|Miniver Cheevy (miniver) wrote in utr_logs,
@ 2008-03-02 09:22:00
|ageless bill turner, miniver cheevy
Who: Miniver Cheevy and Ageless Bill Turner
Where: At Miniver's place
When: ....last night. thingy.
Warnings: Ummm... vampirism and a fade-to-black?
It took a considerable amount of staring at the page of numbers torn from the pocket notebook of the musician before Bill finally picked up his phone and dialed the first number on the list. He'd not thought to call Miniver since breakfast the other day, and it was rather late, but musicians kept strange hours, and he took his chances. He couldn't ask to stay at Anne's again - even if she said he wouldn't impose - because he just didn't want to make the wrong impression. He needed company, a voice, a face, a moving, expressive body that he could interact with just then.
The line picks up on the second ring. "Hello?" He sounds completely awake, if a little bemused. It's likely the only people who've called this number since he got here have been total strangers and had to be instructed not to call again. And most of them, likely, have called somewhat earlier.
One had, for certain... But this one, he sighed, "S'good to hear you're awake. S'Bill, we met a couple days 'go, you came t'breakfast with me an' th'others?" He pinched his temples. How he hated phones. "Was wonderin' how awake y'were an' if you'd like t'catch a late drink. Bars're still open, I believe."
"Bill?? Oh man, BILL!" The voice on the other end of the phone sounds as pleased to hear from him as if they'd been friends for years. "Fuck, dude, you're not gonna believe this, this guy I replaced? I got his bank account, too. Fucker's... well, not exactly loaded, but he's got a stash. Come on over to my place, I got some fucking FANTASTIC whiskey and some nice wines if you'd rather."
That got a chuckle from Bill, who ran a hand through his hair and nodded, though the man on the other end couldn't see it, "That's fantastic, Miniver! I'm glad to hear you've got a cushion to fall back on a'least. Aye, I'd love t'come an' visit. Where're you, mate? I'll be right over, bring some of my own stock as well, seems that I've got quite the taste f'brandy, even though I really don't."
Miniver gives the address, as well as a vivid description of the place -- habit, it seems, for such a literary individual. "You hungry? I can have some food out too, if y'like."
"Am, but I'm a picky eater." Bill said, frank but vague, as he moved to his computer to look up the directions. Once he got them, it wasn't much doing before he had them memorized and he said "Right, I'll be there in 'round fifteen minutes, traffic permitting." He was already up and out of his chair, and on his way down the stairs and going towards his coat and kitchen, where he kept the liquor. "See you then, aye?"
"OH YEAH the vampire thing, sorry man. Sure, sounds great. I'll be waiting!" Miniver hangs up before Bill can respond to Miniver knowing about him being a vampire.
Bill blinked to that and his head tilted slightly, but he ended the call and slid the phone in his coat pocket before walking out to his car. It didn't take fifteen minutes, but it was close, and Bill drove up to the house. He was still trying to mull over how in the world Miniver figured that out so quickly. It hadn't even occured to him that anyone would have told him, and if it had, it was quickly disregarded as silly. He bounded up to the door and rung the doorbell, waiting patiently.
The door swings open quickly and Bill is met by a short, grinning pile of black curls. "Hey! Come on in. Make yourself at home and all that shit. And good luck. Christ knows it's just as weird for me as you..." He ushers Bill inside and to the livingroom, which is a dark-wood-walled, book-filled place, small but cozy and outfitted with a working fireplace (presently lit) and a television (presently tuned to a news channel with the volume turned low). There's an overstuffed couch and a couple of easy chairs around a coffee table. "Siddown, or not, whatever you like, feel free to change the TV. I'd thought it'd be good to learn what kinda world this is but I'm afraid I haven't been very good at paying attention, hee! D'you smoke?"
Bill was innundated by the poet's bubbly nature and he laughed, "My, you're full of energy this evening." He handed off the bottle and took his jacket off, nearly in the same motion, before claiming a chair. "Television's fine on or off, 've been gettin' th'news from th'papers. More a reading man m'self. Aye, pipe tobbacco, occasionally cigarettes, 'less you count th'other things I smoke on th'side." He raised a brow, having suddenly realized something. Miniver was just as lonely and lost as he was and really, he couldn't blame him for being so excited to see someone. The realization made him relax. "I suppose it gets rather quiet f'you here, hm?"
