than the socks. Natalie's gift was both idealistic and sweetly

practical; she had given him something she hoped he would need in the

future. Janette's gift was an unspoken, sensualist claim on his body

and affections: when she'd presented it to him, she'd whispered in

his ear that she intended for him to model it later. And when she

spent the day with him--an increasingly unlikely occurrence these

days--she wore it around the apartment, despite the fact that she was

never troubled by such petty mortal concerns as temperature or

modesty.

He idled at the piano while Natalie used the bathroom. She returned,

face scrubbed free of makeup, hair pulled back, looking impossibly

young and tiny in the borrowed clothes. Vulnerable, almost shockingly

so. She sat beside him on the piano bench, her back to the

instrument, their hips touching. She was so fresh, so warm. He felt

the familiar ache in his jaw, canines threatening to descend.

Determined to ignore the monster's resurgent interest in her, he bent

with renewed attention over the keys. She listened as he finished the

piece--one of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsodies, as he informed her

afterwards. She yawned, noting absently that what she knew about

classical music could probably be written out in the palm of her hand.

"Tired?" he asked.

With uncharacteristic timidity, she remarked that she should be fine

on the couch. He did not dissuade her, even though he knew she must

have been hurt by his swift acquiescence. He brought blankets, and

placed the remote for the blinds within easy reach. He needed to be

sure she was safe. Finally, he planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Good night, Nick," she whispered. She always said 'good night', even

though it was morning. He felt particularly charmed by this, without

really even knowing why. He smiled, adjusted the thermostat for her,

and went upstairs to bed.

He thought he would never sleep, but the dream overtook him before

very long. He dreamed touching every inch of her, so warm and soft

and unafraid. Dreamed her eyes, a gaze like drowning. Dreamed her

hair, loose and sweetly scented, trailing over his bare skin. Dreamed

dappled sunlight and gentle sighs--*Nick, please... please...* he

spoke the words with her, a silent prayer that the dream might last

just a few moments longer... just... a few... *oh, please...*

Then he snapped into consciousness, and the sunlight was gone.

But she was still there.

"Natalie." The name more felt than spoken. *Natalie.*

She was lying beside him, her warmth nestled into the crook of his

outstretched arm, one hand on his chest. She started at the sound of

his voice, and sat up. He noted, with a thrill of very human desire,

that she had discarded the pajama pants at some point, and wore only

the shirt he'd provided. The top two buttons were undone, exposing

the curve of her neck and shoulders to be devoured by his hungry

gaze. The rapid rise and fall of her chest, the soft flutter of her

warm breath on his face, entranced him... he couldn't have moved

away, even if he had wanted to.

"I had a nightmare," she whispered. Her heartbeat thundered through

him, a blush blooming across her fair skin. "I dreamed something had

happened to you, and I needed... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I--

I'll just go."

"Natalie," he repeated, giving more voice to it now.

She stopped talking, stopped breathing. Her lips parted, ever so

slightly, and she began to tremble. He reached up and gently stroked

her cheek, wanting to reassure her that she had nothing to fear from

him. But when the trembling didn't cease, Nick realized that it

wasn't fear at all. That she wanted him every bit as much as he did

her, wherever it might lead.

He touched her lips, reveling in their warmth and softness. He

couldn't shake the lingering feeling that any moment he would awaken,

alone and ravenous. Her eyes were wide, amazed, as though she could

hardly believe it herself.

"I should go," she said, with almost no conviction, and began easing

off the bed.

"I wish you wouldn't," he told her. She opened her mouth to reply,

and he captured it with his own.

Never, in the dreams, had she responded so forcefully. He had begun

the onslaught, but it was she who overpowered and mastered him. He

was almost afraid to touch her--afraid that she would dissolve, as

his dream-Natalie always did. Or, perhaps, afraid that she wouldn't.

Her mouth opened to him and she drank him, greedily, the way he had

always imagined drinking her. She clutched at him and bore him down

on top of her, one hand grasping his shoulder, the other burying

itself in his hair. She spoke into his kiss, sounds that at first

were only inarticulate moans, but which gradually resolved themselves

into words.

She was saying his name

*nick please*

and then she was saying, "I love you."

