Mayfair Manor

[Okimiyage]

Cian smiled, and shook his head as if to laugh--as if he held back his laugh only by dint of great effort. When he pressed his lips against hers, he left the smile warm on her skin, like a stamp fresh from the press. Do you really think that they could keep me away from you? Leonelli, Parker--these names don't mean anything to me. I've never met these men--even if I had, I don't have anything to lose anymore, Antha. How can they throw me out when the stars are my roof? How can they deny my blood when it has mixed with yours?
His mouth tasted both strange and sweet, without the remnants of smoke and gin lingering upon his tongue. His skin was still damp from the rain, but the heat that rose between them would take care of that soon enough. He kissed her until he had all but stolen the very breath out of her, and when they broke apart there was a heaviness in his eyes that had not been there before. But his voice was a velvet purr--as it had been on the day that they first met, when Cian had stumbled down the staircase of Llyr's Court in a haze of opium and liquor. Then again, it was easy enough to lie with one's voice. Besides, it hardly matters whether they let me within shouting distance. I don't need to shout. You can hear me just fine, can't you?

"I know, darling." Dorian grimaced, and stretched his arms over his head before leaning back upon the boards of the tree-house and fixing his eyes upon the boards of the roof. "I didn't come home solely for the funeral. I'm not certain Antha knows exactly how--disturbed the city is, at the moment. Like an overturned ant-hill, alive and seething with fear. There is much unrest. People are going missing--and people always go missing, especially in Osiris City, but the difficulty is that they are being found again, and in--disturbing fashions. They say Nicolae has a contender for the title of coven-master. They say that the Calais boy has turned to seeking out living sacrifices for profane rituals. They say a serial killer has come to reap the souls of our populace." Dorian laughed at this last one--how long would an ordinary, human serial killer last in Osiris, when death was all but an art within their borders? "Who knows what the truth of the matter is. But people are uneasy, and right now--well, it should be spread among the cousins that they should take the utmost care when venturing into the city. It isn't a matter of whether or not we are capable of defending ourselves, of course, but it is a matter of a extremely delicate politics."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha smiled briefly, quietly, in the most insincere way, as she brought her lips against his ear, whispering, "Do you not have me to lose, Cian?" She drew a quick line of kisses along his jaw before she withdrew, watching him from beneath her long, dark lashes. "You do not know them, precisely. Claire Leonelli, the proud, lunatic head of the greatest family in the entirety of the mob. He is unfortunate enough to be quite in love with me, I'm afraid, and he would never let another man around me if I was his. Him and the slew of armed guards at his command. And Christian, the horrible beast, is after the power of our family. He is a great rarity in this city, a non-Mayfair witch, and it torments him. His father is a politician you know, he taught his son very well the power of names and connections, and letting you around---the father of my child, of all people---would be disastrous for all his ambitions. It would be different if it was one of the cousins---I tried to convince Courtland to elope with me, but the poor thing is terrified of being at the very center of the family---but Claire and Christian are different. Whatever this is between us, mon cheri, it will be very much done with and you will be left with only Courtland and Jack to keep you company. I thought it only fair to remind you that you can still go running for your life before it's too late and you end up like uncle Michael before Nicolae and Malakai were born."
She paused then, going still and thoughtful before she turned back to face him, announcing a bit impetuously, "And if you say you will not be even a little hurt to see me married to another man, chained to another lover, I will be gravely offended and more than a little hurt." This was, in all vain honesty, true. She liked him immensely---though she wouldn't say it aloud---and Antha was a creature greatly accustomed to being coveted. The idea of a lover not being crazed with jealousy over her was unusual and altogether unpleasant, particularly when it was one that her fickle heart had warmed to.

Courtland, giving no visual evidence of being unnerved, shrugged his shoulders at his cousin. "These are strange, dark days my friend. Antha knows this, but there's only so much she---or even we---can do without causing more unrest. Like you said, and as we are always aware, the politics surrounding us are very complex and ready to snap at any given moment." A quiet laugh escaped him then, as the length of his body pressed down against the floorboards beside Dorian. "Nicolae will be coven master, I'm not the slightest bit worried about that, he was the one to kill Sleet and is therefore his natural heir, and anyways he can take damn good care of himself even without Antha hovering at his back, ready to strike at anyone who challenges him. And as for Rynn...well, according to Antha, if he doesn't come to his senses he'll be seeing the airship tomorrow, and you know as well as I do that we're the only ones that walk out of the airship. As for the rest---" The boy sighed with annoyance, setting his lips so that he could blow the white-blonde tendrils of hair from his blue eyes, and then grinned quite suddenly. "Try not to worry about it so much, eh? Everyone knows the risk of living here, they'll deal with it, and we will be just fine. We're the ******** Mayfairs."  