Miniver takes the bottle with a bright grin as he reads the label. "Oh this is great. D'you wanna open it now or what? Hey, I love reading, but see I can have the TV on and pretend I get the news while reading stuff that ain't news. Lies lies the lies we tell ourselves." He coughs. "Um, I got stuff other'n cigarettes to smoke, if you want it." Of COURSE Miniver's managed to find a seller for the stuff within his first three days here. Of COURSE. "Yeah, quiet, whatever, you're here now." But that observation may explain why he keeps the TV on ALL THE TIME.
Bill looked to the bookshelves and slipped out of the chair once more to read the titles. "Aye, do that plenty m'self, actually. Write more than both, t'be honest tho'." He let Miniver ramble on before turning around and putting his arm around the man's waist, pulling him close and pressing a finger to the man's lips. "Aye, m'here, relax, mate. S'no need f'the nervous b'haviour, s'like you're a mouse or sommat." It was a good way to shut up most people who kept talking on and on, usually being pulled into the embrace like that meant a kiss, but he found that kissing only quieted them for a moment and often led to more, which he was... well, he would do if given the chance, but the moment deserved something a little less drastic.
His cheeks blossom into a blush as Bill pulls him over. He laughs, seeming almost embarassed. "Sorry, man. I get kinda carried away or whatever sometimes." He keeps grinning, cheeks red, but makes no attempt to pull away. "Uh... you... you write?" This is marginally and momentarily awkward, as often it is with strangers, but not at ALL unwelcome. Just surprising.
Bill had no concept of personal space, but he did slip away again, "Aye. Mostly about what we've come across, what we've found in our stashes. The more we collected, the weirder things just tended to get. Back home, we had a couple locked rooms just f'the cursed an' deadly things. And a bottle've anythin' would be splendid right 'round now, aye." He said, finally getting to one of the questions Miniver asked earlier as he took a seat once more, fishing his pipe and bag of tobacco out of his coat pocket. "Somehow, m'journals wound up comin' along with me.. S'actually rather a comfortin' thing, when I haven't got Jack 'round."
Miniver carries Bill's bottle over to a little side-table that holds a number of other bottles already, and glasses. He opens the brandy and pours two, carrying one over to Bill. He sits nearby and lights a cigarette of his own.
"Nothing came with me but the clothes on my back and my dear little snake. Lucky I was holding him when I got picked up. I've kept journals for years, but hell... not like I read them back much. I'll just start a new one."
He's of a split mind about whether it'd be nice to have them or not -- on the one hand, he could read back about his husband and his life before. On the other hand, the more time passes, the more he's sure it'd start to hurt just to look at them.
Bill nodded. "Mostly I just catalogue m'findin's, nothin' really personal gets written 'less it's of a remarkable value. S'just how I am. Casual observer." He smiled weakly. "S'good that you've got your snake, tho', s'a wonderful thing t'have your companions. S'a shame you don't have more from y'time an' place, tho'. S'a damned shame." he sighed. "Thank you f'inviting me over, tho', I appreciate it very much. Spent last night with no sleep whatsoever, an' went T'Annes yesterday afternoon, an' she threatened to tranquilize me 'til I actually went t'get some sleep. S'hard bein' here. I hope you haven't had th'same troubles."
Miniver just shrugs vaguely. "I don't sleep much anyway," he says, sipping the brandy and closing his eyes. "Hey, Anne's great. But man, you're welcome to come hang here whenever you want or need or anything. I kinda don't know what I'm gonna do with myself now. Probably just try to get back into what I was before, but... I guess I'm taking some time to feel like I'm back on my feet a little. Heh, I don't like to say bullshit like how shocking it is or whatever but it's um... it's different, not having everyone around like I used to all the time."
He takes another drink, gets up, wanders the room vaguely, pawing at things, perhaps pretending to have an actual reason for getting up other than to have an excuse to sit back down a little closer to Bill than he had been. "Y'know, I think first thing I'm gonna do is find myself a roommate."
Bill watched the man as he flitted from one thing to the next, and smiled slightly, "Aye, been thinkin' of doin' that, m'self. I'd've asked Anne, but she's got a wonderful job in Florida and I've got a lovely one here. S'at least going t'keep me busy 'til I make up m'mind on what I'd like t'do with m'self." He sipped his drink and looked to the fire, "S'probably goin' to be hard t'get back into th'usual business, I'm one half of a two man act, s'no gettin' around that, an' even if I have all th'time in th'world to learn what Jack did on his end've things, it still wouldn't be th'same."
