emptynight | This is the night that never ends...

Vlad had seen Alice safely on the ground and into the house, but the sun wasn't quite up yet and he didn't intend on sleeping, anyway. Wandering the lower floor, out of his ridiculous greaser costume and into more of his usual style.

Barefoot, his hair wet from rinsing out the gel, Vlad padded downstairs, looking for someone interesting. Drifting through the living room, his eyes drifted to the sliding door and the pool outside. There was still a bottle of Jack Daniels out there with his name on it.

Pulling open the glass door, Vlad strolled outside, and found something much more interesting that alcohol. A grin spread slowly over his face as he drifted closer. "This is where I make a pun about handling your weapon, isn't it?"

This was good. He could smile, and joke. The tension had faded to one razor-thin line, running through the back of his mind. It was easy enough to ignore. Or pretend to ignore.

The bottle of bourbon had been halfway to his mouth when the sliding door opened, and upon noticing it was Vlad, Thomas continued taking a sizeable swig before he answered. "Only if you want to be boring," Thomas answered with a smirk.

The other man was tense, he could feel it, but Thomas was thoroughly a fan of Not Talking About It and expected Vlad would be the same. Unlike women. And manchildren that sparkled. "So I think you'll just have to come up with something better."

He pours solvent through the barrel again, and it runs back out clear. Satisfied, Thomas began putting the gun back together. He nodded at the collection of mostly full liquor bottles around him. "Want to help?"

"With the drinking? Oh yes. I'm afraid I don't know the first thing about guns."

Vlad settled into the chair nearby. The bottle he'd been looking for was gone anyhow; someone on the crew must have taken it. Reaching for whiskey now, Vlad twisted off the cap and took a long drink.

Watching Thomas' slim fingers put the firearm back together, Vlad pondered their dilemma. He didn't want to talk about it. Thomas didn't want to talk about it. But he needed to know something of what had gone on. Whether he and Lacci had patched things up, or she'd thrown half a room at him.

Picking up the bottle for another drink, Vlad settled on a very mild, "Settling in all right?"

Now that the hollow ache left by Justine's presence was fading back into a more tolerable pain, the burned lips were just irritating. Thomas took another swallow from the bourbon bottle, tipping it carefully into his mouth without splashing any on his lips.

The Desert Eagle was put back together and settled at the small of his back again before he addressed Vlad's question. "I'm still standing. Metaphorically," he answered.

Good enough. Vlad gave a slow smile, cradling his own bottle of alcohol and watching Thomas store the gun with interest.

"Is that safe? What if you shoot off something vital?" Granted, even the vital bits could be grown back, but it would hurt.

The bourbon was warm and smokey on his tongue, cooling as it went down his throat. A couple of mouthfuls weren't enough to burn all the way down yet. "That's what the safety's for," Thomas answered with a laugh. The ammunition and clips disappeared into his pockets.

The fact that Vlad changed the subject lessened some of the tension Thomas was still holding onto. Normal conversation. Normal was good. Normal didn't include asking forgiveness or dredging up painful memories in the name of bonding and playing to the TV audience.

He smirked, taking another swig and giving Vlad a sidelong look. "And no, I've never shot off my own ass, if that was what you were asking."

Vlad held up his hands, grinning unabashedly. "It was just a question. You can't blame me for being curious." He also wasn't sure what a safety was, but one really didn't need more than a name.

Stretching out, he slouched gracefully, running a hand through his hair. His gaze drifted out to the trees, past the swimming pool. "I went out with Alice earlier," he remarked idly, swishing the liquid in his bottle idly. The alcohol was already making him feel a bit fuzzy. "She's absolutely delightful, just- energetic. I don't know how you managed to keep up with her for more than a couple days; I don't think I could."

Refraining from another drink quite then, Thomas laughed, long and low, at Vlad's words. Settling back in his chair, Thomas draped a companionable arm around Vlad's shoulders. Normal. Normal was fan-fucking-tastic right now. "I never kiss and tell, Vlad. But her husband and the motorcycle helped."

His laugh faded to a low rumble in the back of his throat as Thomas stared out over the lawn, ignoring the topiary bear in a tutu and coconut bra. The look he shot Vlad was one of Thomas' smirking best, the sort that made women contemplate slapping him and jumping at the same time (and sent Edward into gibbering rage). "So she's worn you out?"

Vlad met Thomas' like with his own best lazy, arrogant grin. "Sorry Thomas. I never kiss and tell. But the dropping her from fourty thousand feet up and not quite letting her hit the ground helped, I think. Well, she was laughing anyway."

