emptynight | We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

Current Location: Dru's Room - Daytime

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We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

Dawn was approaching when Thomas pulled back into the garage. Tired but full of warm contentment, he headed upstairs with every intention of falling asleep in his own bed, but as he passed Dru's door, he stopped. Something felt wrong, felt cold, and Thomas frowned, slipping quietly into the room. Finding her in a fitful, uneasy sleep, he stripped out of everything except boxers and slipped between the sheets next to her. She smelled of starlight and night air, with skin like ice. Not wanting to wake her, Thomas wrapped an arm around Dru, letting a trick of power bubble over his palm, radiating calm affection. Hoping it would be enough for now, he fell asleep.

((Tag Dru))

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Taking the elastics from Dru's hand, Thomas tied the pigtails, taking the opportunity to nibble at her now exposed neck. "I'm sorry for making you worry," he murmured against her throat. His hand twined through one pigtail, wrapping the dark silky length of it around his fingers.

She seemed fragile to his eyes, even more than normal, and Thomas kissed her cheek. "Your knife and I will take care of the faeries," He paused, wondering how to word what was bothering him. "Is there anything-- Do-- Is anything wrong, Dru?"

Despite the subject, these times were her favorite times. The ones where life seemed normal, and she was just herself. A dreamy girl sweetly ensnared by her lover. It was a nice spot of pretending. She yelped at his nibble, and unsuccessfully batted at the hand that wrapped around her pigtail. She tilted her head to favor it, and her smile was mildly stern. "Of course you are sorry you naughty disasterous thing. Kisses and light bondage will do you no good with me."

It was true though. What he thought. In the face of questions about the Fae, Drusilla looked more than fragile. It hid the hard steel underneath. She had seen him hurt, and would not stand for it. She liked the pixies- to a point. "Are you asking me to See for you Thomas?" She trailed a finger down his throat and over his chest, watching the invisible pattern she traced. "Or are you asking me if I have Seen?"

"No!"

The answer came out perhaps a little more vehemently than Thomas had intended but there it was. He caught Dru's hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. "No," he repeated, softer this time. "I don't want you to See for me if you can help it." His fingers twined with hers and Thomas looked down at their hands. "You just looked... sad when I mentioned the pixies," he explained. "I didn't want to think Edward and I being gullible would make you upset."

At his words she rocked backwards, her eyes just a little shocked. Drusilla hadn't expected Thomas to be so adamant. Not that she wanted to See for him. In fact she wasn't even sure she could if she tried.

"I do not trust the ones that are cold. Or the ones that are- Nevermind. You both should have known. Could you not taste the air?"

It tastes like sticking ice on your tongue. It tastes like frost in your heart. Beautiful frost that stops the world. And they whisper when you are lost and so far gone. Drusilla unwound their hands to press them to her temples. The thoughts were coming far to fast again, and she had to concentrate on what she wanted to say.

"I do not want you to be hurt Thomas. I would be very upset if something were to happen to you. It would hurt me." The thought seemed to send her adrift for some time until Drusilla took up his hands again. "And then, I would have to hurt other people. A lot."

"The air tasted like blood and desire and Edward," Thomas said with a hopeless little shrug. Then Dru pulled away, pressing her hands to her temples as if physically blocking the voices, the thoughts, out.

Her words sent a chill down Thomas' spine and he looked at Dru as if seeing her for the first time. Beauty and danger, a blood red rose with shining steel thorns. He shook the image away and rested his forehead against hers. "Maybe I should let you choose who I feed from," he said, keeping his voice light. "The Drusilla approved ones can wear those "Safe to Eat" stickers."

There was a moment of silence in which Thomas felt flickers of emotions against Dru's skin. "If you want quiet, Dru, all you have to do is tell me," he said softly.

If they touched him again, she'd strip their pretty wings and wear their pretty claws as a necklace. If they touched him or anyone else he adored. They adored. It was important to keep him safe. Drusilla had the feeling that he never really felt safe.

"No," she said with a wan smile. She slid down so that she could lie on his chest. "You may eat whoever you like however you like. I only worry Thomas. I worry because you seem so hunted sometimes. Like when-" She heard voices. Or felt colors against her face. Or when her madness seemed ready to swallow her. And tonight she was ready to let it.