"Yeah..." Miniver sighs. "I ain't got my band anymore. Nor, obviously, my husband. Guess I'm lucky it was MY band and not someone else's... I mean... I know how to do it, I've done it before, but it'll be a pain in the ass starting from scratch. Hey, whatever, though. This dude who used to be who I am now... he was a smart guy, he's got some cash ferretted away. I quit his job, I figure I've got enough to keep me a few months while I figure myself out again. After that I'm gonna have to start pawning shit for rent or get the hell outta here." He doesn't sound too worried about that, though. He's done it before. "So... tell me about Jack. I've heard a little about him, but not enough to really get it..."
Bill listened. Not just pretended to listen, or feign interest, but actually listened. The timbre of the man's voice as he spoke, the emotion behind it, everything seemed to be absorbed. At the request, he took another sip with a bit of a smile, shaking his head and sighing wistfully. "Where to begin? Th'man's been m'husband since th'late 1700s, before that he was my lover, before that, my captain, an' before even that, m'idol. S'my everything, m'cornerstone. He's eccentric, doesn't quite seem to understand th'modern world - not that I'm much better at it, mind - but he's got a good heart an' is is a quick thinker. He tells stories so well, it's as if you were standing there as it happened. The most important thing is that he's always been there f'me, even if he wasn't in person." He turned to Miniver with a slight smile. "Oh, an' he's a bit trigger happy an' his first love's his ship. I've never, ever, forgotten that much. An' how about you, your husband?"
Miniver beams at Bill's descriptions, easily lost in the simple romance of his words. "Ah, see, that's gorgeous. My... heh... I wanna use dippy-ass words like soulmate and shit, but he really is. He's... it sounds so SIMPLE but he really is my best friend as well as my lover. We came from real different places and he helped me get through a LOT. I'm kinda embarassed to say there wasn't a long pre-relationship THING on my side. He always says he wanted me since the moment he saw me... but I... well... it's really complicated. Long story. Whatever. He's a redhead, a brilliant musician -- singer, drummer, guitarist, poet, he's just... I admire him so much, I really do. He's so much deeper than anyone else can EVER see and he's... man, I tell you what, I usedta be one pathetic fucking little jackass. He... fixed me. He really did." Miniver's smile is nostalgic as he peers into his glass, swirling the brandy in it. "Pity his younger-self hangin' around here ain't much like that, and sure as hell ain't into ME. Pff. Whatever. I figure it'll be a little while before this sinks in." The nostalgia fades into something more fierce... it's almost a desperate mania, but subtle, quiet, determined.
"We were all young once. An' don't hate him for what he isn't yet, mate, there's still th'chance you'll find him again, or he'll find you. Why, m'son, Will, he said that I'd already been here before. And by me, I mean his true father, from his version've reality. Older physically, younger and more timid. An' that Jack was here too, but I entirely doubt it was my Jack. Your husband'll likely find his way here, by way of your connection. If you are truly soulmates, which I believe just by how you speak of him, s'a good chance that connection'll draw you t'gether. I truly believe that." He smiled then, finishing off his glass of brandy before lighting his pipe. "I've no doubt in my mind that Jack's runnin' frantic without me an' Anne there to help run th'island. An' believe me, your husband's just as worried if he's lost you as well. Y'can't seperate th'bond, not forever, an' never f'long. Even if y'want to."
Miniver reaches over to refill Bill's glass, and his own. "Shit. I gotta warn you right off, don't talk like that t'me. I never did build up too much resistance to it." It hurts him more than he'll let show to think of Pickles getting all spazzy and thinking he's gotten caught by yardwolves or drowned in the moat or captured by rabid fans or accidentally electrocuted by roadie experiments or... something. It doesn't even occur to him to think he might not notice. He knows how long his lover ever goes in episodes of extreme drunkenness or getting high before he does INVARIABLY come back to himself and notice what ain't right.
But he keeps right on smiling and finishes his cigarette, and downs the glass of brandy, and tops it off again.
"I hope your Jack finds you, too. It sounds like you sorta need each other. You really, really love him, huh?"