When he took another drink and set the bottle back on the table, Vlad settled against Thomas comfortably, still looking out over the lawn. Was that bush- shaped like a bear in a tutu? "She has a husband? Poor man." He did look sidelong at Thomas, speculatively. All three of them? Thomas, Alice, and whatever kind of person would marry her? He could see it.

The mention of Jasper reminded Thomas of the scar on his shoulder, and the ghost of a genuine, bittersweet smile crossed Thomas' face for a fraction of a second before he tipped more bourbon down his throat. "You're telling me. But he manages. Probably helps that their kind don't need to sleep."

The sidelong, speculative look was met with an infuriatingly smug, inscrutable look. Just because he wasn't one to kiss and tell didn't mean Thomas didn't enjoy insinuating things. Even things that might not have happened. "Skydiving with a vampire. Could start a business around here that way," he said. Another drink of bourbon, and Thomas smiled as it left a faint warm trail behind.

With Vlad leaning against him, Thomas couldn't help remembering the fact that the man was a surprisingly good kisser. And that his burns were going to take another day to heal, at least. Damn.

"Oh, I wouldn't charge for it. I'm picky about who I fly with." Especially since it was usually foreplay. Turning his head, Vlad looked up at Thomas. "But if you're ever interested, do let me know."

His gaze drifted down to linger on Thomas' lips, and Vlad frowned, just a bit. How disappointing. "You've hurt yourself. What a shame." His mouth twitched, but he managed to look serious when he met Thomas' gaze again. "Whoever you kissed last must have been pretty hot."

"Maybe next time," Thomas answered with an easy laugh. "I've fulfilled my death defying quota for the week. But I'll keep it in mind." A lazy, idle finger traced the edge of Vlad's shirt, running just beneath the hem. Kissing wasn't the only thing that could happen.

The pun was met with an eye-rolling chuckle. "Please tell me that fondness for puns isn't genetic," Thomas said as his fingers grew purposeful, sliding farther beneath the collar, fingernails scraping against skin. Thomas set the bottle of bourbon down, and withdrew his hand. "Alice's worn you out, right? What a shame."

Thomas' fingers were really very talented, and Vlad's head slowly tilted back to rest on the other man's shoulder, arching up against the touch just the tiniest bit. "Oh no. Lacci hates puns. You're safe." Nails scraped against skin, and he hissed, just a little. One of his hands had drifted down to rest on Thomas' thigh; now his hand clenched slightly, fingernails curling inward and scraping over denim.

But then the touch was taken away, which was more than disappointing. Things were just beginning to get interesting. But at the comment, Vlad tilted his head farther back to look up at the other man again - at the same time revealing a certain expanse of smooth pale neck.

It was trying, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he spoke, tone casual. "Oh she did." And, because Thomas was needling him and he couldn't resist, Vlad added, "Twice." He shifted, straightening, stretching lazily, removing the hand that was drifting up Thomas' leg. "But I recover remarkably quickly."

"Just twice?" Thomas asked innocently; so he was being a little obnoxious, but really it was just a reminder that he was feeling back to normal. Vlad's hands had definitely not been unwelcome. Especially since Thomas was pretty sure he was now going to stick to his 'no women' proclamation after this particular evening.

The arm that wasn't draped over Vlad's shoulders slid up his chest, slow and deliberate, until Thomas felt skin beneath his fingers. His fingers traced the curve of Vlad's throat, nails scraping lightly over nerves and artery. His other hand curled around back, sliding into Vlad's hair, and he smirked. "Well, things don't work quite right in your old age, I guess."

Vlad gave brief thought to dropping Pandora's name, kissing and telling or not. But not for long. He wasn't interested in a pissing contest, and taking offense at insults to his manhood wasn't in Vlad's nature.

Thomas fingers were on his neck, and Vlad couldn't help the brief rumble of pleasure, low in his throat. "Age doesn't have anything to do with it, boy," he smirked, "As I'm sure other members of your household would be quick to tell you."

Vlad took as much delight as letting someone else take control as his did having it himself. So Thomas' touching was only met with slow, sinuous movements, pressing up against those fingers, and his hand going back to Thomas' leg, sliding higher, fingers his leg through the jeans. "And if it did, you wouldn't know which end of a woman was up yet."