[Okimiyage]

I'm going to lose you no matter what I do, Cian answered, working his hands into her hair before trailing them down her spine, his nails grazing her skin ever so lightly. You're going to die. But I think--correct me if I'm wrong--that your daughter, if she is anything like you, would be rather disenchanted with a father who would allow her to be completely-rather-than-half orphaned. And if your daughter is anything like you, then...I rather think I'd be too charmed by her to leave. And he smiled, ruefully, and added, Even if I know ******** about taking care of babies.
He pulled her in for a kiss, then, his hands locked about her lower back, because he missed the feeling of her lips against his. I don't care whether the mob decides that I'm a hideous inconvenience. I've always been an inconvenience; nobody's yet to kill me for it. I've had lots of practice at staying alive. For you? I'd brave the mob. I'd brave--vampires and witches and werewolves, oh my. I'd elope. We could run away to--to Switzerland, and no-one would ever find us, and maybe you wouldn't have to die. His lips caressed her earlobe; the sigh that parted his lips as he bit that tender flesh was almost her name. If only you'd agree to indulge my mad escapades. Who is uncle Michael?

Dorian rolled over, letting his arm fall across the chest of his cousin in an embrace. "If you say that it is so, then I shall place my faith in you," he said, with more than a touch of his old dramatics. "I'll retreat to the doll-room and hide myself among their numbers and declare myself deaf and dumb and reclusive. That should satisfy our dear Designee, shouldn't it? And who knows--if she's developed a taste for mutes, maybe she'll even come play with me once in a while." There was a hard, bright light in Dorian's eyes; his laugh was dazzling, obscene as cancer and bitter as the cud. Then, breaking off abruptly and sitting up, he crossed his arms on Courtland's chest and peered into the eyes of his cousin. "What worries you, blood of my blood? I thought we were over and done with that damn airship. But you--how can you be so damn calm about all of this?" He waved his hand about in an irritated fashion. "Then again, you've not been made into a bloody house-pet. Sit, Dorian. Stay, Dorian. Good boy, Dorian."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

"Poor darling," she whispered, more than just a hint of a laugh in her quiet tone, as her lips touched his neck, left traces of her lipstick imprinted on his skin as red as blood, "Marrying you seems to be the only way to keep you from getting yourself killed at this point." Her arms came around his shoulders as she spoke, her hands locking behind his head as she kissed him, stole the breath from his lungs, and then withdrew all at once, the color high in her cheeks and her eyes shining darkly. "But I won't," she said simply, wiping her thumb briefly along his lower lip, almost erasing from it the stain of lipstick, "I make a point not to marry men who can't ask me properly---out loud."
Antha rose then, going to stand beside the window and peer out into the darkness, watching the silvery fall of rain that was beating against the tin roof. "It's a terrible shame, really. We could have had such fun, between your mad escapades and mine." The laugh came quietly from her lips as she turned back around, tilted his chin and laid another, lighter kiss upon his lips, "And anyways, Julien and Rynn would kill us. Though, I think I might rather enjoy that."
Her attention switched then to his last question. "Uncle Michael was my mother's first husband, Nicolae and Malakai's legal father. He met my mother at a party, a penniless, no-name romantic, and they were married less than a month later. They did what we Mayfairs consider eloping---vanished for a few days and turned up married." The faint smile to her lips fell then, became something somber and thoughtful as she continued, "The family hated him back then, though they grew to love him over time. That was when my mother went crazy. She left him of course, without a word, just put Nicolae and Malakai in his arms and never saw him again."

"She just wants you with us," Courtland said earnestly, stroking his hair idly, twirling a lock around his finger, "We all do. We miss you when you vanish, you know." He patted his head, smirking. "The pet commands are just because she knows you, and that simply asking won't be enough to keep you here. All you have to do is pretend that you really love us---she'll drop the leash." Silence fell for a minute, interrupted first by Courtland's soft sigh before he spoke, quietly, "She's going to die soon anyways. Just indulge her while she's still here, ok? Please?"
And then, "That damn airship," he sighed, rubbing his eyelids with small circular movements of his fingertips, "I thought we were done with it, that she was never going to give into the thing again, but...but...God, she's obsessed with him!" He groaned, rolling his pretty cerulean eyes, "Rynn, I mean. I don't know what's come over her, but she just can't leave him alone. I seriously think she'll kill him just so he can't leave again." He pictured it then---Antha on the floor, cradling Rynn's corpse as she would a cold, bloody doll, stroking his hair lovingly---and shuddered briefly, shaking his head.  