Bill took a puff of his pipe and nodded his thanks for the brandy, taking a sip of it, pacing himself. "Aye, he's the world. No amount of new experiences or sums could total the wealth of what the man's showed me in life. There's nothing in any world which could equal what he means to me." The way he said it was pure, simple truth. His smile went lopsided then, "S'a good thing about love like the one he and I and you an' yours share, though. S'unbreakable. Eyes may wander, realities may shift, worlds may come undone an' fall apart, but there's nothin' that won't keep them from bein' there at th'end of it all, an' still with open arms, an' love in their hearts." He smiled. "You've got to have faith in it, Miniver, jus' as much's I have. They'll come. S'a matter of time."
Miniver reaches out to gently stroke back Bill's hair and tighten a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support and understanding.
"I know a thing or two about waiting, friend. And I know that just having faith it's gonna get better don't make the time in between any easier."
You know that thing where it melted Pickles when his hair was played with? It completely reset Bill's brain. Entirely. To the point where he murmured, then shook his head slightly, looking up to the musician, brows raised, "Hm? Oh, aye, s'a point you've got there, mate. S'the cold, lonely nights, an' th'moments've time you have no idea what t'do with y'self. Haven't slept alone since.... '51." He said, nudging Miniver's hand with his cheek. His skin was cool to the touch, almost eerily so.
Miniver's skin is also cool -- he gets cold easily, hence the fire burning -- but he can feel the cold in Bill's, almost expected it from a VAMPIRE, and lightly caresses the other man's jaw with his thumb.
"Wow. Man, I was just a kid then. I've slept alone plenty of times in the last decade and a half, but... I never NEEDED to, and I knew it every time. But jeeze... I know about those moments... 'slike being lost. It's been a while since I've felt that way." He pauses, his thumb still tracing light circles, now lower on Bill's throat. "Y'know... you don't have to sleep alone tonight."
"Th'difference," Bill's voice dipped into a near whisper, "Between sleepin' by yourself an' sleepin' alone, is th'fact that y'still know you've someone to come back to come th'mornin'." His head tilted up, just slightly, allowing the touch, lips parted just slightly before he looked back down, straight into Miniver's eyes, "An' neither d'you, mate." He slipped his hand through the long black hair, somehow easily working to touch the man's neck in turn, coming closer, lips brushing against the musician's lips just barely.
Miniver's cheeks redden slightly again -- he's used to casual sex, sometimes with partners whose name he never learns, but it's always, to him, something rich and fresh and exciting. And in this case, it's something very comforting.
He pulls Bill closer and kisses him -- it is slow, gentle, tender, friendly. He's not frienzied and desperate. He doesn't need to be. He's gotten past that part of him for the most part. At least -- he's not drunk or high enough for it to come through.
"Never kissed a vampire before," he murmurs with a soft chuckle. "Hey -- you one'a those kind that'll turn me soon as you bite me or not?"
The pirate was rather pleased with the kiss, it was just as he needed it, no nonsense, no ferocity or fire. Those were saved for moments where he needed that kind of outlet, not this moment. Once their lips parted ways, he chucked at Miniver's question. "I'd have to do a lot more than just bite. I'd have to bring you to th'brink of death, then have you drink my blood. I've only done that with two others, an' s' a process I don't believe I'll repeat again. Last time I sired someone, he was from a different reality an' we tore a hole through th'fabric've space/time an' gained ourselves a Hellmouth on th'island so th'bond wouldn't be broken 'tween myself an' him. I think I've learned m'lesson." He set his pipe down, having entirely forgotten he was holding it, and kept close to Miniver, fingers still tracing lines across the man's pulsepoint.
"Okay. Just... y'know... a good thing to know." He leans against Bill, letting himself relax. He's small -- not just small, but compact -- and quite fluffy, but strong enough to feel substantive rather than waiflike. "I ain't out to turn myself, man, but I've had a vampire feed off me before. I remember it as being very, very pleasant. So... just so y'know... consider that offer up if you ever need it." He lets one hand wander over Bill's leg -- a slow study of him, a gradual dance of increasing intimacy. He's done one-night stands before, he's had whores and flings with people whose faces he can't even remember afterwards, but he's a romantic at heart, and he likes this much better. This isn't a sexual fix -- he's not in this for a temporary distraction from loneliness. He's giving the vampirate a certain depth that'll be worth coming back to -- depth without obligation. He'd like to be friends, not just ships passing in the night. He needs SOMEONE in this world.