Getting as good as he gave was perhaps one of Thomas' favorite things. It explained... pretty much everyone he slept with. So when Vlad responded in kind it was met with a warm laugh and Thomas sent a fine jolt of desire skittering down Vlad's spine. "Does it really matter as long as she's screaming my name?" he asked, arching up into Vlad's touch.

His free hand traced its way back down the other man's chest, slow and determined, hooking into the waistband of Vlad's pants with a sharp, teasing tug. Vlad's hand brushed against him, even through the denim, and Thomas hissed in pleased surprise.

Alice was, as they both knew, amazingly fun, but for the past two weeks there had always been guilt and responsibility hanging over his head. Vlad, on the other hand, let things go after a question, and perfectly happy to drink and Not Talk About Things. If Thomas had ever needed a drink-and-fuck buddy, it was right now. And he suspected the same was true for Vlad.

The hand that had been curled into Vlad's hair tightened its grip, fingernails biting into the back of the man's neck, when Thomas hissed at his touch, and Thomas responded in kind, ignoring the still buttoned waistband for now to lavish light, precise touches over clothed flesh.

Several answers, each dirtier than the last, flitted through his brain, but they all vanished entirely with a curious jolt of desire running through him that made Vlad arch reflexively into his touch.

The man was good. Vlad hadn't forgotten that. But he wasn't good enough to make Vlad forget what he was doing, and even as Thomas touched him through his (faintly uncomfortable now) black trousers Vlad himself was teasing, stroking too lightly to really get through the denim.

"It might," he finally managed breathlessly, his hips now rocking unabashedly into the touches, "Depending on what you're aiming for. You wouldn't want to go to touch her and realize you're caressing her nose, now would you?" Ignoring the button on Thomas' jeans, Vlad pulled down the zipper. One finger, still muffled by the cloth between them, moved down Thomas' length in one slow stroke.

Give and take. No one person in control, just touches that warmed the blood and stole the breath. The laugh that bubbled up at Vlad's words was almost immediately strangled by the groan the man managed to provoke with one touch. "I should be insulted," Thomas managed to gasp out. His hand, which had been building up a steady rocking rhythm against Vlad, slowed, then stopped entirely as he pulled away to methodically untuck the man's shirt.

Desire hummed against his skin, brushed against his fingers, and Thomas let power pool in his fingertips, sent tiny tendrils to coax that faint humming into a symphony with every brush of skin against skin. His fingers unbuttoned and unzipped Vlad's pants with achingly slow precision, a smirk playing at his lips when he finally slid a hand inside, picking up the same rhythm he'd abandoned earlier.

Thomas brought his lips to Vlad's ear, tongue tracing lightly over the curve. "I always know what I'm aiming for," he laughed softly, the words a bare whisper of warm breath.

And that pretty much killed Vlad's ability to have a conversation.

Shuddering with pleasure, he arched up against Thomas' hand and moaned softly, suddenly unable to think about anything but that touch, which was really sending a ridiculous number of sparks flying under his skin. And doing the same to him, of course. Vlad managed to fumble the button on Thomas' jeans open, and followed suit, matching his rhythm easily.

It was easy to ignore the camera crews almost entirely (almost being the key word; Vlad did sometimes enjoy an audience,) - oh, especially when Thomas did that. But birds were singing, and the sky was getting lighter all the time. The first few times he opened his mouth, all that came out was a strangled noise. Finally he managed "we should," before the words degenerated back into unintelligible gargles of pleasure.

Maybe a century or so of practice did help, because whatever Vlad was doing was not just matching his pace, because Thomas was aching into that hand with far more noise than usual. He did, however, have the presence of mind to keep moving his hand, running the pad of his thumb over already receptive nerves and letting the Hunger play over all those unspooling threads of desire. Everything felt so good but just wasn't quite enough, and the thought came to Thomas that bending the man over the table was an excellent idea.

He had been on the verge of suggesting just that when Vlad managed to make two coherent words come out of his mouth, and Thomas slowed the rhythm of his hand. He managed a breathless laugh, the fingers that had been tangled in Vlad's hair tightening.

"'We should' what? Stop?" The laugh grew throaty and low, the very hint of a growl edging into his voice. "Or I could bend you over the table. Table might not survive."

Edited 2009-10-30 20:47 (UTC)

Vlad had been 'practicing' for closer to a century and a half. Though possibly not as rigorously as Thomas. But the other thing a century and a half had given him, that had already been sorely tested this evening under rigorous standards, was self-control.