When Thomas spoke it cut through the vines with a clear sharp slice. Drusilla looked up and almost could not say it. She could not ask. "Please," she began tugging a little at her own pigtail. "It is very loud and it is hard to chide you when all I can hear is the whisper of walls and the chatter of the book beneath the bed to the very nice- Nevermind. It is just very loud."

Something inside him twisted at the sound of her voice, so nearly overwhelmed by things he couldn't see. The Hunger pooled in his fingertips, on his lips, and Thomas pulled Dru to him, kissed her with light touches and slow exploration. With every touch of lips and hands, one tracing the curve of her neck and the other ghosting up her spine, the Hunger peeled a thread away from the cocoon of madness that wrapped around Dru.

It had been a long time since the night Drusilla spun flame and heat from her madness. She had been more than happy to invent something for Edward out of the fabric of her mind. But she never thought to do it for Thomas. His mind seemed so closed, and Drusilla wouldn't dare pry. He enjoyed his secrets, or rather he did not.

As the threads of madness wrapped away from her, Drusilla struggled not to think. Lest last night repeat itself. With the dissappearance of each shimmering whisper of bars and blood, another replaced it, wrapping around her tighter.

Everything has been so light, she wanted everything to be light. Didn't want to tie him up in things that threatened to spill out of her mouth. Visions and words. Bits of the future he didn't want to know about, events she didn't want to know about either.

So she kept things light, struggled to focus on the way Thomas' lips felt. Drusilla became conscious of his flesh hard supple. Tried to and succeded in delighting the feel of the crook of his arm, the bones of his hips. Dreams of cups and spilled wine tore through her, and her mind threatened to retreat to its familiar tower, ivy clogged and whispering things she didn't want to hear. Threading her fingers through his hair and over his cheek, she sighed on his lips. Drusilla would let Thomas ground her, and spin silk for them both.

Every thread of madness dissolved into power as it touched Thomas' skin, sinking into his veins. It was hard not to play when so much power sang beneath his skin, so he did. Every touch coaxed calm and tranquility to the surface. His fingers touched dissonant strings of worry and guilt and their melodies faded away. Threads of warmth and affection appeared beneath his hands and Thomas urged them to sing.

It was a war Thomas knew he could never win, but he fought it anyway, just trying to stay ahead, spinning emotions to desire and quiet before doubt and fear could intrude. Resting Dru back against the bed, her dark hair spilled across the pillows, he played for her, affection singing contralto with desire in alto harmony. And something more, something quiet and warm that he could never name, something he didn't even know he evoked, trilled soprano to send her soaring.

The gown would have been inconsequential. Her fingers barely remembered how to shrug it off. Sliding the silk off her shoulders. Wriggling out of it while softly arching. Drusilla dropped it into a puddle of sunlight.

And it ceased to be. Melted away exactly like the threads of madness Thomas pulled from her. She did the same to his boxers. Just to see if she could. Twist them away like Thomas twisted away the dead clutching vines that choked her throat. They curled and dissolved like opium smoke.

Everything about Drusilla was warm and hazy, slow and heady. It took more than skill to make her that way. It took care.

It never occurred to her that anyone could use that ability for harm. Not when he played upon her skin and on her heart. Coaxing out beautiful moans with the briefest of touches. It never occurred to her that anyone was watching. Recording every sigh and bitten lip.

How quiet everything seemed. How soft and subtle the music in her ears. Not a din of crashing cymbals and nasty little mismatched notes.
The kisses here were not devouring. Drusilla had no need for them. Or wrenched skin. It was shocking that she could be so gentle. Not weak, never weak. There was power spiraling out of her with no sense of stopping. Begging to be taken. To not just be had, but to be shared, willingly.

Her legs were wrapped in the white and red sheets, and for the life of her she felt nothing but pleasure and an unquenchable desire. For once Drusilla's hair did not cover her face when she opened her eyes, but the pigtails had become messy, and she pulled them from her mouth to bring him closer. Slim pale hands hands wanted to pull his hips toward her. Ask very politely to be sunk into. But she had the feeling he already knew. Thomas never needed the words.

There didn't have to be words. Just pure decadent silence.

If Thomas' mind had been filled with anything less than Drusilla, he would have noticed the fact that his boxers had just dissolved into smoke, and that would have bothered him. As it were, all he was aware of was Dru, inviting and heady. Quiet was stretching, a song sung by a hundred voices blended into one fluid tune, and everything felt slow, indulgent. Thomas sank into Dru with a barely heard sigh, feeling her soft and pliant beneath him, and knew that this wasn't a mindless keening docility of his making.

The knowledge strengthened him and Thomas moved against Dru slowly, hips rocking against hers in counterpoint to the touch of her lips against his. This was a moment to be savoured, remembered. Silence reigned and power curled around him like sweet, intoxicating smoke. Every stroke, every motion was its own song of desire and silence, of beauty and goodness, yet it was a metronome, a timer ticking down to inevitable end, to sweet release and the moment when silence would begin to fade.

There was no need for her to rend. To slice his back with sharp nails. There was no desire to mark or be marked. Just an easy quiet pleasure. Drusilla paid careful attention to every stroke and touch of finger tips. She thought. Catalogued care in every quiet breath.

It was brilliant, this brief touch of silence and near sanity. There was rawer pleasure most certainly, in the thrusting of hips and the feeling of being filled. The languid smile on her lips had nothing to do with that.

It had everything to do with Thomas. And when the song began to end, and the world began to unravel again, Drusilla did not bite. Blood would taint it, and all she wanted to do was laugh. It couldn't be helped. It was a sweet tripping laughter without a hint of madness. No screams, no rending just satisfied delight.

She watched him with words often said and danced around obviously in her eyes. The only thing the sunny depths lacked, was insanity. The tiny glint of a bramble filled mind.When Drusilla blinked, her mind was tangled, but peaceful. Words tumbled towards her lips, but in the interest of preserving the moment, she kept them to herself.

No screams. No blood. No keening release. Just a near-perfect moment of sweet completion. Thomas smiled and kissed Dru again, swallowing her laughter like some shining thing to be savoured. His eyes met hers, storm grey dancing with flecks of metallic silver, and he smiled wordlessly, holding onto the silence.

His hands caressed her cheek, traced the curve of Dru's jaw and twined into her hair as the silence faded, like fog evaporating in sunlight. "I--" Something flickered over his face and Thomas shook his head, banishing some secret flight of fancy. "Will you still chide me now, dear Dru?" he asked instead.

It was gone. Just like that. But the world wasn't clambering in. the visions weren't stealing her thoughts. It wasn't so loud. Her body arched to his fingers, like one getting pretty discordant notes from running over the strings of a harp.

Fancy was her specialty. Especially now that she looked more sweet than terrible. A sigh escaped her lips before she dared respond. Coherency was struggled enough for that she bit her bottom lip.

Stars in the daylight. Milk and cream. Laying here tastes like milk and cream and sweetness in my mouth when there have only been ashes. Ashes. I should not taste of fire and ashes. That is not for me I think.

Her hands brushed against the tops of his thighs, and thing felt a little more in step. "I cannot chide you Thomas, look at me. Do I look like I have any harsh words for you on my tongue? Shall I stick it out? Show you that nothing is written there?"

Her laugh was small, and held a touch of the bittersweet. "I only want you to watch yourself my darling. I care for you."

His laugh echoed hers, soft with a touch of melancholy. "I--" Thomas shook his head; the words were so small, so inconsequential almost, and yet he couldn't say them. "I'll be careful," he said instead, kissing Dru's forehead.

A glance at the window showed Thomas that the sun was still high in the sky. "Shall we sleep again, dear Dru?" he asked, fingers dancing over her skin, pale and soft like milk and cream. "Quiet and dreaming of nothing but things that make you smile?"

"You always say that Thomas. But we still worry." Drusilla pulled at a pigtail, chewing at the end. She slid over just aa bit, grateful for the large circular bed. Her hands moved through the fabric from the canopy, taking in the fleeting feel of of the guaze. It was so light. Tonight must be lightness. Had to be.

The sun played pretty havoc on her features. The tempered glass allowed Thomas a rare glimpse. Drusilla looked rather pretty in the sunlight. Eyes already closed, and body languidly stretched out. "Of course Thomas," she yawned, pulling him down to her with a sleepy laugh. "I feel I will dream many more things in the warm sun. Though they may not make me smile." A noticably wamer hand wrapped around his waist, and despite her words, Drusilla looked at peace. "But at least they will be quiet."

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We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

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