Bill slipped one arm around the man, nodding as his other hand moved to push back the long hair. "I did say I was hungry, haven't fed at all, and all the nervous pacing I've been doing burns a great deal of it off." Explained Bill, his fingers moving up the man's side. "So," He whispered into Miniver's ear as the poet traced up his leg, letting out a sigh at the sensation, "You don't mind? Won't be much." He pressed a kiss to the man's neck. He was a romantic as well, never having bothered to cover that fact up about himself, he was also passionate and understanding, an individual who'd pick even the most casual flings based on how much romance he could pack into a few fleeting hours. The women at the brothel on the island adored him for that, that he respected them and wooed them even though they didn't require it. He smiled against the skin of the man's neck, cool lips parting to lick a chilled trail across the musician's skin. "If not, there's no reason not to have more fun despite."
"I don't mind at all," Miniver assures him. He rolls his head to one side, exposing the pale skin of his throat and purring at the licking. "I dare say I've almost yearned for it now and again. Is that strange to say? It was... very unique." He looks over at Bill, blue eyes glinting behind the mad black curls. "Please... help yourself, my dear."
"Really," Chuckled Bill against Miniver's neck, "I've always liked willing, wanting donors." He slid his fingers down the poet's arm, over the inside of the other man's elbow and to his wrist, where he played at the pulsepoint there with feather-light touch, "So there's two ways. Th'neck takes longer t'heal, but is faster f'both've us, an' th'wrist, which takes less blood, more time, an' is easily concealed. S'your choice, mate, s'your body." His movements were easy and slow and sensual, his lips pressed against the corner of the musician's jaw. He was revelling in the warmth and scent of the man, basking in it like a rather lazy housecat. His other hand was working its way across Miniver's thigh, firm but gentle and slow strokes up and down his leg. Apparently, he liked teasing himself.
Miniver almost wiggles with delight at all of this. He turns his head to kiss back, and grasps Bill's hand.
"So do th'neck, then, if you're needing a good meal." He chuckles. "I got nothin' to hide and nobody worth hiding it from. And don't worry about hurting me, either. Trust me... I prefer it to be... memorable."
Bill's laugh was bright at the words, "Oh, you really are the fun one, aren't you, luv? Don't worry, I'm not going t'take it easy on you, s'no way to. An' when it comes down to it, s'very little you can do to surprise or hurt me, either." At that point, it'd all boil down to pleasure, anyway. He did like how the musician's heart sped its pace at the excitement, how quick the blood was running. His lips went back to the man's neck, light as a butterfly, then deeper, and deeper still, more firm, tongue crossing the pulse point before his fangs extended, likely to be felt against his skin before he bit down properly. He let out a low sound deep in the back of his throat at the taste of the man's blood, letting his pulse do the work, lapping up and swallowing, rather like a cat at a bowl of cream. It wasn't long at all before he slipped away, his fingers pressing against the wounds he left, licking the blood from his lips. "Dear lord, you're rich." He purred before pulling Miniver into a kiss, deep, passionate and copper-tasting.
Rich? That's new, but quite probably true. The bloodloss is felt quickly, leaving him euphoric and lightheaded and -- lucky for Bill -- not QUITE enough to make him ill. He oozes against Bill's body, kissing back with languid contentness. He pets his hand down the vampire's chest and belly.
"I like that. Is that weird. Fuckitall. I like it. Heh... how's my vintage rate, luv?" He grins up at Bill, his expression hazy and out-of-it.
Bill purred, low in his chest. It was almost animal, but more like thunder. "It's not an unusual thing to like it, the pain releases endorphins so th'body doesn't go into shock, th'bloodloss gives you a sensation of floating, an' th'combined efforts is a natural high. S'th'only logical reason f'bloodletting. Wasn't t'heal humors or sickness, was a freely accessible way t'get a buzz, mate." He chuckled, and his fingers worked across Miniver's stomach, the other hand's fingers still holding the wound closed. "S'also an amount of masochism, an' that's entirely understandable. You've sad eyes, very much a painful youth, and yet you've smile lines 'stead of wrinkles due to frowns. Means you've had a full and rich adulthood. S'good, m'glad for that, but s'th'sad eyes shows somethin' more, that you had pain in th'past, a good amount've it, so you've likely become durable to it, an' th'fact you've said I don't have t'worry about hurting you, well, s'a good indication right there's well."