The sky was nearly blue, birds were singing their fool heads off, and the hand pulling his hair sent fire right to those nerves Thomas seemed to enjoy touching.

No. Sky. Pay attention to sky. There were plenty of tables in the house.

Another strangled gargle and thrusting up into Thomas' hand later, Vlad managed "Inside." It was much harder to extricate his hand from Thomas' pants than it rightfully should be, and there was that twinge inside that side the sun was coming up. With extreme effort, Vlad pulled away, yanking Thomas with him by the wrist.

The kitchen door was closer, and the room now mercifully empty. Slamming the door behind them, Vlad pressed Thomas against the glass door. His hands reached, one to thread through his hair and the other to slip back between layers of cloth and wrap tight around sensitive skin. He went to kiss Thomas, taste him and bite, but at the last second he saw them again and, reminded of the other man's injury, pulled his head back to trail kisses down his neck.

Conversation was overrated.

((Desquish on Desquish action))

The speed and efficiency with which Vlad hauled him inside would have made Thomas laugh if he had been able to catch his breath before the man pressed him against the glass door, hand threading through his hair and lips trailing kisses down his throat. Thomas growled in frustration, rocking to the delicious rhythm Vlad set that just wasn't enough, and his hands reached for Vlad's hips, pulling pants and boxers down in one frenzied motion.

"Counter. Now." Thomas growled through gritted teeth, fingers digging into the other man's hips as he took the three steps towards the closest kitchen counter. It took only a matter of seconds to get the other man onto said counter. And once he had him there, Thomas' desperate movements slowed again, an infuriating smirk on his lips as his fingers drifting over hips and heated flesh, one hand stroking surely while the other undid the buttons to Vlad's shirt.

Oh that was entirely unfair.

Vlad's pants were in a heap on the kitchen floor, and Thomas was making him squirm, gasping, while he finished undressing him entirely. For the moment, Vlad was unable to do anything but brace himself against the back of the counter and arch up shamelessly into the heated touch, a low moan escaping his mouth for every stroke.

When the shirt was unbuttoned, Vlad shrugged it off his shoulders and down around his wrists, opening his eyes to look up at the unfairly-clothed man with his irritating smirk who was tormenting him with strokes moving far too slowly. He tried to articulate, say something, even if it was to beg for more - but all he managed was a strangled version of Thomas' name.

If he had been in a more demanding, hungrier sort of mood, there would have been growled commands and enough fleeting touches to drive a saint mad. As it is, Thomas merely chuckled, warm and low in his throat, as he shrugged out of his own shirt. There was too much heat and frenzied want in the air for him to think clearly, and Thomas pulled the other man to him, crushing Vlad's lips in a demanding kiss. Still raw nerves and too-sensitive skin sent jolts of pain and pleasure through him, driving his own desires higher while the Hunger danced, light velvet feet on humming strings of need.

A gasp that might have been Vlad's name, might have been just a needy groan, passed his lips, but it was hard to tell what it had been.

Thomas broke the kiss with no small regret, hands forcing the other man's hips high, as he buried himself deeply with a strangled groan. He stilled for a second, fingers digging into Vlad's hips as he fought for control, to not fall over the edge right then and there. When that control came, he moved slowly, thrusting in time with the rhythm his own hand set on Vlad's eager, heated flesh.

Vlad didn't often sleep with men. Not that he had a problem with it- the opportunity just seemed to come up less. Still less often did he bottom.

And he'd never found anyone who could make him squirm like Thomas did.

Anyone else, he would have been trying to press close, pull open that shirt, taste his skin and maybe bite into him - but the want was too strong, too much of a frenzy, for Vlad to do much but twist and moan, like a boy at his first time.

Fingernails scratched down the kitchen cupboards. Hips pressed upward - Vlad was already crying out, trying to urge Thomas' teasing faster, harder. Throwing back his head, denting the wooden cupboard doors, Vlad groaned slowly, pressing his hips up into Thomas' hand. "Please." It was a tortured word, laced with want. It was also more moan than actual speech.

Contrary to popular belief, there really was only so much teasing Thomas could take (or give) over a sustained period of time, and Vlad's pleading moan was more than enough. "Well, since you asked so nicely." Though to have called that a statement was to be generous with the collections of gasps and groans that left Thomas' mouth.

His hand tightened on Vlad, all firm pressure and quickening strokes as his hips rocked in kind. The muscles in his abdomen tightened, clenched in anticipation, and Thomas let the Hunger go, let the humming notes of need and desire shatter in a cascade. Release came in a rush of heat, and it was the only thing Thomas could do to keep his hand moving, driving Vlad over the edge as surely as he could manage even as his own knees threatened to buckle beneath his weight.