He had known that, of course. The fact that she was willing be the

first to say it now touched him almost to the point of tears. And the

fact that she had come to him at all touched him in another, far

different place. A much more dangerous one.

He broke the kiss gently, rolling away from her and sitting up. "You

were right, Nat."

She sat up and closed the distance. "I was?"

"Yeah. You should go."

Her eyes, so blue, became crystalline. She nodded and looked down,

obviously not trusting herself to speak. He placed his hand under her

chin and tilted it upwards until she couldn't help but look into his

eyes. He could see their amber glow reflected in her own, and he knew

she understood.

"Thank you," he told her, speaking around his descended canines. Not

the words he wanted to say, but the only ones he could afford, apart

from I'm sorry. And she didn't need to hear that. Not tonight.

She looked dazed and pained, as if he had awakened her with a

slap. "Okay," she whispered, and blinked away the tears. She

wouldn't cry if she could help it; she had always prided herself on

her strength in that regard. "Okay, Nick."

Even his name in her mouth only served to intensify the ache within

him, called forth echoes of her longing

*nickpleasenickohnickiloveyounick*

and his own. He looked away again, ashamed of what he was, and

disconcerted that he could have tried to take comfort from her in the

way that would most endanger her life. He waited for her to leave,

but instead, she drew closer to him, and gently placed one hand on

his shoulder. Embers became bright flames, devouring him from inside.

"I'm not sorry," she whispered.

He didn't say anything, didn't move, just silently pleaded with her

to go. He knew that he didn't have the strength to hold back much

longer, and that one single, plaintive word from her would bring

everything crashing down around them. She removed her hand, no doubt

taking stock of the tension in his muscles and the steely rigidity of

his frame, and quietly slipped away. Before long he detected the

whirring of the mechanized blinds in the room below.

He lay back on the bed, his body sticky with blood-sweat. He

considered biting into his hand--something he hated doing because it

brought only temporary relief, and inevitably intensified the

loneliness and pain he felt. His senses were so incredibly acute that

he could smell Natalie, even from this distance, in addition to being

tormented by the rapid pounding of her heart. With a start, he

realized that the sound was approaching.

"Natalie!" It was only a whisper, but the effort of it ripped through

his body like a scream. "Don't..."

There were a few soft noises outside the door--perhaps she was going

to lock it from the outside. That was Natalie, he reasoned. So

pragmatic. My Natalie, the monster added, its urgent, predatory

desire a parody of tenderness. My sweet Natalie. Come closer.

He felt her retreat to the living room, and as the sound and scent of

her lessened, he became aware of another, closer scent. Less

appealing. And bottled.

She had left bottles outside his door--three of them, proof that she

understood how tenuous his control had really been. He gulped messily

at the first one, but took care with the other two not to waste a

drop. The monster, having been fed, if not sated, stopped its

relentless clawing and clamouring. For the time being.

Disgusted with the state it had left him in, Nick stripped off the

bloody pajamas and showered without troubling to turn on the hot

water. Climbing back into the cool bed, he longed for Natalie still,

in a more human way. He wished he could fall asleep holding her,

warmed by her, but he knew she would not come back, even if he asked.

He would not ask.

Sometime in the afternoon, they cleared the street. He was ready to

feign sleep if he had to, but she didn't come up to say goodbye. She

left the borrowed clothes and blanket neatly folded on the couch,

still faintly infused with her warmth and gentle scent.

Another day's reckless pantomime, played out.

End (1/1)

Eve

umdutto3@cc.umanitoba.ca

------------------------ Yahoo! Groups Sponsor ---------------------~-->

Tiny Wireless Camera under $80!

Order Now! FREE VCR Commander!

Click Here - Only 1 Day Left!

http://us.click.yahoo.com/WoOlbB/7.PDAA/ySSFAA/LRMolB/TM

---------------------------------------------------------------------~->

Community email addresses:

Post message: ravenawards@onelist.com

Subscribe: ravenawards-subscribe@onelist.com

Unsubscribe: ravenawards-unsubscribe@onelist.com

List owner: ravenawards-owner@onelist.com

Shortcut URL to this page:

http://www.onelist.com/community/ravenawards

Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/