Sad-eyes Miniver keeps on smiling, keeps on dancing fingers over Bill's body. "Heh... you're right about that. Not that it matters. My past ain't anything worse'n anyone else's, I was just a wimp. But damn do I feel lucky for what came after." He can feel the pain of the bite, made just that much more intense by it being held closed, and to him it is indeed a masochistic sensation. He enjoys it.
"I don't wanna talk about my pain," he continues, curling into Bill. "In all my years, I ain't never managed to learn how to tone down how I react to it to a point that makes me look like anything but a sissy, and it'd only be worse like this. But. Hey. I never mind anyone else's. And y'know... I can't read things like you do. At least not now. But I bet I can sing'em outta you and make it feel just as good..."
Bill chuckled and shook his head, "'Ve never been one for music, never could understand it. In a logical, mathmatical sense, aye, s'a very interesting thing, but th'point of music is to play t'your emotions. How does one write a song that's s'posed to appeal to a being what's seen literal centuries move past, lived through what I've lived through, loved how I've loved, been in pain as deeply? S'just.. all so shallow." And in actuality, that was one of the things Alexia was attempting to bring to the world, music so deeply inspired, so deeply rooted, that it would appeal to even the oldest creatures. "No offense t'your profession, my fledge is a musician. Guitarist, in fact." He smiled, petting across Miniver's cheek, down his neck, and to the line of his shirt. "All technical skill, though. Able to make a guitar howl, but to touch hearts isn't what he's after."
Miniver snatches Bill's hand with surprising swiftness. He doesn't answer him in words, but instead as he holds his hand, massaging the palm with his thumb, he begins to hum softly. At first, it's a directionless, rhythmless tune, chaotic, grasping... but gradually, it begins to take shape.
He's finding Bill's song.
And he smiles as he reaches for it, grasping it with voice and complimenting it with his hands on Bill's hands and arms. It's very like the shanties he learned when he was still new to making music, but sadder, deeper, darker... it's beautiful, to his own ears, the music he finds when he focuses his voice on singing Bill back to himself. There are no words yet. It'd take a little longer, in this state, for him to find words...
There was a pause in Bill's movements. Such a drastic pause, in fact, that his whole body seemed to just freeze, become statuelike for a moment, then his head tilted, eyes narrowed. There was something coming out of the seemingly chaotic tune. This intrigued him to no end. He stayed silent, slowly relaxing, leaning back into the chair and let Miniver find the tune. Curiosity often got the best of him, especially in the case of talent.
Since Bill seems more or less receptive, Miniver continues... and eventually, he finds words -- or words find him. They're not in English. By the look on his face, it's possible he doesn't realize this. When he sings, it's in Russian... a raw, folksy shanty-chant that skitters into its own rhymes and flutters like a panicked pelican -- quick and graceful and strong and sometimes soaring. Finding the sea with his voice is not a strange task for the old rocker -- he's done it often, many of the songs on his first album were inspired by ocean themes. But finding BILL'S oceanb... that's a step more. And now -- lightheaded from bloodloss, his own talent fed by lingering effects of Alexia's particular touch, he strikes a deep chord, finds something True and intense and everlasting.
There was a moment of realization, one which could have broken him were he at the point he had been when he walked in the door, but it did make him gasp at least, and his eyes opened, looking over Miniver's face, inspecting it for... something. Something that was not even there. He finally whispered, his breath wavering slightly, "You, Miniver Cheevy, are no mere artist, you have powers." He was fairly certain of this. But before the musician could make any response to it, he pulled him into a kiss, passionate and a bit rough, but still there, his fingers weaving through the man's curls, holding him in the kiss, not letting him up until he was satisfied that his thanks were understood.
Miniver hadn't realized he'd been doing something worthy of thanks. Indeed he's pulled this stunt before -- and he KNOWS it can break people. That knowledge has never, never stopped him -- because he knows he can pick up the pieces if it does. Sometimes, he thinks, people just need to be broken.