[Okimiyage]

Cian made a great sigh as she drew away from him, and left his arms empty and longing. Even her kiss, sweeter than lead candy, could not distract him. You think they'd kill me, Antha? he whispered. This made him laugh, in a humorless way. At least, perhaps, if he was killed by any one of the Mayfair's numerous enemies, Antha would not have to meet Death alone.
Cian did not answer the demand she made; he did not think he could. Penniless, nameless, voiceless, ringless; he would make no proper husband, not for the foulest of urchins. Certainly, the Designee of the Mayfair Legacy was out of the question. I am certain that you mock me, Antha, and it is cruel. Cian whispered. He followed her to the window; he came up behind her, and touched his fingertips to the hollows of her collarbones and throat, tracing patterns upon her skin so lightly as to be nearly unnoticeable. What did he do? Cian asked, wonderingly. What did the family do? I can't imagine--that he had very many supporters, or much sympathy, after that.

Dorian made a moue of distaste. "I really do love all of you, though. As much as this jaundiced heart of mine is capable of love after having been dragged through the gutters by its heartstrings. But--oh!" Dorian sat up then, making a noise in his throat that was partially growl, partially strangled scream of frustration, quieted only by dint of great effort. "Can't she understand? She's such a mad--collector of things. I swear that we're not even people to her, sometimes. We're not even alive. We're all simply--magnificent moving toys, like paper-dolls that she might trot out across a stage. That's how it feels, coming home sometimes." Dorian was masterful at summoning tears at the correct moments; letting his head flop down again on Courtland's chest, his eyelashes brimmed with them. "But don't mind me. I'm only--frustrated, and hateful at the moment. Tomorrow I'll be all in love again with our mad darling Ophelia. Tonight, though--" he looked up at Courtland again, with the trails of tears shining on his white cheeks, and his blue eyes were terrible and malicious. "Dear sainted Courtland, I don't know how you manage. Furthermore, I hardly see why she wants this Rynn person. He seems awfully badly-bred, to my mind."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

"Mock you? Never!" she whispered fervently, a faint, wicked little grin to her lips as she turned to face him, to watch him through the lashes that fell like lace against her porcelain cheeks when she closed her eyes, "Or at least, not in this matter. It seems such a tragedy to be separated from you so soon. And besides---" Her lips touched his briefly, sweetly, "---why should I want anything that Claire or Christian have to give? I don't need anything from them." Fleetingly, her long fingers touched at her stomach, the flash of fear in her eyes camouflaged by a sidelong glance and a single flutter of her lashes. "It should be you, by all rights, and it would be better for all of us if it were you." Her fingertips trailed down his neck as she spoke, down to the hollow of his throat where she laid her light kisses, making white marks in his flesh with the tips of her long nails that turned in time to red. "But if you'd prefer to let them marry me off to someone else, to never touch me or kiss me again until the day I die, then fine. Never mind that I'll never forgive you, and I shall throw the most dreadful fit you've ever seen. I'll be just horrible and no one will be able to deal with me and they'll all have to hide themselves away in their rooms and let me destroy the house. And God help you all if Claire comes to live with us---he shall wreck the house weekly if he doesn't burn it down outright."
She paused, drawing her arms lightly around him. "Au contraire. Uncle Michael was a witch after all, and willing to call the children his wife bore to another man his own. If anything, her abandonment only warmed their hearts to him. He was such a poor, sad, pitiful thing, heartbroken and lost and afraid for his confused little sons. I think Julien sympathized with him, being the only one to love her as he did, and you know how misery loves company. The trace of old Mayfair blood they later found in his veins only cemented his place in the family."

"Sainted?" he scoffed, shaking his head, "When was the last time we had a saint in our wretched family? If we ever have, I certainly don't remember it. But it's all part of being a Mayfair, isn't it? Just like being chained to the family---it's the burden we must bear. If it's too much, then quit. Leave the family. These are your only two options, a Mayfair caught in the Designee's collection or a nothing and a nobody of a witch with his freedom." He brushed back Dorian's fair hair, wiped the glistening crocodile tears from his eyes and licked them from his fingertips. "There is something in that boy that's just like Antha. Something...horrifying, dark and cruel and vicious...animalistic. I hope she kills him, because if they ever make friends they'll be terrifying." He sighed, feeling in his pockets for his cigarettes and withdrawing them, catching one between his lips and bringing the flickering flame of his lighter to it. "Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she just really wants to ******** him and then she'll be bored of him."  

