Petyr Baelish (notenough) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-04-15 03:03:00 |
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Current music: | White Gold - Metric |
Entry tags: | greed |
"Call me when you get, Better at your game, You haven't beat me yet."
Who: Greed [narrative]
What: No one remembers their first time.
Where: Las Vegas, NV
When: Wednesday, early morning; flashback to a year ago
Warnings: None
Three hundred and sixty-five days prior to this moment, a priest in his sleeping pajamas had proclaimed a man and woman as husband and wife.
The man, wasn't really a man. His eyes were too bright for a mere mortal, ones that had seen too much and still lived to tell the tale. At that time, they were transfixed on a particular spot on the neck of the woman opposite him, following the hollow of her throat to the lips that parted only slightly.
The woman, wasn't really a woman. Her hips swelled with curves that only immortal marble statues could boast of. Theirs were cold to the touch while hers were warm, heated, enticing, under the palms of his hand only minutes ago, when he guided her to the altar.
Where there should've been pain right after the magic words had been said, there had only been what felt like a shot of adrenaline, blood screaming, hurtling towards his head, making him lightheaded when he grasped the back of her neck before the King of Rock gave the go ahead.
--
Greed didn't lie when he said he couldn't remember anything from that night. Only afterwards.
He remembered the morning after, when the sun's rays drew a golden line down the same curves, fitting into his hand like a glove. The heavy weight of the ring didn't register until it was too late and everything had gone out the window.
Headaches. He also remembered the headaches on the plane, all the way to New York, keeping him well awake and even then, too pre-occupied to think about the sinking feeling in his stomach that would come sooner or later.
A similar headache pounded in his head not so long ago, waking him up suddenly, teeth gritting against the intrusion as hands fumbled around for the flask of Black Label, fighting fire with fire. It didn't take Greed too long to figure out what it was when his red-rimmed eyes looked at the date on the clock, the time, the date.
The slim bruise encircling one sole digit was all too prominent when he sought refuge on the balcony, the sun once more pointing out the obvious.
At that moment, he wondered if hers had faded yet.
He could imagine the tone of her voice, if he ever called her to tell her that he was literally losing sleep over this.
She'd give him an unforgiving laugh and he wouldn't stop her.
The balcony door remained half-open, as the sun slowly woke up one of the many cities that never slept in this mad world. The light crept through satin curtains, caressing the flushed skin of a beauty resting on the bed made out of silk sheets and what only mortal men could dream of.
Eyes looked briefly at the Bellagio, her reflection sparkling like diamonds, before Greed turned from the light and returned inside.