He kisses back, finding a loose hold around Bill's waist as he does, feeling a slight chill but safe, connected, inspired. In truth, touching these powers is a risk for him, too -- he doesn't even know he has any power more unusual than mere talent, but tapping it with this level of inspiration can leave him, eventually, as drained as giving his blood will when the high wears off.
So... tomorrow morning may not be the most pleasant morning he's had. But right now, he's floating.
The vampire slipped away from the kiss only to start a trail of the same down the neck of the musician, past the wounds but not over them, and down, working Miniver out of his shirt, slowly, patiently, with no intention of rushing. They were both needing the seduction, the endulgance, and like Miniver's blood, he wanted to be as rich as possible with what he did, letting every touch linger, letting every kiss go just a shade longer. He wanted to give the man of himself, now that Miniver knew him a bit more than just the surface, whether the poet knew he knew, or not. He'd make sure the man was well taken care of until the redheaded husband found his way to his side.
Miniver is more appreciative of these efforts than he can effectively communicate to Bill... so he just returns the affection with equal fervor in his own style, hoping as well to find a way to comfort some of the darkness his song had found there, to pass the time until Jack comes. Miniver is himself no damsel in distress and can hold his own -- but to have this, to have an understanding, feels like a luxury, an indulgence. Miniver never EXPECTS comfort or understanding. However much he's changed, he's never, never grown out of treasuring this when he can get it, from Pickles or from anybody else.
He shrugs off his coat and shirt, and as he does, he shows the jagged scars spiraling his right arm. There are other marks on him, but these are by far the most vivid and violent -- it's as if he stuck his arm into a meat grinder and just let it heal on its own without stitches. He is utterly unselfconscious about it; it's as if he's forgotten these scars exist.
Bill, once he'd gotten out of his own shirt, had no scars to show for his life save two, one across the chest, faint and barely there any longer, and a fine, almost sewn look in a rectangle frame over his back. the latter he'd forgotten about almost entirely. He had a proper sailor's tattoo, old style of a heart, sword and ribband over his left pectoral, the banner had the name Jack on it, on his left arm, there was a half sleeve of a galleon with black masts, and on his left hip, just above the waistline of his pants, there was the handle of an inked dagger. There were more tattoos littered over his body, and some more that had faded with time. Around his neck was a leather cord with a stone, carved with what looked to be a south american symbol. But his focus was only briefly on the scars before he pressed a kiss to the center of Miniver's chest, tracing down the line to his navel, incredibly flexible to do so, one hand pressed at the small of the musician's back.
Miniver's notable tatoos include a tiny skull on his right arm, and a stylized purple tulip on his lower back, to the left, with the name APRIL written on one of the petals. There are others, but they're irrelivant to the thread and the mun is too tired to be buggered to make them up until they become relevant.
Miniver takes his time to lean back and inspect Bill's body, to examine the tattoos and run his hands over the exposed skin, giving a preliminary test to see if any touch, anywhere he can reach, seems to inspire any particular reaction -- be it good or bad.
all of it and all of it good, it seemed. Touch was just blessed, in Bill's opinion, and as such, he let out a low murmur, lips parted just slightly. His eyes fluttered half-open as he ran his ragged nails lightly over the other man's sides, just enough to test exactly how much was too much for the moment, before finding the perfect mode and went with it, his lips only slightly upturned. The brandy had given a heady affect to his thoughts, made him slow down, pace himself. "You alright?" He murmured, wholly sincere.
Miniver is also a quiet addict of being touched -- in any way his partner does so. He loves it, needs it, thirsts for it as he does his booze. He leans into Bill's hands anywhere they land, purring and cooing and nodding at every sensation.
"I'm okay," he replies softly. "A little cold. Heh, I get that way." He smiles sheepishly. "Um, I have a heater in th' bedroom for my snake, keep that room a few degrees warmer. We can move there... or a little closer to the fire, if that's okay with you. Or hell, this is cool with me..." He nibbles lightly at Bill's shoulder. "Probably warm up anyway soon enough."
"M'naturally cold, couldn't tell th'you were. Bedroom's fine, we're headed there in any case, albeit slowly." He nipped the man's jaw and smiled, moving his hands down, one down the musician's chest, one down his ass, and didn't stop just at the beltline, before slipping away. "Lead th'way, mate, I'll follow." And he did, in due course. The night ran on as nights do, and come the morning, they'd both fallen asleep, satisfied, exhausted, and not alone.