[Okimiyage]

(Oh my god are you ******** kidding me it didn't save my post. it didn't save my post. Azsfrgthghko 75[dARRRRRGGHHHHHH ******** CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS RIGHT NOW AUUUUUUAAAAAASDJNUIF)

Edit: OKAY doing my duty now. sick and rainstormy in alabama! <3))

Cian's face, in the rain-filtered moonlight, was white and strange, his eyes illuminated to the palest shade of honey and hazel. He looked a statue--handsome in all the ways a man ought to be, but so still and eerie that physical attraction was rather put out of the question. Inside, though, his mind's wheels were churning furiously. Antha seemed set on this, and he could not imagine why. Even after she was gone--dead, a little voice in the back of his head whispered, meanly--the family would still be forced to recognize the one who she left as her widower. Even should she marry another, he would still be recognized as her children's father, he realized. You have chosen, among all the men whose hearts you possess, a rather ill-favored individual. he said slowly. He cupped the fine porcelain bones of her jaw in his hands, laying a kiss to the side of her mouth, the edge of her cheek, the corner of her eyelashes. I have no ring to offer you. I have no threshold to carry you over. I barely possess a voice at all, to venture the question. I-- Cian stopped, his breath hitching in his throat as though it was with air that his words were still formed. I do not understand your motives, Antha, unless they are simply to infuriate your other suitors. But if you would have me, I would not care. I am selfish, and your time on this earth is running out. I want that time. Until you exist in memory alone, I want to be at your side. There was something awful about the earnestness in his eyes, for the moonlight stripped away all shadows in them, made his gaze honest in a way that it rarely was. He was looking at her like nothing else mattered in the world, like nobody else existed. It was a look that Antha was most likely used to, he knew, but he could not drop his head in shame or turn from her, not now.

Dorian pulled away from his cousin's fingers, cold against his burning cheeks. "But Courtland, if she intends to deposit him in the airship, does that mean--" he turned away. Dorian could hide the excitement in his voice, but not in his face. "Are we to play at aristocracy again? Really--" he had adopted a tone of scorn, "--are we not too old for children's games? Have we forgotten our lessons so soon?" His words had gone somber, the arguments of rational adults fit ill with Dorian's crescent grin. Swivelling about again, he leaned forward to pluck his cousin's cigarette from his lips; the smoke that exhaled from his mouth passed into Dorian's parted smile--a smile altogether too close and too intimate for cousins. "Remember when you first took up smoking, Courtland?" Dorian murmured, sitting back and blowing rings that dissipated in instants in the rain. "And I was so terribly self-righteous, telling you that you were killing yourself, telling you that your lungs would turn black and hideous like the pictures in the anatomy books in the library. Didn't you hate me for it?"  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha smiled at him briefly, brushing his hair away from his face and kissing his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his cheeks, his lips---this last was the longest, the sort of deep kiss that made speaking irrelevant, that conveyed every bit of affection and longing she was capable of containing in her slight body. "You have very little faith in me, don't you?" she questioned quietly, drawing her arms around him and bringing their bodies as close as physically possible, melded together as if they were matching puzzle pieces, a perfect fit. "Cian, I need no ring, nor threshold. Your muteness is...irritating, at worst." She kissed him again, briefly. "Darling, you're beautiful. Better yet, you're absolutely wild, inappropriate in all the best ways, and all the trappings of a witching family aren't going to send you running away screaming. Why shouldn't I want you? Why should I have motives? What makes you any less of an acceptable choice to me---not Julien, not my cousins, not the leaders of Osiris City or society in general, but me---than Claire or Christian or my cousins?"
Outside, over the pounding and splashing of the rain, someone was calling her name, frantically. Of course Julien knew that something was going on, that she was undermining any small bit of authority he imagined himself to have and doing as she damn well pleased. However, the fact that he was too much the dapper gentleman to go tromping through the mud to find her soon found him back inside the house, seething silently, while Antha laughed quietly to herself. "I wish you wouldn't doubt me. Time is too short for that, and quite honestly, I would tell you if I wanted to use you to make my rather rabid suitors jealous." No, that would have been Christian. He was the one who did not fit, that Antha despised and that despised her. He was all business, sane and ruthless and completely without humor. He would have been the one to make the others angry and jealous, if that had been Antha's goal.
"But you are hardly being the gentleman," she sighed at length, releasing him and going to sit on the cleared table, legs crossed so that the skirt of her dress slid back against her legs, "This entire conversation is putting me off the idea already. A lady shouldn't have to talk someone into marrying her---least of all me---and that is precisely what I'm doing, isn't it? It's all very insulting, and terribly rude of you."

Courtland flashed a dark grin, a baring of gleaming white teeth. "I loved it," he purred, with infinite pleasure, snatching back his cigarette and inhaling the smoke as deeply as he could, a hand to his chest as it rose with his breath. "Sweet, black destruction. I wanted those shriveled, cancerous black lungs. I wanted to breathe fire." And he laughed, madly, rocking back to sprawl down against the floorboards. "One is never too old for torture, no matter how it is played at. If the Calais boy wants to infuriate our designee, then why should we be above bagging him up like an animal we are determined to drown? If he is going to scorn us, then I don't mind stringing him from the ceiling and beating him into a million bloody little pieces. And besides---" He popped back up, one hand clutching his cigarette and the other gripping his crossed legs as his eyes watched Dorian dangerously, that old glimmer of madness sparkling within them, "---I thought you didn't like him? He's such a miserable, stubborn thing anyways, and it would bring back some spark of the old Antha I think, our gloriously wild Princess of the Red Rose. Wouldn't you like that, Dorian? I know I would. That was the piece of her that was ours, that belonged to us." The piece of her that had ambushed him in the hallways of Mayfair Manor when she was fourteen, dragged him into dark rooms and ravished him, her sweet, mad laughter ringing in his head and her lips warm on his skin. There was even the brief flash of her on the floor, her red hair plastered to the spill of blood on the floor that stained her dress, his jeans, the tangled mess the two of them had become together. He didn't doubt that Dorian had very similar memories. "I never liked the airship itself," he whispered, wistfully, "The homicidal madness of it. It was Antha that I loved then, gone mad with power, and the way the vengeful spirits made me, made all of us. I loved the way we all were together, without any need of the outside world. Don't you remember it Dorian?"  

[Okimiyage]

Cian drew breath, tilted his head back--his curls made silvery in the moonlight, he closed his eyes. You're right. It is rude. I apologize. Then he looked back at her; his brow creased as he raised his eyes in penitence. It is only--Antha, you are beautiful, and--the most powerful witch in this city, and cursed and lovely and possessing of a soul heartbreakingly wrought. If I said you were my addiction, the word in itself would only devalue the feeling. I am the third son of a second-rate witching family that made itself known to the world with an attempt on your life. I cannot feel--but a little amazed. He gave out a hollow laugh. Shaking his head, he took both of Antha's hands within his own and finally knelt. He could not help but marvel at her porcelain skin, the delicacy of her slim white fingers against his own palms, which suddenly seemed clumsily over-large in comparison.Antha Mayfair, he said, raising her left hand to his lips, Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?

"I remember," Dorian said, softly. Standing, he went towards the railing; he rested his elbows upon the framing and peeked out into the leaves. The rain outside was beginning to clear up; was it almost morning? He could not tell--the break in the clouds had passed, and the heavenly bodies were cloaked once again. "I don't like him." he said with a sigh. "Rynn Calais is simply callous. Hah--even the word suits him."But you have to admit, such a story! Half the city is terrified of him, but in the really high circles--among the elite, you know--they're cooing over him. They adore his little tragedy. And you know--well, Antha isn't so popular with some in the city. You might say he has supporters." Dorian sighed. "Yes, we might as well get him into the airship right away. He's a very worrisome charcter; needs to be dealt with in a forthright way." He swung about towards Courtland, and made his way towards his cousin once again. Sitting carefully down on the floorboards, he whispered, "Shall we go and fetch him, you and I? For Antha? Perhaps--she'll love us again. Like she used to. Yes--I remember our days in the airship. I remember our games, and our Princess--oh, glories! You know, Antha's not as fun now as she was then. She didn't even kiss me hello, you know." Dorian leaned forward then; he'd caught raindrops on his pale cheeks, and his porcelain skin shone, his rosy lips were dewed. He whispered, faintly. "You didn't kiss me hello, either, Courtland."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Quietly, with that soft and infinitely pleased little smile curving her lips, Antha laughed. Even as she bent herself over, took her hands and cupped his face, brought their lips together, there was that faint, wispy laugh hanging in the air. It was against his ear that she whispered, "I thought you'd never ask. Of course, my dearest, my darling, my love."
Within the house, the clanging and chiming of the old clocks marked two o'clock. She would have to be in the graveyard at three to perform the rites, along with Courtland and...Dorian, she decided, he should go with them while the others made the preparations at the house. But there was no need to bother with all of that just yet, she had time. "Tomorrow," she said quietly, thoughtfully, "Tomorrow night, before Julien has the chance to go spoiling everything, as he invariably will." But it was then that she brought her lips back against his, because she wanted to be kissing him suddenly, wanted to have her arms around his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair. Wanted to be close enough to breathe his scent over that of earth and rain. "We shall put everything else behind us," she whispered against his lips with a small amount of determination, "All of that ugly business the night we met. This addiction, as you might so prettily call it, is what came of it." She smiled briefly, darkly, and utterly suggestively. "Ah, but you were such a rakish, languid figure that night," she whispered, wistfully, before she laughed and confessed in the sweetest purr, "I wanted to possess you. I wanted you as mine, all mine." And she shook her head, giggling, and let the glimmer of silvery light catch on her scarlet curls and gleam on her fair skin, let it make her luminescent in the haze of darkness. If there was one thing Antha Mayfair really knew how to do, it was to make of herself a very pretty picture.