Vlad shouted, his chest arching, even as Thomas pressed deep, that hand touching him in all the right places, and release crashed down around him. He was still moving, arching his hips, until the cries faded to low moans and his arms - and the legs that had at some point wrapped around Thomas' waist - felt like wet noodles.

Sighing, his head fell back weakly into the dent in the cupboards his head had made earlier. Several seconds were just taken up with breathing. Then, eyes still closed, his head slowly began to shake, a smile on his face. "I am naked in your kitchen." This seemed like a rather important phenomenon. "My sister could walk in at any moment. Or worse - Edward."

"Your sister would run away screaming," Thomas answered, a lazy grin spreading as he slung his own pants back over his hips. "At least, that was my reaction walking in on my sister. At least I suspect it would be, if it actually happened, I've repressed it."

On wobbling legs, Thomas managed to make it back over to the pile of Vlad's clothes and tossed the man his boxers. "Edward would probably gape and then burrow himself into the floor." The pants and shirt he kept in his hands, as he all but collapsed into a chair. Thomas' voice remained light, joking and inscrutable. "Does it matter anyway? Sibling trauma aside, that is."

"Hmm. You're right; about Lacci at least." He smirked, managing to stand and shimmy into his boxers. "Well, it's usually more of a disgusted string of swears, actually. And no. I suppose it doesn't." He grinned easily, content to lounge back against the counter for now, letting it take most of his weight.

Vlad's eyes drifted to his pants, calculatng whether he'd make it or not. He wouldn't risk it for now. Instead he turned back to Thomas, the grin widening into a smirk. "Would it be horrifically sentimental to say that I missed you?"

The smirk was greeted with its twin and Thomas laughed again. "Only if you said it to anyone else. Luckily for you, I'm far too much of a cad to take it as anything more than my due." The statement was punctuated with a brief polish of Thomas' fingers against his chest.

The pants got tossed back to Vlad after a moment, and Thomas added with a grin, "It's good to see you again. You're a breath of fresh air compared to this screaming lot."

Vlad caught the pants automatically, and his smirk slipped a notch. "Well. It's not everyday I get a compliment like that." His tone was just as flippant as it had been, but he took a moment, redressing, to not look at his companion.

Repantsed, Vlad picking up his shirt from the counter and shrugged it on, though he didn't button it quite yet. "I don't know about you, but I'm in the mood for coffee." He arched an eyebrow at Thomas as he moved toward the pot. "Want me to pour you a cup?"

The simple question was given perhaps far more thought than necessary. On one hand, he was exhausted and hadn't slept in days. On the other, he was finally starting to feel normal and the prospect of that being ripped from him by nightmares was completely unappealing.

"Just half of one. Otherwise Alice will spit nails at me for not sleeping." If he filled the cup the rest of the way with whiskey, he'd end up in a stupor. Right?

A cup and a half of coffee in hand, Vlad snagged a bottle of whiskey on the way to the table. "She does seem the type." His tone was amused but fond. "But maybe I'll luck out, and she'll be too busy scolding you to notice that I'm awake as well." He set the half-empty mug in front of Thomas as he settled, and spiked his own coffee liberally. "Want some? It's the only way to drink it."

"Oh no, if you're not sleeping either, I'm sending her after you," Thomas protested half-jokingly. "I've gotten the Alice Cullen treatment for two weeks, it's time someone else enjoyed the privilege."

He raised a surprised eyebrow at the offer of whiskey, but accepted without question, true to his word filling the mug the rest of the way with alcohol. Settling back in his chair, Thomas brought the cup to his mouth and sipped carefully. "If you really want to stay awake, you should send one of the crew out for a few shots of espresso," he said mildly.

Sipping his coffee, and speaking as if they were talking about the morning paper, Thomas continued, "If you start raving, should I just clock you in the back of the head and toss you into a closet to sleep it off?" There was no question in there about why it would happen, or whether he'd tell Lacci, just an offer of assistance if it did. The Desert Eagle that had returned to the small of Thomas' back, and the memory of Lacci's own flirtation with coffee, were more than enough qualifications for such, as far as Thomas was concerned.

"Espresso, right. I'll keep that in mind." The question seemed a little... out of nowhere, and Vlad raised an eyebrow. "I don't think it'll be a problem." If he could just survive their first attempt, he might be too much of a nuisance and they'd settle down to wait. It shouldn't take long. "I promise to sleep before I start raving." Hallucinating was so unattractive.