"You must forgive me, my beloved cousin," Courtland sighed with all due theatrics, slipping his hand around the back of Dorian's neck "Between Antha's anger and our family tragedy, I was not in my right mind. Can you ever forgive me?" He laughed briefly. "And you must forgive our princess, too. She's so upset, Dorian, not herself at all. Give her a few moments to herself---or locked away in the garden shed with Cian---" His eyes flickered in the general direction of the little structure, "And you'll be as much the golden boy as ever." And as a sign of good will, the boy gave his cousin the kiss that was demanded of him---a kiss that was not generally shared between cousins outside of the Mayfair family. "I think she would be disgustingly mad at us if we stole him away before she entirely makes up her mind about the matter. But I think with the right persuasion---" And he brushed back Dorian's pretty blonde curls, traced the curve of his jaw suggestively, "---we might sway her. What do you say? It could be just like the old days, the three of us...together..." He let his words fade out, punctuated with a wild grin.  

[Okimiyage]

Cian's smile was as slender as the edge of a knife in the gloom of the garden-shed. Do you think me any less the rake, now? I suppose I must be; it isn't in the habit of such men to settle down like this. He put his arms around her slender shoulders, drawing her close to him until the two of them fit together, with only a narrow seam of skin to separate the two puzzle-halves of their bodies. Faintly, under the scent of wet earth and rain, he could still pick out the notes of lavender that were Antha's characteristic perfume. If I was languid that night, he whispered, bowing his head over her, his breath stirring her hair, it was because I thought I could not afford to care about your fate. I am glad--terribly glad--that I was wrong. But if you'd like-- And suddenly his arms were wrapped about her waist, and he lifted her, and spun her about in a flurry of skirts and red curls. When he released her, her back was very close to the wall, and the smile upon Cian's lips had a new and wicked twist to it.
I am still very good at pretending to be an absolutely dreadful influence.

"I say--" Dorian's own smile mirrored Courtlands; tilting his head back, he shivered at the unanticipated pleasure of his cousin's clever touch. It only delighted him all the more that he knew what those lovely white hands had been responsible for; that he had seen them painted red with the blood of others, or wrapped around the throat of one of their piteous victims. Most parents warned their children not to behave like wild animals; in the case of the Mayfair cousins, the message had clearly failed to sink in. "Ah, Courtland, how could I refuse? You say 'sway her' as though you think that wolf's-grin you wear now will not persuade our cousin within moments. It's just a matter of stripping away all the festering civility that's been heaped upon us all." Leaning hard into his cousin's chest, Dorian pressed his lips to Courtland's collarbone with all the heat of a burning brand. Speaking bone to bone, blood to blood, he added, She may, perhaps, need a little reminding. It has been such a long time, after all, and we are not the red-handed young devils that we once were. Not young, certainly; the years had steeped Dorian in sin as much as his literary namesake had done so. And his technique had much improved, over the years.  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Between the cold metal walls of the shed, Antha's laughter rang like so many bells signaling the arrival of something wicked. "I should like to see you try," she whispered, so low that she hardly interrupted the sound of the drizzling rain, "And to see how dreadful of an influence you could possibly be around the Mayfair family. Around me, of all people---I could run circles around you, darling."
Across the short distance, through the chains that bound them, Courtland's thoughts had somewhat...infected Antha. That was how the cousins had always been, like a circuit, the wild and wicked thoughts passing through them in an endless ring while they had neither the power nor the will to be rid of them. They had turned madness and cruelty into their own diseases. "But go on..." she whispered, grinning, pressing her back to the wall and drawing her arms around him, eliminating the space between them so that she could press her lips against his collarbone, his shoulder, to fight the urge to tear her teeth into his flesh, "...surprise me."

"You forget the grin she wears," Courtland sighed, with the hint of a growl rumbling in his throat, "Our princess does not fall victim so easily. Like Red Riding Hood with her own ax, hunting the wicked wolf down through the woods because he dared to underestimate her." He drew his arm carelessly around his cousin's shoulders, laying a distracted, lingering kiss upon the crown of his head as he shuddered, visibly. "But I have utter faith in us to remind her of what we gave up. It was too much of an addiction not to linger in the back of her mind forever."  

[Okimiyage]

XCandy and LunacyX

Between the cold metal walls of the shed, Antha's laughter rang like so many bells signaling the arrival of something wicked. "I should like to see you try," she whispered, so low that she hardly interrupted the sound of the drizzling rain, "And to see how dreadful of an influence you could possibly be around the Mayfair family. Around me, of all people---I could run circles around you, darling."
Across the short distance, through the chains that bound them, Courtland's thoughts had somewhat...infected Antha. That was how the cousins had always been, like a circuit, the wild and wicked thoughts passing through them in an endless ring while they had neither the power nor the will to be rid of them. They had turned madness and cruelty into their own diseases. "But go on..." she whispered, grinning, pressing her back to the wall and drawing her arms around him, eliminating the space between them so that she could press her lips against his collarbone, his shoulder, to fight the urge to tear her teeth into his flesh, "...surprise me."

"You forget the grin she wears," Courtland sighed, with the hint of a growl rumbling in his throat, "Our princess does not fall victim so easily. Like Red Riding Hood with her own ax, hunting the wicked wolf down through the woods because he dared to underestimate her." He drew his arm carelessly around his cousin's shoulders, laying a distracted, lingering kiss upon the crown of his head as he shuddered, visibly. "But I have utter faith in us to remind her of what we gave up. It was too much of an addiction not to linger in the back of her mind forever."

Cian rolled his shoulders back in a careless shrug. It was most likely true; whereas his unsavory actions had been solitary, his addiction born of a familial bitterness that festered like a wound over the years, Antha had not been nearly so--reclusive. Or discreet. Between the two of us, we'll never be allowed in polite society. he whispered, leaning in close; his teeth, blunt human canines, closed about the fragile shell of her ear. Vampires weren't the only ones that bit. But Cian used the pain as punctuation, as his hand twisted into her curls, pulling her head back to expose the white and flawless flesh of her throat. He lay a trail from ear to collar-bone, mixing gentle nibbles and harder biting with kisses so light that they could barely be felt but for the breath that skimmed her skin. He liked keeping his partners uncertain of what to expect next. He released her hair only to wrap his fingers about her wrists, to pin them on either side of the wall next to her head--his grip was strong, but not rough--and took a step back to study his handwork, the bruises that blossomed on her throat like dark flowers. Sexy, he called them, with a grin which proved that while perhaps engaged men could not be rakes, he could still do a damn good impression of one. And the fact that he could pull it off while the term 'engaged' was making his stomach flip-flop in post-proposal anxiety made it that much more impressive.

Dorian's smile had disappeared, but his eyes were luminous, the shade of the sea on a full-moon night. Drawing close to Courtland, he put his arm around the other mans neck and pulled him in until their cheeks met, side-by-side. "Cousin, all this talk of the airship is making going back to the manor seem hideously boring. I miss the games, I miss the stories--ours were always so much more interesting without the certainty of a fairy godmother or a happy ending. And they were interactive, too. We made our fate. I miss that. I want that again. I want--" A word seemed to linger on the tip of his tongue, but it went unpronounced; sighing into Courtland's ear, he drew back. "I want down from this tree-house, first off. I can't wait until morning; let's find Antha now."  

[XCandy and LunacyX]

Antha's breath caught momentarily, returning as a long and rolling sigh through her grinning lips. There was a moment of debate within her head, whether or not she wanted to make a game of it like in the old days---Courtland really was getting to her---but in the end she let him pin her against the wall like a butterfly in a case under a child's cruel touch. He wasn't ready for her games---no outsider was. "Of course we shall be allowed in polite society, no matter how they may detest the concept. I am Antha Mayfair, after all. It is all the better to terrify them, to offend their delicate sensibilities." And she laughed again, shook her head and let her curls fall over her pretty face, shield all but the dark gleam of her eyes. "It is only paper---it isn't forever, Cian," she murmured quietly, a bit of the wildness seeping from her voice like air from a balloon, "In five months, I shall be dead and you shall be free of me. It is not too terribly much in the way of commitment. I haven't demanded your love, fidelity, or any of the other trappings of a true marriage, only your signature." She paused long enough for the wicked grin to spread back to her lips, for the suggestive gleam to lend her eyes a dangerous edge. "And sex, of course. Without that...ah, I don't even want to consider such a thing."
The entire conversation was starting to get to her. She was tired of trying to convince him of why it should be him, and his doubts, fear, cold feet, whatever it was, was a terrible downer. It was almost enough to make her pry herself from his grip, to sigh and stalk off to find Courtland---at the moment, with the nostalgia running rampant, he wanted her so badly that he was willing to do anything she asked of him, get down on his knees and plead---but the soft ache of the spreading bruises kept her there, convinced her that it was worth it. "Don't you dare start backsliding on me," came her gentle whisper as she settled her back a little more securely against the wall, angling her leg with her heel against the cold metal wall, and it registered faintly in the back of her mind that her shoes were ruined from her tromp through the mud in the gardens. Damn it. She had liked those too, with the satin ribbons and bows and the tall pencil heels.
She blamed Vikteren entirely.

"Today is the day of your funeral," Courtland quoted from his memory, his voice gone wispy, "If you don't like it, then you must sacrifice your friend." But he laughed, as if it hadn't meant anything. As if the story hadn't led to Jeannette's gruesome death. "I think if we were to intrude upon her now, Antha might put us in the airship," he chuckled, though it didn't for a moment hide the thick traces of longing in his voice. "Come with us to the cemetery," he said suddenly, clasping his hand around the back of Dorian's neck and bringing their foreheads together, "To perform the rites. Antha wants you to. It's the first step to falling back into our old ways. The three of us frolicking through the headstones, swathing ourselves in that old, ******** up magic, stealing bones from the dead...we're going to end up in the attic anyways, right?"
Like most addicts, Courtland found himself completely and utterly serious beyond his light, laughing tone. They all had dreams of the old days, of dabbling back in that world, but Courtland---the one who had put an end to it of all people, who had acted as Antha's right hand and almost killed Jack to stop it, who had sealed the second door up with his own blood---was the truest and worst addict of all. He knew that as soon as it began again, that once they spilled more blood, there was no stopping, and he didn't care. He wanted it. He wanted to kill the Calais boy---both of them, for all he cared---to hunt down the targets that the thing had marked and drag them kicking and screaming back into the attic, to stand in his rightful place upon the altar while together they all passed their judgement. He wanted to scream and cackle and writhe in blood. "Just an hour," he said finally, breathlessly, cracking his neck in a nervous symptom of withdrawal. He had infected Antha already, taken his dark, manic thoughts and shoved them into her, and he knew it wasn't long until they spilled over into the others. "We can wait an hour, can't we? Until we're free in the darkness of the graveyard, safe with the dead?"  

[Okimiyage]

I know it isn't for forever, he remarked, that wicked grin still curling the corners of his mouth up. 'Til death do us part he added. Right? But even if it will only be for five months, Antha, I am going to pretend otherwise. To dwell on the subject sullies our time together. And besides, the Church tells us that we are very likely to end up in Hell together for consummating together before our vows. I like to think that you shall make eternal torment slightly less dull than Dante makes it sound. With fearsome alacrity, he fastend his mouth to hers, to stop up her words before she could chide him any longer. Cian bit her mouth, hard, and kissed her with tongue and teeth and lips, and harsh little nibbles that left her mouth swollen and red and dewy. He whispered harshly into her mind, Stay, my dear, my doll, and before Antha might decide whether or not to obey, he had released her hands where he still held them against the splintered wooden door of the garden shed and unzippered her dress swiftly. With both hands, he lifted her maidenly white frock--now rainstained and somewhat dirtied at the hem, of course, but he would not have been able to believe this was reality except for that small detail--by its skirts up and over her head. At that, he cast it aside and picked Antha up-- with both hands about her waist, pulling her close to him--he marveled at how light she was, how fragile, as ethereal as silk and her skin smoother than--and carried her to the garden bench, an antique wrought iron thing with sculpted roses twining about the back and legs--and laid her down and kissed her until she could not breathe.

And did other things, besides, which at the touch of a skilled empath might make anyone's breathing have a number of very interesting reactions.
But that is their business, and none of ours.

"My darling, I'll scratch you, my dearest, I'll cut you. My lovely, I'll kill you, my sweetest, I'll eat you." Dorian sang out, a scrap of an answering verse that he had devised upon being called to do so. One of their games again, from the airship--it occupied his thoughts like nothing else could now. The song, devised upon the hymnal style of Southern gospel, sounded strange in his light tenor, as though such a pure voice should not have sung of such dark thoughts. And he laughed, then, so softly that it almost escaped the range of hearing underneath the wind. He turned back to Courtland, his eyes unfathomably deep. "Ah, Courtland. An hour of your undivided attention all to myself?" he drawled. "I'd have to be an idiot to refuse the offer." Suddenly crisp, he straightened and went to Courtland, taking his shirt by the collar as if to straighten it but then tugging him forward, and holding him within a hair's-breadth of kissing. "Well, alright then. I'm sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves. But let's at least get out of this damn treehouse, I'm ******** cold."