"But... thanks? For the offer?" He was trying to be helpful. Probably.

Vlad's response was unexpected, to say the least. Hadn't he been watching? Seen Lacci's descent into caffeine fueled madness? Maybe not. Thomas sipped again, letting bitter coffee and the burn of whiskey linger on his tongue. "Just trying to figure out what's genetic and what's not," he said, answering the unspoken but obvious question. "Since your sister didn't take too well to the whole coffee-to-stay-awake thing, I figured contingency plans might be helpful."

The mug was halfway to his mouth at this curious pronouncement. Vlad paused, staring at him carefully, then set the mug back down.

Lacci used coffee to stay awake? When? Why? Did it have anything to do with her new Cullen-inspired eyes? Whatever had happened, she hadn't 'taken too well' to it. Had someone knocked her out and thrown her into a closet?

It was starting to become clear to him, why they'd taken away his television.

Vlad tried to sound calm, but he couldn't help a slightly narrowing of his eyes. Not necessarily at Thomas. "What happened." It wasn't a question.

Meeting Vlad's eye, Thomas sipped the coffee and whiskey again, slowly, before he set the mug back on the table. So he didn't know. And the way Vlad was looking, with protective anger rising beneath the surface, made Thomas suspect the reason he didn't know wasn't because he had stopped watching because he was tired of seeing his sister naked on television (thanks Harry).

"Almost a month, no wait..." It took a few minutes for Thomas to remember that he had been the one on a weird time. And then he realized Vlad might not have been on the same time schedule as the house during that time (even though Chicago and Forks had both been). Thomas sighed in irritation, giving up. "A while back, something freaked out Lacci. A lot." He held up a hand to stay any demands.

"The lawyers... I don't know what they did, exactly, but she was gone for days. We didn't know it. It seemed perfectly normal to all of us that she was gone. That we knew she would be and it was alright. But she came back, and as soon as we saw her, whatever they had done went away. I'm not the wizard, I don't know how it happened. I just know the signs of having been fucked over."

Thomas took another sip from his coffee mug. "She didn't sleep for days, thinking they would come for her again." A hint of anger, not at Vlad but at the memory of another man, crept into Thomas' voice. "We did what we could, to get her to sleep. But you know how stubborn she is. She ended up screaming bloody murder at the mirror one night."

It wasn't long into the story before Vlad's faced smoothed into an expressionless mask. It remained that way until several long seconds after the story was finished. For Thomas though, the man was a horrible mess of migraine-inducing emotions. Hate and rage were the main themes. But through that, streaks of protectiveness, hurt, and a hint of guilt wove their way.

After that silence, everything Vlad was feeling condensed down into one single, bright point, and he snarled. Mug in hand, he pushed back from the table, stood and turned in one motion, and hurled the cup at the wall. The plaster itself received a dent; the glass shattered, and a puddle of ceramic shards tinkled to the floor.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the place it had hit, his hands clenched tightly into fists. The snarl still lurked on his face, and Vlad's eyes were a little glazed. If anyone had asked - though he probably couldn't speak - he would have told them that he was fighting to stay in that kitchen, and not try and take off into the burning light of day to find the lawyers responsible and kill them very slowly.

The crash of the mug against the wall didn't surpise Thomas though it made the camera crew jump. The building hurricane of rage and hate had been enough to warn him. Thomas let the seconds tick by in silence, counting them down until enough time had passed that the burn of righteous fury burned a little less bright against the Hunger.

When he did speak, it was mild and carefully devoid of emotion, more of a warning for the other man instead of actual detachment. 'Be careful of what you say.' "I guess that's why you're really here."

Vlad closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath that didn't help in the slightest. When he opened them again, he turned slowly to look back at his companion. His eyes weren't quite back to normal, and his smile was utterly humorless and bitter. "It wasn't. But that's why they were really trying to keep me out." His gaze was already moving on, to the doorway, and when he spoke again, it was quiet murmur. "Excuse me, Thomas." He strode out without another word.

Vlad needed to calm down. He needed to pace his room until he wore a track in the carpet. He had no idea if or when Alice might seek him out, but if she saw him like this, she'd ask awkward questions.

Also Edward may or may not get punched from keeping that from him. Not that it would hurt the boy. But it would make Vlad feel better.

This is the night that never ends...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject